#cant thank him enough honestly

[cod-thoughts]

Help to make the season bright

Word count: 9.9k

Relationships: NikPrice, PriceNik, team as family

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt Simon "Ghost" Riley, Fluff, Niks love language is food you can pry that out of my cold dead hands thank you Soft Nikolai, Christmas Fluff

I posted this while i was gone and never ended up putting it on here so im doing that now! Its two chapters!!

Stuck in a safe house over Christmas, the team does their best to keep spirits up despite the storm outside—and the one raging inside Ghost. It’s supposed to be the season for family, but some wounds don’t heal, and some ghosts don’t rest. Keep reading under the cut or on AO3

Chapter 1: And so I'm offering this simple phrase

The safe house was unremarkable, a squat, grey structure barely visible against the snow-laden woods. The storm outside had been raging for hours, a relentless whiteout that battered the building with icy gusts and howling winds. Snow piled high against the windows, and the walls creaked under the force of the gale. The wood-burning stove in the corner struggled to fend off the biting cold, its faint glow casting flickering shadows across the room. The scent of damp wood and lingering smoke clung to the air, seeping into every corner of the cramped space.

Inside, the team sat huddled around a battered table. A single bulb swung gently from the ceiling, its dim light highlighting the weariness etched across their faces. Supplies were running low, and the safe house felt smaller with each passing hour, its confined walls pressing in like the snow outside.

Soap blew into his hands, rubbing them together briskly. His breath fogged in the icy air as he muttered, “Bloody hell, it’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey.”

“Better than being out there,” Price said from where he leaned against the stove, adding another splintered log to the flames. His voice was steady, calm, but his eyes were fixed on the fire as if willing it to grow.

Soap scoffed, gesturing around the room. “Aye, well, not by much. Think we’ll still be here come Christmas? Stuck in this frozen hellhole?”

Gaz glanced up from the radio he’d been fiddling with, his brow furrowed. Static crackled faintly, filling the silence. “Unless that storm clears, we’re not going anywhere. Could be days yet.”

Soap groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Fantastic. Best Christmas ever.”

Price glanced towards the frost-covered window, where Ghost stood silently, his posture stiff and unyielding. He was a shadow against the dim light, the edges of his figure blurred by the condensation on the glass. The balaclava he always wore revealed only his eyes, which were fixed on the swirling snow outside. His gloved hand rested on the windowsill, unmoving, and the stillness of him felt almost unnatural—like a tightly coiled spring on the verge of snapping.

The quiet unease in the room wasn’t lost on Soap. Ever the optimist, he straightened in his chair, forcing a grin. “Oi, Ghost,” he called, his tone light and teasing. “Fancy helping me brighten this place up? Could string some lights or hang something festive. It’s grim enough without us all sulking.”

Ghost didn’t move, his gaze unwavering as he muttered, “Not interested.”

Soap’s grin faltered, just for a second. “Ah, come on, mate,” he pressed, his voice carrying a forced cheerfulness. “Even you can’t be above a bit of holiday spirit. You could use it, I reckon.”

Ghost turned his head then, his eyes cold and sharp under the dim light. “I said, drop it.” His voice was low, steady, and left no room for argument.

The room seemed to shrink in the silence that followed. Soap shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders tense as he looked towards Price for some kind of signal. The captain’s gaze was fixed on Ghost, his expression unreadable, but after a moment he gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Soap leaned back, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Suit yourself, Lieutenant.”

Ghost didn’t respond. His hand dropped from the windowsill as he turned away, his steps clipped and deliberate as he left the room. The door to the adjoining space shut behind him with a soft but deafening click.

Soap exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to push him,” he muttered, glancing back at Price.

Price stepped away from the stove, his expression softening slightly. “You weren’t to know. It’s not your fault.”

Gaz, who had been watching quietly from his seat, frowned. “What’s his deal, anyway? He’s been like this all week.”

Price’s response came slowly, his voice quieter now. “It’s not my story to tell. But this time of year… it’s not easy for him. Give him some space.”

Gaz and Soap exchanged a look, both nodding in silent agreement. Still, there was a lingering heaviness in the air, and it seemed to settle deeper into the room now that Ghost had gone.

The hours dragged on, the storm outside a relentless fury of wind and snow. Inside, the safe house had grown oppressively quiet. The stove crackled faintly, its orange glow casting long shadows across the room. Soap had finally abandoned his search through the supply crate, muttering about the lack of decent provisions, while Gaz leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as he stared at the faintly glowing radio. Price stood near the stove, his eyes distant, his mind elsewhere.

A sudden knock shattered the quiet. It was sharp and deliberate, cutting through the howl of the storm like a gunshot. The team reacted instantly—Gaz straightened, his hand going to his sidearm, while Soap shot Price a questioning look.

Price moved towards the door, his steps steady but cautious. His hand rested lightly on the rifle propped against the wall as he glanced back at the others. “Stay sharp,” he said quietly. “Could be anything.”

Soap sidled closer to the door, his pistol drawn and ready. “Anything? Or anyone?” he murmured, his humour noticeably absent.

Another knock. Louder this time.

Price pressed his ear to the door, his brow furrowing as he listened. A muffled voice reached him, faint but unmistakable, carrying the weight of familiarity even through the storm. “John! Open the door, or I will freeze out here!”

For a moment, Price froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. Then the tension in his shoulders released all at once, and he reached for the latch, yanking the door open against the howling wind.

Nik stood there, his figure outlined by the swirling snow, his coat dusted white and his cheeks red from the cold. His breath came in sharp bursts, visible in the frigid air, but the grin on his face was bright enough to rival the glow of the stove.

“Nikolai!” Price’s voice was low but edged with something that sounded suspiciously like relief. He stepped forward, gripping Nik’s arms to steady him as the wind threatened to shove them both back. “What the bloody hell are you doing out here?”

Nik’s grin softened into something more intimate, his voice warm despite the storm whipping around them. “Could not let you spend Christmas without me, could I?” His gloved hand lingered on Price’s arm, his touch reassuring.

“You’re mad,” Price said, though the corners of his mouth twitched into a rare smile. “This storm could’ve killed you.”

“For you?” Nik shrugged, leaning in closer as his voice dropped to a murmur. “I would walk through worse.”

Price shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he pulled Nik inside, slamming the door shut behind him. The sudden quiet of the safe house felt almost overwhelming after the storm’s chaos, and the others stared at the new arrival with a mix of surprise and relief.

Nik stomped the snow from his boots, shrugging off his coat and shaking out the worst of the frost. His gaze flicked back to Price, his expression softening as he murmured, “Merry Christmas, mishka.”

Price’s answering smile was brief but genuine. “Merry Christmas, love,” he replied, his voice low enough that it barely carried beyond the two of them. He reached out, brushing a stray bit of snow from Nik’s shoulder before letting his hand drop.

Soap broke the moment, his voice loud and incredulous. “Nik, you daft bastard! What in God’s name are you doing out there in this storm?”

Nik turned, his grin returning in full force as he glanced towards Soap. “Saving you from yourselves, apparently,” he said, his thick accent colouring his words. He reached into the bag slung over his shoulder, producing a bottle of vodka with a triumphant flourish. “Emergency rations.”

Gaz snorted, lowering his sidearm as he gave Nik a quick nod. “You’ve got your priorities sorted, then.”

Nik laughed, but his gaze slid past the sergeants towards the closed door leading to the adjoining room. His smile faded slightly, and he turned back to Price, his voice quieter now. “And Simon?”

Price hesitated, his eyes following Nik’s line of sight. “He’s…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “He’s struggling.”

Nik’s eyes softened, understanding flickering across his face. He reached into his bag again, pulling out a small, neatly wrapped parcel. “I brought something for him,” he said quietly, holding it out to Price. “Not much, but... maybe it will help.”

Price took the parcel, weighing it in his hand. “He’ll appreciate it,” he said, though his voice was edged with uncertainty.

Nik clasped a hand on Price’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “He has you. That is enough.”

Price’s fingers tightened briefly around the parcel as he let out a low sigh. His gaze lifted to Nik’s, and for a moment, the tension in his features softened. “You’ve always got an answer, haven’t you?” he murmured, his voice carrying a rare, almost teasing note.

Nik’s grin widened, his hand sliding down Price’s arm in a slow, deliberate motion before resting just above his elbow. “Only for you,” he said lightly, though the warmth in his tone betrayed the weight behind his words.

Price shook his head faintly, his lips twitching in what might have been a smile. “You’re mad, coming through that storm.”

“And you love it,” Nik countered, leaning in just enough that his breath warmed the air between them. His gaze held Price’s, steady and unwavering, and for a brief moment, the room seemed smaller, the world outside distant and irrelevant.

The sergeants exchanged a glance, Soap clearing his throat dramatically. “Alright, lovebirds, save it for later.”

Price turned towards him, his expression carefully neutral, but the faintest hint of colour crept up the back of his neck. Nik, on the other hand, laughed easily, his smirk only growing as he released Price’s arm and turned to face the others.

“What do you have in mind for this evening?”

Soap perked up “Gaz, you’re on wrapping duty. Price you’re on food and…Nik, you’re on morale.”

Nik raised an eyebrow, glancing at Price with an amused smirk. “Morale?”

“Don’t look at me,” Price said, his tone dry but softened by the faintest hint of a smile. “He’s the one giving orders now.”

---

The warmth from the stove slowly spread through the room as the storm continued to rage outside. Soap dropped into a cross-legged position on the floor, pulling out scraps of old paper and a small pencil from his kit. His brow furrowed as he carefully began folding and sketching, the sharp movements of his hands betraying his focus.

Gaz raised an eyebrow from where he sat nearby, unspooling a length of thread he’d found in one of the supply crates. “What’s that supposed to be, then?” he asked, nodding towards Soap’s creation.

“Dunno yet,” Soap admitted, though his tone was light. “Just thought... maybe something for Ghost. Don’t know what, but it’s gotta be something, yeah?”

Gaz glanced at the scraps of paper and gave a small, approving nod. “Yeah. He’s not going to say it, but... I reckon he needs it.”

Soap’s hands stilled for a moment, his gaze dropping to the makeshift decorations in front of him. “You think he’ll even keep it? Or just bin it the first chance he gets?”

Gaz leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “Doesn’t matter, does it? What matters is that we did something. He’ll know it’s from us.”

Soap let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head. “You sound like Price.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Gaz shot back with a grin, before sobering slightly. “I mean it, though. He might act like nothing gets to him, but you’ve seen the way he’s been. It’s bad.”

Soap nodded, his hands resuming their work. “Aye. The way he froze up earlier...” He trailed off, his expression flickering with guilt. “I didn’t mean to set him off, you know. Just thought a bit of banter might help.”

“Not your fault,” Gaz said firmly. “Price said it himself. He’s carrying a lot, and it’s not on us to fix it. Just to let him know we’re here. even if we don’t know what’s going on”

Soap nodded again, his movements growing more purposeful. The faint scratch of pencil against paper filled the quiet space as he began sketching small patterns across the scraps. His usual precision was softened here, his strokes more hesitant, but Gaz didn’t comment. He simply continued his work, the two of them falling into a companionable silence.

Across the room, Price sat near the stove, his focus half on the fire and half on the small parcel Nik had handed him. The weight of it felt disproportionate to its size, and he turned it over absently in his hands, the edges of the paper smooth beneath his fingers. Nik, perched nearby, sipped from a steaming tin mug, his eyes quietly tracking Price’s movements.

“Still thinking about him?” Nik asked softly.

Price’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t deny it. “Always.”

Nik leaned back, his mug cradled in both hands. “You have done more for him than anyone else ever could. Try not to let yourself forget that, Mishka.”

Price’s gaze lingered on the flames, his expression unreadable. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough,” he admitted, his voice low. “He’s still... there. Stuck in it.”

“And he is still here, with you,” Nik pointed out. “He would not be if he did not want to be, you and I both know that.”

Price exhaled, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “You make it sound so simple.”

Nik’s smile was small but steady. “No, not simple. But the truth.”

In the adjoining room, Ghost sat on the edge of the cot, his head bowed and his gloved hands clasped tightly between his knees. The faint crackle of the stove in the other room seeped through the walls, but it did nothing to drown out the silence that clawed at his mind. The storm outside howled, the wind battering the safe house with icy ferocity, but to Ghost, it barely registered. His focus was elsewhere, lost in memories he wished he could burn away.

The scent of iron and gunpowder seemed to cling to him, even now. He could still see it—the crimson streaks splattered across the carpet, the pale hand of his mother lying limp against the arm of the sofa. His nephew’s tiny body crumpled in the corner, his favourite toy still clutched in one hand. The echoes of his what his brother’s voice sounded like, it must’ve been raw and frantic, shouting for help that never came. It was all so vivid, so painfully clear, like a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.

Ghost inhaled sharply, his chest heaving as the weight of it all pressed down on him. He had found them like that—his family, executed in cold blood—on what was meant to be a day of warmth and love. He had walked into his childhood home expecting laughter and the smell of roasting turkey. Instead, he’d been met with silence and the metallic tang of death hanging thick in the air.

And then there was the fire.

He’d struck the match himself, his hands steady despite the storm raging inside him. The flames had climbed quickly, consuming everything—his memories, his childhood, the evidence of the life that had been taken from him. He had watched it all burn, the heat licking at his face as he turned his back and walked away, leaving behind the only home he’d ever known.

But he hadn’t left it all behind. The guilt stayed with him, a constant weight he carried. He had faked his death that day, disappearing into the shadows, but no matter how far he ran, the memories followed. His family’s silence, their bloodied faces, the betrayal that had led him to them too late. It never stopped. Not even now, years later, sitting in a safe house surrounded by people who would never understand.

His breathing hitched, his fingers digging into his knees. He could feel the storm pushing against the walls, its howl seeping through the cracks like the echoes of the past he couldn’t escape. The sound of boots scuffing on wood and the distant murmur of voices filtered through the walls, but it wasn’t enough to ground him.

A soft knock at the door cut through the noise.

“Simon?” Price’s voice was low and steady, a quiet anchor against the tempest inside him. “You don’t have to come out, but... we’re here. Whenever you’re ready.”

Ghost stared at the door, his chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. Price wouldn’t push—he never did. That was part of what made it so much harder. Part of what made the heaviness in Ghost’s chest feel like it might crush him.

The sound of Price’s retreating footsteps left the room in silence once more. Ghost dropped his head into his hands, his gloves creaking softly as he pressed his palms against his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the images away, but they lingered, just as they always did.

The storm raged on outside, but faintly, he could hear the sound of the team in the other room—the low murmur of conversation, the occasional soft laugh. It grated at him and comforted him in equal measure, a reminder that he wasn’t alone. Not entirely.

But even now, with the warmth of their voices filtering through the walls, all he could feel was the cold weight of his past pressing down on him.

Chapter 2: Merry Christmas to you

The storm howled outside, a relentless wail that rattled the frosted windows of the safe house. Inside, the air was heavy with the smell of burning wood and the faint tang of damp clothes strung up near the stove. The first light of dawn seeped weakly through the cracks, casting long, uneven shadows across the room.

Soap was already awake, moving around the cramped kitchen area with the kind of energy that felt almost sacrilegious at such an early hour. The crackle of the stove and the occasional clang of a pan broke the stillness, his humming just audible over the storm outside. It was cheerful and obnoxious—exactly what one would expect from him.

Price appeared in the doorway, his presence a quiet weight that filled the room. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his hat was pushed back, revealing a tangle of unruly hair. “You planning to burn the place down, Sergeant?” His voice was rough, still thick with sleep.

Soap turned, a wooden spoon in hand, his grin immediate and unapologetic. “Nah, Cap. Just thought we could use a proper breakfast for once. Y’know, something to keep us from freezing our arses off.”

Price’s gaze dropped to the pan Soap was stirring over the stove. The concoction inside was a chaotic mix of eggs, tinned beans, and what looked suspiciously like crisps. His lips twitched, though whether it was a smirk or a grimace was hard to tell. “That meant to be food, or are you experimenting with chemical warfare?”

Soap laughed, unbothered. “Food. Though I reckon it might knock Gaz out if he smells it before it’s ready.”

Price hummed, stepping into the room fully. He glanced towards the back of the safe house, where a door remained firmly shut. “Where’s Gaz?”

“Still sleeping,” Soap replied, his grin dimming slightly. “Ghost too. Or... whatever it is he does when he’s not brooding.”

The faintest flicker of amusement crossed Price’s face before his expression settled back into something more serious. His gaze lingered on the door for a moment longer than necessary. “Let them sleep,” he said finally. “They need it.”

Soap nodded, stirring the pan a bit slower. “Aye. Think it’s gonna be rough for him today, yeah?”

Price didn’t answer right away, his silence heavy. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost reluctant. “Yeah.”

Soap turned around and started muttering to himself, nudging a particularly stubborn clump of eggs across the pan, when the faint creak of floorboards signalled another presence. Nik appeared in the doorway, rubbing a hand across his face but still looking more put together than anyone else in the room. He carried his coat over one arm, the tailored fabric folded neatly despite the storm outside, and his heavy boots made no attempt to soften their steps on the worn wooden floor.

“What the hell is that smell?” he asked, his voice rich with amusement, though his nose wrinkled slightly as he approached the stove.

Soap turned with an exaggerated flourish, brandishing the wooden spoon like a trophy. “Breakfast, mate. A masterpiece, if I do say so myself.”

Nik leaned closer, peering into the pan with a critical eye. “That is not breakfast,” he declared with a shake of his head. “That is a culinary crime.”

Soap narrowed his eyes, jabbing the spoon in Nik’s direction. “Oi, I’ll have you know this is an original recipe.”

“Original, perhaps,” Nik replied, his lips twitching into a smirk. “But edible? I have my doubts.”

Price, who had been leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed, let out a low chuckle. “Careful, Johnny. He’s got a point.”

Soap looked between the two of them, his mock offence quickly giving way to a grin. “Bloody brilliant. Both of you, ganging up on me before I’ve had my morning tea.”

Nik shrugged, setting his coat down on the back of a chair. “It is for your own good. You will thank me later.”

“You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first,” Soap shot back, though his tone was lighter now, the weight of the earlier conversation slipping away.

Nik rolled up his sleeves with the practised ease of someone who had done this many times before. “Jealous? No. But I will not stand by and let you poison the team. Step aside.”

Soap hesitated for a moment, glancing at Price for support. The captain raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the show. “Go on, Sergeant. Let him work.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Soap relinquished the spoon, stepping back to watch as Nik began unpacking supplies from a crate near the stove. The sharp scent of cinnamon filled the air as he pulled out a small jar, followed by a tin of flour and a bottle of honey.

“What’s all this, then?” Soap asked, folding his arms. “That doesn’t look like beans on toast.”

“It is not,” Nik replied without looking up. His hands moved with practised precision, mixing ingredients in a bowl with quick, efficient motions. “This is for Ghost.”

That got Soap’s attention. He tilted his head, watching as Nik shaped dough into small, neat circles. “Ghost? What, you reckon he’s a pancakes man?”

Nik glanced over his shoulder, his expression calm but pointed. “Everyone has a favourite. Even him.”

Soap looked skeptical, but Price spoke before he could argue. “He’s right.”

The faintest hint of something softened in Price’s voice as he moved closer to Nik, his arms dropping to his sides. He lingered near the stove, close enough that his shoulder almost brushed against Nik’s. It was a subtle thing, easy to miss, but Soap caught it, maybe he can convince Ghost and Gaz to give the two some time alone, especially with the way Price’s gaze lingered on Nik’s hands, and the quiet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth—it wasn’t just appreciation for breakfast.

“You’re showing off now,” Soap muttered, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him.

Nik didn’t look up, but there was a faint air of satisfaction in the way he flipped the first pancake onto a waiting plate. “Maybe. But only because I can,” He said with a wink.

Price’s chuckle was low, almost private, as he leaned back against the counter. “You’d better hope he likes them.”

“He will,” Nik replied simply, sliding another pancake onto the stack. “Trust me.”

The quiet certainty in his voice was enough to quiet any lingering doubt. Soap fell silent, watching as Nik finished his task with the precision of someone who took pride in even the smallest things. The pancakes were golden and crisp at the edges, their tops glistening with a light drizzle of honey. The smell was warm, sweet, and utterly at odds with the cold storm outside.

Gaz stumbled into the room just as Nik finished the last pancake, his eyes half-closed and his hair sticking up at odd angles. “What’s going on?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

“Breakfast,” Soap said brightly, gesturing to the stove. “Nik’s decided to show us all up.”

Gaz sniffed the air, blinking as the scent registered. “Smells better than usual,” he admitted, dropping into a chair and rubbing his face. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Nik said, sliding the plate onto the table with a quiet sense of finality. “Just something decent to start the day.”

Before anyone could dig in, the door to the back room creaked open. All heads turned as Ghost stepped out, his movements deliberate and quiet. He lingered in the doorway, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the faint light spilling in from the room behind him. His gaze swept the room, sharp and assessing, before finally landing on the table.

Ghost’s boots barely made a sound against the wooden floor as he stepped into the room, but his presence immediately shifted the air. The faint warmth of banter dulled under the weight of his silence. He was still wrapped in his usual layers—balaclava pulled snugly over his face, hood drawn up against the cold that seemed to cling to him even indoors.

“Morning, mate,” Soap greeted, his tone carefully neutral, not quite as bright as it had been with the others. He waved a hand toward the table, where Nik was setting down a fresh plate of golden pancakes. “You’re just in time. Nik’s gone all domestic on us.”

Ghost’s gaze lingered on the plate for a moment, then flicked to Nik. His stance remained guarded, his hands tucked deep into his pockets. “What’s the occasion?” His voice was low, rough at the edges, as if dragged up from somewhere far deeper than his throat.

“No occasion,” Nik replied, his tone calm and measured. He didn’t press, didn’t look too closely, just gestured toward the table. “Thought you could use something warm.”

There was no hesitation in Nik’s movements as he stepped closer, holding out a plate of pancakes with quiet confidence. The smell of honey and cinnamon filled the space between them, soft and inviting.

Ghost hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing the gesture. He glanced at Price, who stood nearby with an expression that gave nothing away, his arms loosely crossed as he leaned against the counter. When no one said anything else, Ghost stepped forward and took the plate. His movements were careful, deliberate, as though he wasn’t sure if the food might vanish the second he touched it.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he muttered, his voice just barely above a whisper.

Nik shook his head, his tone matter-of-fact. “No, but I wanted to.”

The room was quiet, the storm outside muffled by the thick walls of the safe house. Soap and Gaz exchanged a glance, but for once, neither of them spoke. It was rare for Ghost to linger this long in the shared space, let alone accept something so openly.

Ghost didn’t retreat to his usual corner. Instead, he moved to the far end of the table and sat down, his posture stiff as he set the plate in front of him. He stared at the food for a long moment, his gloved hands resting on either side of the plate as if bracing himself.

Soap broke the silence first, his tone a little too loud, a little too eager. “Don’t let it get cold, mate. Nik put his soul into those.”

Nik snorted softly, shaking his head. “Ignore him. Just eat.”

Ghost lifted a fork, his movements slow and methodical as he cut into the first pancake. The fork hovered for a moment before he took a bite. The crisp edges gave way to a softness that melted on his tongue, the sweetness of the honey grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. It was warm, nostalgic, and uncomfortably familiar.

He didn’t say anything at first, his gaze fixed on the plate as he worked through the first pancake. It wasn’t until he’d cleared nearly half the stack that he set the fork down, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Thanks,” he said, quieter this time, though the sincerity in his voice was unmistakable.

Nik gave a small nod from his place by the stove, not making a show of it. “Anytime.”

Soap’s grin softened as he leaned against the table, his arms crossed. “See? Told you it was a masterpiece.”

“That’s because you had nothing to do with it, Johnny, I’m sure of it,” Ghost replied, the faintest hint of dry humour slipping into his tone.

The team laughed, a quiet ripple of sound that broke the tension. For a moment, the storm outside faded to nothing more than a faint hum, the warmth of the stove and the quiet camaraderie filling the room instead.

Ghost didn’t linger long after finishing his plate, but when he rose and carried the empty dish back to the counter, he gave Nik a small nod—a gesture that spoke volumes for someone like him. Nik returned it with the same quiet understanding, a moment shared without words.

The warmth of the room lingered even as the storm outside raged on, but the chatter around the table had softened into something quieter. Soap and Gaz had started a half-hearted game of cards, their voices low and easy, though they occasionally glanced toward the window where Ghost had settled again, his posture closed off.

Nik leaned against the counter, a cup of tea cradled in his hands. His gaze flicked between Price and Ghost, his expression thoughtful but unreadable. The two of them exchanged a brief glance—a silent conversation that spoke of understanding without a single word.

Price set his empty mug down on the table, the sound barely louder than the soft crackle of the stove. He straightened, adjusting his jacket as he crossed the room to where Ghost stood by the frost-covered window. The faint glow of the storm outside reflected against the glass, casting pale light across the Lieutenant’s masked face.

“Simon,” Price said softly, his tone low enough not to carry beyond the two of them. “Come with me.”

Ghost turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Why?”

Price didn’t answer immediately, his gaze steady but heavy with meaning. “It’s important,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm.

There was a beat of hesitation. Ghost’s posture stiffened, his fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeves. He glanced toward the others, where Soap was muttering about a bad hand and Gaz was laughing under his breath. Neither of them paid much attention to the quiet exchange happening by the window.

Finally, Ghost exhaled through his nose, the sound sharp in the stillness. “Fine.”

He followed Price out of the main room, their boots thudding softly against the wooden floor. The temperature dropped noticeably as they stepped into the adjoining space, the chill seeping through the poorly insulated walls. It was smaller here, quieter, with only the faint sound of the storm and the creak of the house settling around them.

Price moved to the table in the centre of the room, where a single candle sat waiting. Its wick was unlit, the wax slightly worn and uneven. He stood beside it, his hands resting on the back of a chair as he looked at Ghost.

Ghost stopped just inside the doorway, his shoulders drawn up and his stance uneasy. “What’s this?”

Price gestured toward the candle. “Thought we could take a moment,” he said, his voice steady but soft. “For them.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken until now. Ghost’s chest tightened, the weight of the day pressing down harder than ever. He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, until he stood on the opposite side of the table.

“For them,” Ghost repeated, his voice low, almost hollow. He stared at the candle, his hands twitching at his sides as though unsure of what to do with them. “It’s not... it’s not the same.”

“No,” Price agreed. “It’s not. But it’s something.”

The room felt colder, the silence pressing in from all sides. Ghost stared at the unlit candle, the faint tremble in his hands betraying the calm he tried to project. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, but the words wouldn’t come.

Price moved slowly, striking a match and lighting the candle with careful precision. The small flame flickered weakly, casting long shadows on the walls around them. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said quietly. “Just... be here.”

Ghost’s breath hitched, his gaze locked on the flame. It wasn’t the same—could never be the same as visiting the graves. But the thought that Price had done this, had set this up for him without being asked, cut through the tight coil of grief in his chest.

“I should’ve been there,” Ghost muttered, his voice breaking on the last word. “I should’ve done more.”

Price didn’t move closer, didn’t try to comfort him with hollow words. “You did what you could,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “And you’re still here. That counts for something.”

Ghost’s hands tightened into fists, the leather of his gloves creaking softly. The grief was sharp, an ache he hadn’t allowed himself to feel fully in years. He bowed his head, the shadows of the flickering candlelight dancing across his balaclava.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and unyielding, broken only by the faint hiss of the storm outside. Ghost’s breathing quickened, shallow and uneven as he kept his gaze fixed on the candle. The small flame flickered, fragile but persistent, a stark contrast to the weight pressing down on him.

“I miss them,” Ghost whispered finally, the words barely audible. His voice cracked, rough with emotion he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. “Every fucking day.”

Price didn’t speak, didn’t move. He let the words hang in the air, giving Ghost the space to let it out. He knew better than to rush him, knew that the silence was sometimes the only thing that could carry what words couldn’t.

Ghost’s hands gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white beneath the leather of his gloves. “I should’ve been there,” he said again, his voice breaking. “Should’ve done something. I could’ve stopped it—”

“Stop,” Price cut in gently, his voice firm but low. “You can’t do this to yourself.”

Ghost shook his head, his shoulders trembling under the weight of it all. “It’s all I fucking do. Every year, every day—it doesn’t go away.”

“And it won’t,” Price said softly. He stepped closer, his presence steady and grounding. “But carrying it alone isn’t the answer. You’ve got people now, Simon. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Ghost’s breath hitched, the tremor in his hands spreading until his whole body felt unsteady. The mask felt suffocating, the thin fabric pressing too tightly against his skin. He reached up without thinking, his fingers tugging at the edges of it.

The balaclava came off in one sharp motion, his hands trembling as he dropped it onto the table. His face was shadowed in the flickering candlelight, the faint scars and the raw edges of his grief laid bare. He didn’t look at Price, his gaze fixed firmly on the flame, as though it was the only thing tethering him to the room.

“I don’t know how to stop,” Ghost admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know how to... let it go.”

Price reached out, his hand resting gently on Ghost’s shoulder. The touch was light, unobtrusive, but solid enough to anchor him. “You don’t have to let it go,” he said quietly. “You just have to let yourself feel it. You owe yourself that much.”

Ghost’s head dipped lower, his chin nearly brushing his chest as the tears finally came. They were silent but relentless, streaking down his face in hot, bitter trails. His hands gripped the edge of the table so tightly it hurt, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go.

Price didn’t hesitate. He stepped closer, wrapping an arm around Ghost’s shoulders and pulling him into a firm, steady embrace. Ghost stiffened at first, his instinct to pull away kicking in, but the warmth of Price’s presence was impossible to resist. Slowly, tentatively, he let himself sink into it, his head dropping against Price’s shoulder as the tears kept coming.

“I should’ve done more,” Ghost choked out again, his voice muffled against Price’s jacket. “I should’ve—”

“You did enough,” Price said firmly, his hand resting on the back of Ghost’s neck. “You’ve done more than anyone ever could. And they’d be proud of you, Simon. I know they would.”

Ghost’s grip on Price’s jacket tightened, his breathing uneven as he tried to pull himself back together. The weight of years of guilt and grief bore down on him, but for the first time, it felt like he wasn’t carrying it alone.

They stayed like that for a long moment, the faint crackle of the candle the only sound in the room. When Ghost finally pulled back, his face was raw with emotion, his cheeks still damp with tears. He didn’t look at Price, swiping a gloved hand roughly across his face.

“Thank you,” he muttered, his voice hoarse but sincere.

Price gave him a small nod, his expression soft. “Always.”

Ghost’s gaze drifted back to the candle, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. He reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing against the edge of the table before coming to rest near the flame. The warmth of it seeped into his palm, grounding him in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

“They’d have liked this,” Ghost said quietly, his voice steadying slightly.

“They’d be glad you’re still here too,” Price replied, his tone low but certain. “That’s what matters.”

Ghost’s throat worked as he swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the flickering light. For a moment, the weight on his shoulders seemed to ease, just enough for him to breathe.

The candle flickered faintly as Ghost leant forward and gently blew on it, letting the smoke curl up into the air. Ghost turned to Price and they stepped back into the main room, their footsteps barely audible over the low hum of voices. The warmth from the stove was a sharp contrast to the cold, still air they’d left behind, and the faint scent of cinnamon and honey lingered like a comforting embrace.

Soap glanced up first, his eyes flicking between Ghost and Price before his grin widened. “There you are. Thought you’d gone and disappeared into the storm.”

Price gave him a look, one brow raised in mild exasperation. “Something like that,” he said, his tone carrying a subtle edge that warned Soap not to push. Soap raised his hands in mock surrender, though his grin didn’t falter. 

Ghost stayed quiet, his mask tucked loosely into one gloved hand as he lingered near the edge of the room. His face was still flushed, the faint lines of emotion lingering around his eyes. He glanced at Soap briefly before his gaze dropped, his shoulders stiff as though he was bracing for a question that never came.

Gaz looked up from the table where he was reshuffling a deck of cards, his movements slowing as he took in Ghost’s expression. “Everything alright, LT?”

Ghost nodded once, his shoulders loosening. “Fine.”

The room fell into a comfortable, subdued silence. Soap and Gaz exchanged a glance but didn’t press further, the unspoken agreement between them clear. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t their place to pry.

Nik approached Ghost quietly, his steps measured as he offered a cup of tea. “For you,” he said simply, his voice low enough not to draw attention. His gaze was steady, thoughtful, and without judgment.

Ghost hesitated for a moment before taking the cup, the warmth of the porcelain seeping into his gloves. “Thanks,” he muttered, his voice rough but genuine.

Nik nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Anytime.” He said, echoing his words from earlier.

The brief exchange passed unnoticed by the others, but it left something unspoken between them—a quiet understanding, a thread of trust that hadn’t been there before.

The stove’s warmth and the low hum of banter had settled into the room by the time Ghost returned to his seat. He lingered near the edge of the table, the steaming cup of tea from Nik cradled between his gloved hands. The faint aroma of honey and black tea curled into the air, grounding him as the others moved around the room.

“Alright, lads!” Soap clapped his hands together, the sound sharp and cheerful enough to draw everyone’s attention. “Gather ’round the tree. Time to see who’s been nice and who’s been naughty this year.”

Ghost’s head tilted slightly, his brow furrowing as he followed Soap’s gaze. Near the corner of the room, a small, potted plant sat perched on an upturned crate, its thin branches barely supporting the scraps of tinsel and paper stars draped across them. A strand of fairy lights blinked faintly, the bulbs unevenly spaced but glowing warmly despite the storm outside.

“That’s what you’re calling a tree?” Ghost muttered, though his voice lacked any real bite.

“Best we could do on short notice,” Gaz said with a shrug, already crouching near the crate. He gestured toward the mismatched pile of wrapped parcels tucked beneath the plant. “And it’s got presents, so it counts.”

Soap knelt beside him, his grin wide as he began sifting through the packages. “Right, let’s get started. Cap, this one’s yours.”

He passed a carefully wrapped parcel to Price, who opened it with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. Inside was a leather-bound journal, its cover embossed with faint, intricate designs. Price ran his fingers over the edges, his lips twitching into a rare smile.

“Good work,” Price said, nodding toward Gaz and Soap. “Might actually use this.”

“You’d better,” Soap said with mock sternness. “Took us bloody ages to find something you’d like.”

The exchange continued, each gift drawing laughter and soft words of appreciation. Soap’s exuberance filled the room as he opened his own parcel—a set of sketching pencils with a small, leather pouch—and immediately declared it “the best present ever.” Gaz unwrapped a finely stitched pair of gloves, his grin softening as he flexed his fingers in the sturdy material.

Ghost stayed quiet, his tea growing cold in his hands as he watched the others. The way they passed gifts back and forth, the easy warmth of their banter—it felt distant, like watching something through frosted glass. He hadn’t expected anything, hadn’t thought it was possible to be included in something like this. But when Soap reached for a package wrapped in paper adorned with tiny skulls and held it up, he froze.

“And this one,” Soap announced, his grin bright, “is for Ghost.”

All eyes turned to him. For a moment, Ghost didn’t move, his gaze fixed on the parcel in Soap’s hands. It was small but neatly wrapped, the paper clearly hand-decorated with painstaking care. Tiny skulls and symbols had been sketched along the edges in careful detail, some slightly smudged but all unmistakably Soap’s handiwork.

“Come on, mate,” Gaz said, his tone softer now. “It’s not going to bite.”

Ghost stood slowly, his movements deliberate as he approached the makeshift tree. He reached out, his gloved fingers brushing over the edges of the paper as he took the parcel. For a moment, he just held it, his chest tight with something he couldn’t quite name.

“You gonna open it, or just stare at it?” Soap teased, though there was no edge to his voice.

Ghost sat back at the table, carefully untying the string that held the wrapping together. He worked with precise, deliberate motions, taking care not to tear the paper. When he finally peeled it back, his breath caught.

The wooden frame was smooth and solid, its edges carved with tiny symbols. A skull in one corner, a soap bar in another, a boonie hat, a cap, and what looked like a helicopter etched along the surface of the wood—the work was rough but meticulous, each detail imbued with care. Inside the frame was a sketch of the team, their expressions captured with remarkable accuracy. Soap’s grin, Gaz’s smirk, Price’s calm, steady presence, and Nik’s quiet confidence—all of it centred around Ghost himself, his mask drawn with sharp, careful lines.

Ghost stared at it, his thumb brushing over the carvings. “You made this?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Gaz did the frame,” Soap said, his grin softening. “I did the drawing. Thought you might like something to remind you of us. Y’know, in case you ever decide to ditch us for some better company.”

The faintest huff of amusement slipped from Ghost, though he didn’t look up. His fingers traced the edges of the frame again, the weight of it grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Thank you,” he said finally, the word rough but sincere.

Soap and Gaz exchanged a glance, their grins widening, but they didn’t push him for more. Instead, they moved on, pulling another parcel from beneath the tree.

Ghost sat back, his grip on the frame tightening slightly as he watched them. It took him a moment to realise the room had quieted again, all eyes turning toward him as Price tilted his head slightly.

“Something you want to add, Simon?” Price asked, his voice light but knowing.

Ghost stiffened, his hand tightening on the edge of the table. Slowly, reluctantly, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small bag, the fabric worn but clean. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice low. “Figured I owed you lot something.”

Ghost placed the bag on the table, his movements deliberate but hesitant. His shoulders stiffened under the weight of the team’s attention, but he didn’t look up. Instead, he focused on the bag, untying the knot with careful fingers before reaching inside.

“I, uh...” Ghost cleared his throat, his voice low and slightly hoarse. “Didn’t think I’d be... here for this. But I had these ready. Was gonna mail them to you.”

He pulled out the first item—a carefully folded piece of fabric—and handed it to Soap. Soap unfolded it quickly, his eyes widening as the dark material revealed itself to be a patch, custom-embroidered with a small, detailed skull set against crossed paintbrushes.

“Bloody hell, mate,” Soap said, turning the patch over in his hands. “This is brilliant. You had this made?”

Ghost nodded, his gaze still fixed on the table. “Figured it’d suit you. Something for your kit.”

Soap’s grin softened, his fingers tracing the stitching. “You’re a bloody genius, Ghost. Cheers.”

Next, Ghost reached into the bag again, pulling out a small leather-bound notebook and setting it in front of Gaz. The cover was simple, but the first page had been carefully filled with neat handwriting: To keep track of all the things you’re too stubborn to write down.

Gaz let out a low whistle, his fingers brushing over the cover. “Didn’t think you paid that much attention, Lt” he said, though his grin was warm. “This is great. Thanks.”

Ghost didn’t respond, just gave a faint shrug as he pulled out the next item. It was smaller, more personal—a slim case for cigars, its surface dark and polished. He handed it to Price without a word, his gaze flicking up briefly to catch the captain’s reaction.

Price’s lips twitched into a faint smile as he turned the case over in his hands. The leather was smooth, the edges stitched with precision, and the faint engraving of a compass rose on the lid gave it a touch of elegance. As he turned it slightly, another engraving caught his eye, etched just beneath the compass:

For always leading me home.

Price stilled, his thumb brushing over the words. The quiet weight of the sentiment settled deep in his chest, something unspoken passing across his face. He let out a slow breath, his fingers tightening slightly around the case.

“Simon,” he said softly, his voice steady but low enough to hold meaning. His lips curved into the faintest smile, the kind Ghost had seen only a handful of times. “I’ll take good care of it. Thank you.”

Ghost didn’t look up, his attention fixed on the edge of the table. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed how much the gesture meant to him.

Price said nothing more, slipping the case carefully into his pocket as though it were something fragile. The faint twitch of his lips lingered, but his gaze didn’t waver from Ghost for a moment longer, the weight of their shared trust unspoken but understood.

Ghost’s hand lingered on the bag for a moment before he pulled out the final item. It was small and roughly made—a wooden carving of a wrench intertwined with a rotor blade. He hesitated before holding it out to Nik, his grip tightening slightly as though he might change his mind.

“This one’s... last minute,” Ghost muttered, his voice almost too low to hear. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

Nik took the carving carefully, his fingers brushing over the uneven surface. The details were rough, but the effort was undeniable—a simple, thoughtful gesture that clearly meant more than Ghost was willing to admit.

Nik smiled, his expression softening as he turned the carving over in his hands. “You made this? For me?” he asked, his tone full of quiet admiration.

Ghost nodded once, his shoulders stiff. “Yeah. It’s nothing fancy, sorry it’s a little rus-”

“It is perfect,” he said simply, cutting Ghost off, his voice carrying a sincerity that left no room for doubt.

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of the gesture settling over them all. Ghost sat back slightly, his hands resting on the edge of the table as he avoided their gazes. The faint flush of embarrassment was barely visible under the faint shadows of the room, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

Soap was the first to break the silence, his grin wide and teasing but filled with warmth. “Right, well, now you’ve made the rest of us look bad.”

The room filled with quiet laughter, the tension easing as the team shifted back into their easy rhythm. Ghost stayed quiet, his gaze dropping to his hands, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Nik leaned closer, his voice pitched low enough that only Ghost could hear. “You have a good heart, kostochka.”

Ghost froze, the nickname pulling him back to a memory he hadn’t thought about in years. The last time Nik had called him that, he’d bristled at the word, sharp and defensive. He’d thought it was infantilising, a jab at something he couldn’t quite name. He’d snapped at Nik, told him to knock it off, and the name had disappeared after that.

But now... now it felt different. The way Nik said it didn’t sound mocking or patronising anymore—it was warm, soft in a way that caught Ghost off guard. It settled in his chest, strange and unexpectedly comforting.

“You haven’t called me that in a long time,” Ghost muttered, his voice quieter than he’d intended.

Nik smiled faintly, his gaze steady. “Thought you might be ready to hear it again.”

Ghost huffed, the sound low and almost bashful. He glanced away, a faint heat creeping up the back of his neck. “Still sounds ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Nik said, his voice laced with quiet amusement. “But it suits you.”

Ghost didn’t reply, his fingers brushing over the edge of the frame in his lap. The nickname lingered, filling a space in his chest he hadn’t realised was empty.

The storm outside had softened into a low, steady murmur, the howling winds reduced to whispers that brushed against the frost-covered windows. Inside, the safe house felt warmer than it had all day, the stove’s soft glow casting flickering shadows across the room.

Soap and Gaz had moved to the floor near the table, a deck of cards spread between them as they traded quiet jabs over their game. Their laughter was light, unguarded, the kind that filled the space without demanding anything in return. Price leaned back in his chair, his cigar case resting on the table in front of him, his gaze distant but content.

Ghost sat between Price and Nik, the frame he’d been given still resting in his lap. His gloved fingers traced the edge of the wood, running over the tiny carvings with slow, deliberate movements. Every so often, his gaze dropped to the sketch inside, his eyes lingering on the details—the lines that made up Soap’s grin, the precise angles of Gaz’s cap, the calm strength in Price’s expression, and the confident hand Nik had around Price’s waist.

The weight that usually pressed on his chest felt lighter here, surrounded by the quiet hum of his team. For years, Ghost had thought of himself as a shadow, something separate and apart from the people he worked with. But now, sitting here with them, the thought felt... wrong. The frame in his hands, the tea still warm in his chest, the lingering warmth of Nik’s quiet words—they all reminded him of something he hadn’t dared to acknowledge in years.

Family.

He didn’t say it out loud. Couldn’t. But the thought lingered, settling in his chest like an ember that refused to go out.

“You alright there, LT?” Soap’s voice cut through the quiet, his tone light but full of genuine curiosity.

Ghost glanced up, his fingers stilling on the edge of the frame. “Yeah,” he said softly, his voice quieter than usual. “Just... thinking.”

Soap didn’t press, though his grin softened into something almost knowing. “Good. Don’t think too hard, though. We need you sharp, this one cheats.”

Ghost huffed a quiet laugh, the sound barely audible but enough to draw Gaz’s attention. The sergeant glanced over, his smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“You’ll have to fend for yourself I’m afraid,” Ghost muttered, though the faint warmth in his voice gave him away.

Nik shifted beside him, drawing his attention and pulling out a small tin from the bag he’d kept near the bunks. “Ah. Almost forgot,” he murmured, holding it out to Ghost. “For you.”

Ghost frowned slightly but took the tin, his fingers curling around the cool metal. He popped the lid open, and the faint scent of honey and butter hit him immediately. His breath caught.

Inside were biscuits, their edges golden and crisp, just like the ones his mum used to make every Christmas. The memory hit him like a wave—his mum humming softly as she shaped the dough, the faint warmth of the oven filling their tiny kitchen, the laughter of his nephew somewhere in the background. It was a memory Ghost hadn’t allowed himself to visit in years, and now it sat in his hands, tangible and real.

“How did you...” Ghost began, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, his grip tightening on the tin. “How’d you know?”

Nik shrugged, his expression soft. “You mentioned them once. I thought they might mean something.”

Ghost swallowed hard, his throat tight as he stared at the biscuits. He didn’t know what to say, the words sticking somewhere deep in his chest. Instead, he looked up, his gaze meeting Nik’s for a long, quiet moment.

“Thank you,” Ghost said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t enough—not nearly—but it was all he could manage.

Nik nodded, his smile warm but understated. “Anytime,” he said, the familiar word carrying the quiet certainty that it always did. Ghost had heard it before, countless times, but something about the way Nik said it—steady, unchanging—made the weight in his chest ease just a little more.

For a moment, Ghost hesitated, his hands tightening around the tin. Then, slowly, almost awkwardly, he leaned slightly against Nik, his shoulder brushing against the other man’s. The touch was hesitant, the weight of it fleeting, but he didn’t move away.

Nik didn’t react immediately, letting the moment stretch in quiet understanding. Then, with the same quiet grace, he leaned back into Ghost just enough to make the gesture feel intentional—balanced.

They sat like that for a while, the warmth between them quiet but steady, the biscuits still cradled carefully in Ghost’s lap.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the soft hum of the stove and the faint laughter of Soap and Gaz filling the air. Ghost shifted in his chair, placing the tin of biscuits to rest on the table in front of him but keeping the frame cradled carefully in his lap. The carved wood was smooth under his gloves, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

He glanced to his right, where Price sat close, solid and steady as always. On his other side, Nik leaned slightly back, his posture easy but his presence just as calm, just as constant. The space between them felt warm and safe, like a barrier against the cold chaos that so often consumed his world.

Ghost took a slow breath, letting it settle in his chest before he moved. Carefully, he leaned toward Price, his shoulder pressing against the captain’s arm. But instead of stopping there, he shifted further, resting his head lightly against Price’s chest. His forehead brushed against the rough fabric of Price’s jacket, the contact steady and intentional. The motion wasn’t hesitant—it was a quiet, deliberate moment of trust, rare but unflinching.

Price’s arm moved instinctively, wrapping loosely around Ghost’s back. His hand rested lightly against Ghost’s shoulder, the weight of it both protective and grounding. His head tilted slightly, chin just brushing Ghost’s hair.

“Get some rest, Simon,” Price murmured, his voice low and steady. “We’ve got you.”

Ghost exhaled softly, the tension in his frame melting as he let himself relax fully against Price. His eyes drifted closed, the quiet weight of safety settling over him like a blanket. On his other side, Nik’s hand brushed briefly against Ghost’s forearm—a fleeting but deliberate gesture of reassurance. Between the two of them, Ghost felt completely shielded, an unfamiliar but welcome feeling.

The storm outside raged on, relentless and cold, but inside, there was peace. For the first time in years, Simon Riley let himself sink into it. Surrounded by the quiet strength of his team and the warmth of an unexpected family, he drifted into sleep—deep, steady, and untroubled in a way he hadn’t known in far too long.

[cheekinpermission]

Something about the way you draw Fellow makes him look like hes going to fall on his face in a way I cant explain /pos

Idk about fall but definitely pushed-

[fried-manto]

🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉

[good-beanswrites]

There haven't been any Milgram headcanon requests so far, right? How about 🧸 and 💔 for Mikoto?

Mikoto time!! Thank you for the request -- I know it's risky posting headcanons so close to Double, but I'll come back and ammend anything that might be proven wrong on Wednesday 😂

🧸 A headcanon about their childhood: Through his early schooling years, Mikoto was present for a lot of extracurricular activities. He didn't always care/give his all, he just enjoyed hanging out with others and fooling around. The reason he can be such good friends with everyone is because he's picked up on tons of little things over the years by dabbling in all those arts, fields of study, sports, etc. Once he finds out your hobby, he can immediately retrieve some bit of knowledge/memory to get a conversation going, or even join in the activity. Mahiru is pleasantly surprised by his classic literature references, gardening club gets him on Shidou's good side, Muu likes talking to him about fashion tips, he can play sports with Fuuta, he tries to bond over band memories with Amane, and so on. When he was a kid he was just trying things out for fun, but as an adult he's grateful he picked up on so much.

💔 An angsty headcanon: He's accustomed to, and expects, bad separations. So many friendships and relationships ended on a very sour note, so now he's used to pulling away first. (There was no aggression or violence, but) the appearance of different alters followed by the host's insistent denials would make others think poorly of him. The more he claims ignorance, the more it seems like he's just gaslighting/manipulating, so there have been a few explosive separations in which he had no idea what went wrong. Because of that, it's been harder to get close to anyone, and he will start pulling away the minute things show signs of trouble. It's why he left the smoking group so quickly, and doesn't hang out with the other prisoners as often in T2. Instead of waiting for an inevitable fight, he ends things immediately and peacefully.

[lordshroom]

For the ask game!:

3 - 12 - 14 - 16

3. Which is your favorite turtle from any version?

12. Who is your favorite minor or recurring character?

14. Who are your favorite duo (non-shipping)?

(honestly, in any version these two interacting is *chefs kiss*)

16. What was the first TMNT show/movie you ever watched?

[kitsuneisi]

Hii, idk what to say other than i love your art and im planing to do a hotguy cosplay based on the Ddvau design of him, for the propt aka his bow and arrows i cant really find a clear enough image, i didnt really want to bother you about it but i was wondering if u had a clear image or design for it, so i may figure out what it fully looks like.

I love this au its amazing, ur art style is so beautiful and pleasing to the eye.

Sorry if i went on rambling but yeah. Please and thank you if u have a clear image for the bow and arrows.

there's no problem! here is the reference for the bow! as for the arrows honestly have fun with them, i don't really have a super clear design for them yet

[multi-fandomsfreak]

Hiya, i saw ur requests are open and that you write for sonic series, so i was wondering if you could write sonic boom!shadow x fem!hedgehog reader? You can make up the story, and what happens! But i have to ask if it can be fluff. I read a little to much angst today cant handle more😭

I looove shadow sm, all and any shadow😆

Thanks! Drink,eat , sleep, shower

-Monty 🦔

Boom!Shadow Fluff HC’s With Fem!Hedgehog Reader

Hey there! Thanks for the ask!

I don’t know why but as soon as I saw this request was to have Shadow be in a hugging session with reader. Don’t know why but that was the first thought I had when I saw that you wanted fluff (by the way I kind of wrote this to at least be platonic but some views can be considered romantic in a way. You can view it as whatever). Plus that boy does deserve a hug, regardless of which Shadow it is. Also sorry if this is a bit shorter than my regular ones. Anyways, hope you like this. ~Blaze/Dawn

Pronouns: She/Her (Or At Least Fem Intended Since I Only Used She/Her Once)

Warning: ❌

Requested: Yes/No

Characters: Shadow + Mentions Of The Other Sonic Crew

Proofread: ❌

Credits: Icon by punkmp4 on Pinterest + Banner by emiljjj (Edited By Me) on Pinterest

———————————

- ‘God today has been overwhelming’ Shadow thought to himself, his face clearly showing annoyance. Honestly he wasn't sure how long he could deal with another presence. The only thing that was currently on his mind and the only reason he even bothered to put up with the others was seeing you. A while ago he found himself becoming fond of you in his own brooding way. Normally he wouldn’t consider himself getting close with anyone especially since he’s known for being a loner but as he manages to spot you more often due to you often hanging out with that stupid hedgehog sonic and his friends he couldn’t help but get drawn towards you. It’s like you had some sort of aura about you that made him drawn to you. So he decided to hang out with you much to your surprise at him wanting to be around you but you weren’t going to complain.

- You’re the only person he actually tolerates out of everyone he knows. To him Sonic is too annoying, Tails is alright in a way but still isn’t too fond of him, Knuckles isn’t that smart, Amy is also alright he just doesn’t hang out with her too much so he doesn’t have that much of a bond with her and he just finds Sticks batshit crazy. So with you it’s like he’s getting some fresh air after being stuck in a room for hours. He actually enjoys being around you, you won’t get him to outright admit it but in a way you can tell he does because he treats you way differently compared to the others which doesn’t go unnoticed by them.

- Some of them actually find it cute (Mostly Amy) and some of them like to tease Shadow about (Most probably either Sonic or Knuckles) but you don’t mind it. You actually find it cute in a way as well. Managing to break his standoffish persona. Undeniably he kind of has a soft spot for. Often he finds himself getting defensive when someone like Sonic teases him for his said soft spot. Like Sonic could be saying stuff like “You really like her don’t you Shadow” which causes Shadow to tell him to shut up.

- Everytime he has a shit day or just wants to decompress he finds himself thinking of you. He could just be in a grumpy mood then he just sighs to himself and thinks to himself ���I’m going to see [Name]’. It’s like his brain just automatically thinks of going to you as soon as he experiences a single bad emotion. He knows that you won’t judge which admittedly makes him happy inside. Honestly after having others getting on his nerves he rather have someone who knows how to calm him down. Honestly, this dude has so much built in anger it’s unbelievable.

- Eventually, after enough walking he managed to arrive at your place and immediately felt some sort of weight being lifted off of his shoulders. He knocked on the door crossing his arms waiting for you to open the door. He then saw the door crack open and saw the familiar hedgehog he actually likes. “Oh hey Shadow!” You said, happy to see your buddy again “what are you doing here?” You asked before he answered “apologies for interrupting you but is it alright if I stay here for a bit?” He asked to which you happily let him in.

- As soon as you sat down you found him following you before plopping himself head down into your lap “had another one of those days huh?” You asked slightly chuckling before placing a hand on his head “you have no idea. I swear that damn hedgehog is out to purposely ruin my day.” He grumbled as he felt himself softening while having your hands running through his quills “oh come on he’s not that bad you know?” You could hear Shadow slightly snorting to himself before replying “you hang out with him, your used to his idiocy” you chuckled at his answer before continuing to play with his quills, occasionally seeing him nuzzle his head in your lap even letting out some noises indicating that he was enjoying the attention he was getting from you “your weird you know that Shadow?” You joked with him “no I’m not” he retorted back even starting to hug you loosely around your waist “yeah whatever you say” you smiled to yourself hearing Shadow scoffing to himself as the two of you enjoy each other's company. “thanks for being there for me [Name]” he quietly said but you could hear him very well “no problem Shadow”.

———————————

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Johnny Lawrence’s daughter

Johnny Lawrence x daughter!reader

warnings: alcohol, underage drinking, classic johnny sexism <3

a/n: WHAT! ME write a fic thats not gn, i know. im shocked too but its just bc i feel johnny is so gender-stereotypey that doing this gn wouldn’t work very well but very open to a son!r or nb!r if anyone is interested (bc seriously. johnny cannot help but bring up genders). also i just want to say that a lot of this (not all!) honestly reminds me of or are actual things that have happened w my dad bc johnny is literally my dad if my dad was like 8 years older i think also i wrote this all in one sitting ALSO NO COBRA KAI SEASON 6 SPOILERS

prompt:

GIRL DAD!

you always kinda just gravitated toward living with your dad

“y/n, i’m so proud of you. i never have to worry about you. you can take care of yourself. robby on the other hand, i worry about him. i think girls are just more self sufficient” -johnny, a little drunk

“thanks dad” -you, also a little drunk (hes a “cool dad”)

he was the type of parent that “prefers that if you’re gonna do something stupid at least do it while he’s around” aka underage drinking

whenever he stays out late you fall asleep in his bed. and lock him out

“y/n! open the door!” -johnny, banging on the door

“no! your bed is more comfortable” -you

he thought it was sweet honestly but he did want to sleep in his bed

sort of like a lesson not to come home late all drunk and gross

he was VERY against letting you drive his car

“dad, i need my license!” -you

“no woman is getting behind the wheel of my firebird” -johnny

“why do you have to make it about women? i’ll fight you” -you

“you’ll lose that fight” -johnny

“oh, so you’d fight a teenage girl? wow, real classy, dad” -you

“no, but i’d fight my teenage daughter. i brought you into this world and i’ll take you out” -johnny

you honestly had a great sense of humor with johnny, but you’d check him if he said anything too messed up

“dad, it’s not the 80’s anymore, you can’t say that” -you

“dont tell me what i can and cant say! the 80’s were awesome, i wish it was the 80’s again” -johnny

“so i’ve heard” -you

he helped you with your homework as a kid until like, 2nd grade when multiplication and division got involved

he did teach you karate growing up! but mostly the basics, for self defense purposes

“hey, never let any guy try to impress you with his karate skills. he’s probably a douche” -johnny, pausing “i sure was”

late night movie marathons (70s/80s classics for sure)

he took care of you during your first hangover (high school parties, ya know)

“didn’t i teach you better than to mix liquors” -johnny

“ugghhhh” -you

yes, you have heard about daniel larusso. enough said LMAO

robby and you had a kind of sweet but distant relationship

occasional check-in texts

robby: are you doing okay with dad? he’s actually buying food and shit?

you: yeah! he’s fine right now, how’s mom? new stepdad yet? is he rich?

robby: mom’s not going anywhere she’d find a rich guy, but keep dreaming

you wear a lot of your dad’s old t-shirts. usually band tee’s

oh and he made sure you got into the “right music”

he used to drive you around in the firebird when you were a SMALL CHILD (front seat, no car seat!) and blast his old cassettes

for YEARS he’d pull the “who is this” “what song is this” game with the reasoning:

“if you wear a band shirt and some asshole asks you to name three songs, i want you to name ten” -johnny

listen. you were still “daddy’s girl” or whatever used to be a cute little saying and is now ruined but whatever

“dad, can i have twenty bucks?” -you

“for what” -johnny

“for fun. pleaseeee” -you

*johnny pulls out his wallet and gives you $40*

could he afford it? no. can he say no? also no.

the absolute fear he felt when you got your first period

“it’s fine, i can call mom” -you

“no, it’s not fine! i’ve had girlfriends before, i got this. stay here, i’ll be back” -johnny

he went to the store and bought the most random assortment of period products and pain meds and snacks and a heating pad

A for effort

when the diaz family moved in across from you guys, miguel took one look at you and johnny said:

“stay away from my daughter”

when the karate fuss got started you tried to keep your distance but sooner or later you joined the dojo and proved to your dad just how “badass” you could be

“take notes everyone, y/n’s gonna be the next all valley champ!” -johnny

taglist: @ravenmoore14 // @retvenkos // @sweetheartlizzie07 // @an4aaa // @summersimmerus // @xoxobabydolls // @sapphireplums // @petersgroupie // @ravenhood2792 // @evilcr0ne // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @elenavampire21 // @elemental-of-magic //

[hoshifighting]

hellooo I just want to say that I like your blog, I really like your writing style🫶🏻🫶🏻 AND

what do you think about Vernon finding the reader's twitter spam account? at first, without saying anything, he follows her from a fake account and learns her fetishes and things like that. then he can't hold back and teasing the reader because of this situation and does all the things she reposts, all she wants and imagines(I honestly can't decide whether they will be friends or lovers and I leave it to you)

thank you very much in advance🩷🩷🩷🩷

when vernon finds out about your freaky tweets

WARNINGS: smut, face slapping, BIG DICK!VERNON, cock riding, mentions of hair pulling, dirty talk, choking.

it starts innocently enough; you’ve got your little spam account, this place where you post anything that comes to mind without a second thought. it’s private, anonymous—you’re safe, or so you think. until one day, you start noticing a new follower, someone with zero posts and a random handle, lurking in the notifications. you brush it off, figuring it’s just some bot. but vernon… well, vernon's been piecing things together. and one night, after reading one of your latest posts—something so NASTY that practically burned his screen—he decides he can't just pretend he hasn’t seen it. so he waits until you’re in the living room next saturday, all comfortable, maybe a little too comfortable. you look up, seeing him standing there with that little frown he gets when he's too stressed to understand something, a raised eyebrow, and his phone in his hand.

“so… ‘i just want him to hold me down and—’” he reads aloud, and you feel everything in you freeze up as he raises an eyebrow at you. “‘then pull my hair back so i can see his face… maybe, idk, slap me around a little?’ really, y/n?”

you scramble, trying to play it cool “vernon—wait, why—where’d you see that?”

“oh, i dunno. i’ve been following this account for a while. figured i’d wait until you posted something really crazy before bringing it up.”

you stammer, face going hot. “i—you didn’t have to read it out loud like that, jesus.”

“oh, come on,” he says, leaning in, crowding your space just enough to make you feel cornered “you can post it, but i can’t say it?”

you swallow hard “i didn’t… i didn’t think you’d see it.”

“didn’t think i’d find out?” he echoes, voice dropping a little. “you know, all this time, i’ve been seeing these little things you like. i didn’t say anything because i thought you’d be embarrassed. but now…” he smirks, leaning back with a sigh, watching you. “now i think maybe i should give you some of what you’re so clearly craving.”

“vernon,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, but it’s hard when he’s looking at you like he’s imagining every filthy thing you’ve ever posted.

he smirks, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “oh, don’t go all shy on me now. i’ve read what you want. all of it. let’s start with the basics, huh?” his hand trails down, tipping your chin up, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “you wanna ride me? why didn’t you just say so?”

you feel your heart pounding as he pulls you closer, he's practically purring as he goes, “or that other thing you posted—what was it? something about choking you?” he wraps his hand lightly around your throat, thumb brushing over the sensitive skin as he watches your reaction. “like this?”

you almost cant nod, you're melting, your breath coming short as he tightens his grip just enough to make you feel it “so pretty when you’re horny,” he murmurs, fingers pressing just a little more.

and when you shake your head, he grins, pulling you onto his lap, guiding you to straddle him as his hands settle on your hips “guess i’ve gotta make up for all those little fantasies you’ve been hiding, huh?”

“you sure you can handle it?” he whispers, leaning in, lips brushing against your neck. “’cause i don’t think you really knew what you were asking for when you posted all that.”

but you nod, he tilts your head up, lips brushing over yours, and you feel his hand come up, palm grazing over your cheek before he slaps you—just a little, just enough to make you gasp. he chuckles when you moan, liquefying on his lap, fingers tilting your face back to him.

[...]

he’s already watching you with a azy smirk, eyes rolling sliighty as you sink down onto him, your thighs trembling as you struggle to take all of him in. and god, he’s big. you knew he would be—you’d guessed it a dozen times in all those reckless tweets, wondering just how good it’d feel, but feeling it now, it’s like all that teasing turned on you, stretching you almost too much, and every inch you take feels like a challenge.

“aww, look at you,” he coos, his hands resting on your hips, fingers rubbing little circles into your skin as you try to ease down, taking him deeper, even though it’s making your breath catch, making you whimper and shake. “what happened, baby? i thought you said you could handle it.”

you bite your lip, cheeks burning, and he chuckles, leaning in closer, voice low and teasing. “or maybe you just wanted me to be big so you could talk all that shit on your little account,” he murmurs, running his thumb over your lip. “all those tweets you made, talking about wanting me to be, what—eight, nine inches?” he grins, watching the way you flush, the way your hands grip his shoulders to steady yourself. “think you got what you wished for, hm?”

“shut up,” you manage to whisper, but it’s so breathless, your body clenching around him, and he laughs, hands guiding you down just a bit further, his hips lifting just a little to meet you, that makes you gasp, makes you try to pull back, but he keeps you there, fingers firm on your hips.

“no, no, let’s see you take it,” he whispers, voice rough with that soft teasing. “come on, baby. don’t tell me this is too much. you wanted all of it, right?”

you nod, trying to adjust, but it’s almost too much fr, too thick, too deep, and he watches you with those hooded eyes, savoring every single whimper you make. “it’s okay,” he says softly, almost soothing as he leans up to kiss you, but you can hear that cocky lilt in his tone. “you’re doing so good. even if you can’t take all of it… god, you’re trying, huh?”

and he’s right there, brushing his lips over your cheek, murmuring sweet, filthy encouragements into your ear as you sink down a little more, taking just a bit more of him, even though your body’s practically begging for a break. “that’s it… there you go. so good, baby. i’m impressed,” he purrs, hands trailing up your back. “i didn’t think you’d take even this much.”

every time you pause, every time your breath catches, he’s right there, fingers digging into your hips, guiding you, helping you ride him “guess you really wanted to know..” he murmurs, grinning as he watches you struggle, your head falling back as you finally take just a little more, his hands pulling you down hard against him until you can feel every inch of him.

“there it is… that’s my girl,” he whispers, in asatisfied rasp, his eyes dark as he watches you ride him, just as you’d dreamed about, exactly as you’d hoped—only now it’s even better.

[swordgrace]

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃.

KINKTOBER WEEK ONE — RISK OF GETTING CAUGHT.

⤿ pairings: (S1) jon snow x fem!reader

⤿ word count: 3.4K.

⤿ warnings: smut (mdni), public sex, risk of getting caught, experienced reader, sub!jon, reader is definitely more dominant, heavy kissing, teasing, mild praise kink, cunnilingus, oral sex (fem!rec), p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, descriptions of cum, soft ending

⤿ note: lowkey I churned this out pretty quick, this was so so fun to write! honestly this is also dedicated to @dipperscavern , a lot of their jon snow content fuels my inspo for him, so thank you!

“You’ve got to be mad.”

Jon Snow’s bewildered, sour Northern timbre rattled throughout the stables, twisted with palpable uncertainty as you led him back toward bales of hay. His stomach was coiled into knots — knots of excitement, but nerves seemed to prevail.

Ever the honorable one, he often cautioned you against these hasty, secret meetings you orchestrated. A sliver of him thoroughly enjoyed the exhilaration of it all, the thrill of being with you between corridors and in darkness.

Trysts like these were exceedingly dangerous — if any question came into being regarding your virtue or his honor, Eddard would have his head for it, and you would be scorned.

“Yet you willingly partake,” A quip as sharp as a longsword dug into his side, prompting him to huff in response. “If this is madness to you, Jon, you have not yet lived a life.”

“Here, of all places?” Jon countered, tone bordering along exasperation and subtle excitement. The stables weren’t exactly the most conventional place to couple, but your options were thin. He feared someone stumbling upon the both of you.

Glancing over your shoulder, you peered at your brooding paramour through a half-lidded gaze, head canting to one side. “Here, of all places.” You parroted, tone dripping with amusement.

Gods, you were such a temptress.

It was difficult to resist you, the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, the hem of your dress shamelessly steeped in several inches of mud. Even the Northern chill could not ice his bones in your presence, as warm as the sands of Dorne.

The both of you were caught within the throes of youthful affection and what he called it, love. It pained him all the more to consider the Night’s Watch when he had you at his side.

“You do not have to follow me, Jon,” You countered, one hand twined with his, steering the doe-eyed boy back into the stables, enough for partial concealment. This was as reckless as it seemed — but you cared little for it. “You can always turn around.”

A pleading groan rippled from his throat, yet Jon relented, chasing after you like a wolf nipping at your heels. “What happens if we’re discovered? Your brother would take my head for this.” He murmured.

The thought of Jory Cassel dismantling his head from his shoulders was a gruesome thought — but not before Eddard Stark got to him first. Jon shuddered, dark brows creased with permanent frustration.

“Gods, you worry like an old crone,” Your bubbling laughter made his chest stir with warmth, the sensation spreading toward his stomach. “Why, you don’t trust me?” You suggested.

With furrowed brows, Jon’s countenance told a different story, one of incessant fear and boyish nerves, ones that only flourished in your presence. He seemed to accept defeat. “I do trust you.” He insisted.

Inching closer, you pressed a palm against his chest, nail picking at the finely-crafted leather. “We don’t have long,” You murmured, tone betraying your playful facade. “I wish it weren’t always like this.”

Jon exhaled, a somewhat trembling noise that finally evened out as moments ticked by. He reached to cup your jaw, calloused thumb soothingly stroking at your cheek. “Someday, it won’t be. I promise.”

The constant sneaking around had become exhausting — Jon was shocked that no one had discovered you yet. Even then, as much as he fought against brash decisions like these, it was all you had, and he would seize the moment.

With a cheshire smile, you rocked up upon your toes to kiss Jon, reveling in the sensation of his weeks-old stubble scratching your skin. You enjoyed his rugged appearance more than that of a freshly-shaved boy.

Sometimes you forgot that he was nine-and-ten, more a man now than boy — but that was who you’d fallen in-love with, the boy. Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell.

He could’ve been anything and nothing, and your feelings wouldn’t have changed. A bastard or not, Jon meant more to you than most. He was kinder, not spoiled or surly, yet still protective when it mattered most.

Jon very nearly buckled beneath the saccharine warmth of your mouth, absorbing every scrap of heat from you. Gods, you were the first woman he’d ever touched, ever laid with — he hoped that you would be the very last.

Your experience before he truly became your lover never soured him to you — in fact, it made him jealous. If Jon had it his way, he would’ve been your first for everything, but there was no use in dwelling in the past.

Fortune favored him, knowing that he had you now. His hands, initially hesitant, finally made their perch against the swell of your hips. The lovely outline of your body molded itself to his palms as you kissed him, digits toying with his dark curls.

“You could change your mind,” Your softened voice drifted between the both of you. “About me.” It was a gentle sigh in between kisses, your countenance becoming a touch melancholy.

A look of complete and utter shock made residence upon Jon’s features, lips agape at such a statement. “I wouldn’t,” He insisted, hooking an arm around your hips. “You know that I wouldn’t.”

Jon knew your being like the scrawlings of a map — every fine line, every landscape, the valleys and dips of your heart. You knew him just as much, and you knew that he was certain about you. It gave you comfort, placating reassurance in the face of insecurities.

It brought you solace to know that Jon intended on being with you, even if your union was somewhat unconventional. It was a love whispered between corridors — stolen glances, a yearning that transcended duty, touching behind hay bales.

“Good,” Your assertion made his belly erupt with fire, stoked by your constant teasing and prodding. Jon savored it nonetheless, even if it did make his features burn with scarlet. “Are you blushing?”

Seven Hells — Jon nearly tossed you into the hay for your inquiry. He huffed, playfully pinching the pliant part of your haunch. “No,” He grumbled, silently commiserating over your observant nature. “But you don’t make it any better.”

With a laugh as bright as the first inkling of springtime, it prompted Jon to smile too, even if it was threadbare. A comfortable silence drifted between you both, simmering with a thinly-veiled tension, wreathed in desire.

Desire was a perilous thing, especially for Jon.

He was still somewhat clumsy during your lovemaking, inexperience glimmering through, but he was an adept learner. Jon thoroughly enjoyed learning your body as one would learn to wield a broadsword.

The ardor that glistened within your hues made his heart pound like a hammer against an anvil, steel to be molded by your capable hands. He was often the more subservient one in your union, not that he minded it.

Jon seemed content to become lost within your gaze, reduced to a mere pup. Swallowing the growing lump within his throat, he bent to kiss you, disarmingly gentle as he squeezed at your hips.

A beat fluttered between the both of you; love blossomed, yet lust flourished like a swiftly-spreading fire. Soft fingers found their purchase against the nape of his neck, preening through his dark curls.

Beams of a dying sun pooled in from the gaps in the wood, painting your features with burnished gold. It was nearly dusk, and the castle would be settling — Jon’s incessant worrying began to diminish altogether.

Lips tangled together, a sweet dance that stole every wisp of air from his lungs. Jon felt your palms glide downward, planting themselves against his chest as you wordlessly directed him to the firm bales of straw.

“Wait,” Jon rasped, voice hoarse with desperation. Before you could slip into his lap, you ceased, head cocking to one side. “I want to taste you first.” He wanted it more than anything else.

A coy smile caused your lips to quirk, and you sauntered backwards a step or two, back hitting the wall of the stables. Brazenly, you gathered the material of your dress in one hand, slipping it up along your legs.

Jon did not waste a second, moving off of the straw and onto his knees, crawling to you like a starving animal; a wolf on all fours. Those dark hues of his sparkled with affection, even as he parted your legs with his shoulders.

His tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, greedy laps causing you to shiver in delight. Nimble digits found their way to his crown of curls, coaxing him closer. “Jon.” You sighed his name as if it were a prayer.

It was ambrosial, your taste; a finest stout, the sweetest of nectars that stained his lips with your perfection. Jon sloppily lapped at your cunt, dutiful and attentive, ensuring to find every spot that made you gasp for air.

Nimble digits fisted into your tattered skirts, mouth agape as a myriad of throaty moans escaped you. Your hand roamed through his tresses, tugging and pulling whenever his tongue graced the pearl of your cunt.

Jon wasn’t tactful nor graceful, but passion and enthusiasm was all he really needed to please you. Each kiss he placed against your cunt drove you to madness, arching into the eager ministrations of his mouth.

If he were to perish, let it be between your thighs, exactly like this. An aching sensation throbbed along his length, straining against his leather trousers. He gripped your thigh, letting you rest one leg atop his shoulder.

The scratch of his stubble caused friction between his cheek and your thighs, yet it was a pleasant sting. You sang Jon’s praises, a myriad of hushed whines and wanton moans between the distant whistling of the Northern gales.

Warmth blossomed throughout your body, a familiar coil of heat unfurling within the pit of your stomach. A stab of pleasure struck at your nethers when Jon’s tongue briefly rolled over your clit, prompting you to tug on his curls.

A low groan rippled through his throat, reverberating as a grunt throughout his chest. He savored your taste, each twitch of your thigh, brusque tug of his tresses from your greedy hand.

Jon cared little for the mess, content to drink you in, rougher palm caressing against your thigh before trailing down to your calf. He squeezed again, to ensure that you were real and not some lascivious fantasy he’d dreamt of.

You were everything — flesh and blood, the lament that echoed his name, a lover so beautiful that he dared not look away. Jon did not consider himself a romantic, but he found himself putting in the effort with you.

He devoured you like a man starved, a hungry wolf, seeking its final meal. Jon continued to trace your cunt with his tongue, kissing you wherever he could. Your little tugs of his tresses often coaxed him further into your heat.

As his lips rolled over the pearl of your cunt again, your knees buckled, ecstasy mounting, electrifying your very veins. He did not cease, tongue stoking the fire, delighted to lap at your core until you forced him to stop.

Tugging at his tousled curls, you pried Jon away from you, flushed with a delicious shade of scarlet. Warmth permeated your skin, a heat that sank into your bones, kept you oblivious to the growing cold that came with dusk.

His chin glistened with your slick, pliant lips seeking your mouth. “You are so handsome.” You purred, watching Jon preen beneath the softness of your compliment. You thought him to be perfect in every way imaginable.

Rising to his feet, Jon did not resist when you began to push him back toward the bale of straw, palm planted against his chest as he sat. He was more than willing, peering up at you through thick lashes.

“You’re beautiful,” Jon reciprocated your kindly words, timbre steeped in an awestruck appreciation for you. His breath hitched within his throat when you slid into his lap, hitching your skirts up towards your hips. “Seven Hells.” He groaned.

Excitable hands grasped your hips once more, brazenly sinking towards your derrière as you kissed him. Jon’s sigh was audible as he returned such a heated kiss, brows creased in concentration.

There was a lack of uncertainty in his actions, and in the beginning, he was often unsteady and hesitant. Now, Jon touched you greedily, wanting more of you, savoring the sensation of your body pressed so closely to his.

Able to taste your own nectar upon his tongue, you allowed one hand to clasp at the nape of his neck, the other slyly working to slip beneath his tunic. Jon was growing in muscle, flesh as pale as a moonlit snowfall, broad-shouldered and comely.

Your dress would be riddled with pieces of hay in the aftermath, but it was all worth it. Your kisses were rather domineering, but disarmingly gentle. Perhaps your desire to take initiative always lingered in your entanglements, but your love for him never faded.

Jon let his kiss linger, lips pressing to your jaw, and then to your throat. A shiver iced your spine with anticipation, hand traveling from beneath his tunic toward the laces of his trousers.

It was then that you scanned his features for any hints of hesitation or uncertainty. “Do you want this, even still?” You uttered, lips tugging into a reassuring smile. He did not seem as nervous as before.

With a nod, he reached to cup your jaw, pressing a chaste kiss to your brow. “More than anything.” The rasp within his tender tone filled your stomach with an eruption of butterflies, gooseflesh tingling along your skin.

There was certainly no rush, but with daylight burning and Jon expected to be in his quarters soon, you began to act with haste.

Eager fingers unraveled the coase ties of his breeches, with Jon attempting to aid you wherever he could. With bated breath, you looked to him, brimming with a thinly-veiled adoration.

His hands held your hips, allowing you to maneuver yourself as you saw fit, freeing his cock from its confines. You hovered, soft palm guiding his length to your slick cunt. Jon inhaled — a sharp, poignant noise that signaled relief.

“Jon,” You moaned, grasping for his broad shoulders, still shrouded in leather. Gods, you wished you could see him bare, unobstructed — he was surely a ravishing sight. “Gods, I missed you.”

Jon groaned at the sweetness of your words, spoken through a wanton moan. He held you close, hands tracing the outline of your curvaceous physique through your gowns.

Twilight painted the skies above Winterfell, bringing with it the bitter bite of nightly chill and a canvas of stars above. Darkness settled in throughout the stables, save for the burning of dying braziers within the stables.

Even through such slim illumination, Jon could make out your countenance, a picture of beauty, contorted into a look of bliss. He was at your mercy, slumped back against some of the bales, letting you ride him as you would a broken gelding.

Intermingled noises of breathy moans and strenuous pants reverberated in the space around you, heat prevailing where the cold could not.

Jon shuddered at the feeling of your cunt, tight and warm around him, clenching around his cock with each roll of your hips. You took him perfectly, as if you were made for him, molded together.

It was a sluggish start, agonizingly so, bodies finding moments to adjust to one another, grow accustomed. You drew yourself up, his cock filling you in such a pleasant way, nothing discomforting about it.

The way in which you milked him, moved agonizingly slow, allowing him to feel your cunt tighten around him — it was nearly overwhelming.

The very image of grace, tarnished with lust; a maiden worth worshiping. Jon huffed, chest erupting with a string of pants and soft groans, lips agape as you adopted a steady rhythm.

His hands caressed circles into your hips, dark hues wide and mesmerized, doelike in their silent appraisal of you. Through the moonlit dusk of the stables, you met his gaze, blushing beneath the intensity of it.

A whimper of bliss bubbled from your lips as you became invigorated in your pace, rocking yourself up and down along his cock, aided by his grasp upon your hips.

The lewd, crass union of flesh against flesh joined the ambiance, yet all he could focus on was you, the lovestruck look within your eyes, exuberance glittering beneath. He kneaded along your thighs, squeezing when the pleasure mounted.

“Perfect,” A soft sputtering between exhilarated breaths, enough to ensnare Jon’s attention. “Gods, Jon, you’re perfect.” Such wanton praise nearly made him spill his seed into you then and there.

His hips stuttered, bucking off of the bale and right into you, cock reaching new depths. It made you moan, significantly noisier this time, enough for Jon to become mildly concerned about someone investigating.

A familiar coil of heat began to unfurl within the pit of your stomach, just as it did his own. Jon sat up enough to seize your lips in a kiss, one that blossomed with passion, letting his affections bleed through.

Your pace was tantalizing, nothing too swift to let it feel sloppy and rushed, yet fervent enough to make his head swim with the haze of desire. Jon’s mouth did not part from yours until you drew away, only to release another moan.

Jon fought against his release, not wanting it to end so quickly, stomach tight as could be. He let out a string of sighs, vocalizing your comeliness, digits squeezing into your hip once more.

“Don’t stop.” He huffed, and if he could plead with you, he would’ve. Your current rhythm was perfect, made to torment him as you sank yourself down upon his cock again.

Your cunt clenched pathetically, snug around his length as you continued to ride him, his cock bottoming out within you. It was a perfect storm of sensations, ones that made you delirious with desire, crying out to the heavens.

It was your release that came first, and it was swift — the intensity of it nearly blinded you, white-hot and sticky as you began to still. The tightness of your cunt sent Jon cascading over the edge.

Jon’s swift thinking caused you to move off of him, with seconds to spare as he spilled himself across your thighs, ropes of seed painting your flesh. Embarrassment rippled through him, but you understood why he didn’t come undone inside of you.

Chests rose and fell with labored sighs, basking in the aftermath of your tryst. Pieces of straw had stuck themselves to your dress, to his clothing, to his dusky curls.

It was difficult not to let your seriousness diminish in the wake of your orgasm, body tingling with such bliss. You couldn’t help but giggle at the ridiculousness of this — the stables, the disheveled hay, your recklessness.

He found himself smiling with you, dutifully assisting in cleaning his seed off of your thighs with the handkerchief tucked away within his tunic. Your shared joy brought him comfort.

“What will Lord Stark think of your unkempt state?” You teased, plucking golden twigs of hay from his hair, nose wrinkled with mild amusement. “Romping around in the hay?”

Jon huffed, eyes crinkling with mirth as he pulled you in for a kiss, allowing it to linger, knowing that he would be parted from you soon enough. “If I’m lucky, Lord Stark won’t see me.” He mused.

You would pray to the Old Gods that Jon was not accosted by his stern-faced father. “If you’re unlucky?” It was not something that Jon wanted to consider, but he did for the sake of your playful inquiry.

“We’ll have to find a different location.”

[mochamadeleines]

Sweethearts and Sweet Dreams <3

“Nothin’?”

“Mhm.”

“Whats behind your back then?”

You sway in place, trying to suppress a knowing smile. “I dont have anything behind my back.” (6.4k words)

tags!! - 18+ modern au! Husband! Joel Miller, Wife! Reader, you guys are happy and in love!, mutual obsession if u squint, lots of exposition im so freaking sorry, pervert Joel if u squint, praise kink joel if you squint, dumbification if you squint, written for those with daddy issues lowkeeyyyyy, written with game joel in mind but could be hbo joel no problem!, lowk i combined the two in my mind, mentions of shy old man joel, housewife! reader (by choice), unspecified age gap but reader is like. thirty? and joels Like...55??, talk about joel taking medication for his anxiety, p in v sex, dirty talk, public sex, outdoor sex, joel has a kink for dresses because i said so? service top joel if you squint, pet names, a pinch of jealousy and possessiveness for fun, playful banter, mentions of maria and tommy and their baby with a made up name Lol, mentions of ellie and sarah (rip), mentions of readers past abusive relationships, talk about joel struggling with substance abuse/addiction and being hospitalized.....Im sure u can theorize why </3, lots of lore ill get into in another fic MAYBE *smirks*, flip flop in perspective, sometimes showing what joel is thinking or what reader is thinking blah blah

authors notes!! - hi there!!! im mocha and this is my first joel fic ever + my first fic posted to tumblr!! im really nervous cuz i havent written anything in months and ive never written joel before so please let me know if you like it!! id love to write more of this au for u guys if theres a demand for it...Thank u for reading!! also barely proof read im ngl. ive been staring at this fic all day im sick of itttt. p.s i dont usually write smut i also kinda do idfk Is this bad or am i tweaking

You step out of the house, morning sun soaking into the roots of your hair and the driveway beneath your feet. Theres a package youve been waiting for. 

You cant contain your grin as you wiggle it out of the hot prison that is your mailbox.

“What the hell are you doin’ out there barefoot?” Joel chastises you from the front door, leaning his elbow on the frame. Joel, your lovely husband of two years. Been together for five. And because of how hard he works, you have the privilege of being a stay at home wife. Some people think that sort of life is stifling, but youve never felt so free. No more jobs you hate, no more financial struggles. Just you, Joel, and your cat, Cement. He likes to pretend it isnt a totally hilarious name for a pet.

You were his first relationship in almost a decade, so it was a lot of work helping him unpack his anxieties about dating, and a lot of work for you to feel safe and unafraid. Honestly? Youve been mistreated by enough men to land you in the psychward.

But Joel never yells at you, he never breaks things when hes angry or threatens to hurt you. He might raise his voice every now and again, but its never because of something you did. Sometimes the stress of life is just too much. 

He works hard, he loves his daughter- daughters- and he would do anything to keep you happy. Whatever you say goes, he says. Even now, you hardly argue. Of course you have disagreements, or off days thatd lead to one of you being especially moody, but the both of you do your best to communicate.

Behind that rough exterior, is someone who just wants to be needed. 

You first met Joel at a youth center you volunteered at, he taught guitar, you taught arts and crafts. Joel says it was your smile and sense of humor that charmed him. It was his singing and southern accent for you.

Your favorite thing about Joel is how soft he gets around you. He says its because you make it easy to be soft. 

Joel was a shy lover at first. He would get nervous just kissing you, or holding your hand. While most people become intimate very early on in their relationship, you and Joel didnt do anything sexual for the first five months of you dated. Sure, you almost did, plenty of times, but he would get so overwhelmed and cut things short. You broke two of your vibrators during this era of your relationship. Embarassing.

You remember your first time very vividly. Joel had worked back to back doubles trying to meet a deadline, and on the final day, after having barely spoken to you for almost a week, you had shown up to his house, unannounced. You were wringing water out of your jacket when he swung the door open. 

“How-” Joel blinks a few times, stepping forward to examine the rainfall. “How long you been out here?”

“Not that long,” You lie and pick up the container you brought off the porch chair. Part of you had a hard time mustering up the courage to even knock on the door. Droplets of water cascade down your chin. “Hi, sorry. I know youre tired.”

He shakes his head, voice soft and warm. “S’fine. Now c’mon, youre gonna get sick.”

Youre seated at the little dining table next to the kitchen now, trying to let the sound of the rainfall ease your nerves.

Joel was quick to grab you a towel, and does the honors of drying your face and hair with it. “Why didnt you jus’ call me? Woulda gotten out of the shower faster if i knew you were gettin’ soaked out there like this.”

“I dunno, sorry.”

“An’ whatd i tell you about apologizin’ all the time?”

“Sor- Uh. Right. Okay.” You tighten your jaw. No more.

Joel moves behind you, now squeezing water out the ends of your hair. “Whas’ that?”

“Oh!-” You peel back the lid, showing it to him. “Old fashion cake donuts are your favorite right? I remember you saying you liked eating them with your coffee in the mornings so…I made these. Youve been working a lot lately and I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Joel gingerly grasps the container from your hands, looking into it. Theyre a warm golden brown, outside evenly fried, and the sweet scent of them hits his nose right away.

“I was just gonna leave them on the doorstep and call you to tell you they were there, but I wanted to see you.”

His adam's apple bobs as he swallows the dryness in his throat. Youre too good for him. 

“Thank you very much.” He presses a kiss to your damp hair. “Now, lets get you into some dry clothes.”

Joel gives you a t-shirt and a pair of his boxers to keep you modest while your clothes wash and dry. 

You wait patiently on his bed for the hot chocolate he promised you before you showered. Theres nothing to watch on the tv, so you just turn it off and reach for the lamp on his nightstand instead. 

He comes in quietly, and sets the mug down beside the lamp. You finally come into focus, clear as day even under the low lighting.

“You uh.. You look nice.”

You blink. “I look nice?”

“In my shirt.”

That gets a smile out of you. 

Joel tips his head towards the mug. “S’hot so, give it a few minutes. Dont want you burnin’ your mouth.”

You nod. “Okay.”

Hes sat beside you now and the two of you sit in silence for a while. Its not awkward, just the kind of silence where both of you want to say something but just.. Cant.

Joel unravels first. “Missed you, y’know. Just been tired.”

“I know.” Your voice wobbles, and Joels jaw tightens like hearing you sound so sad stings him. “I missed you, too.” 

He slides his hand over yours, giving it a squeeze. Its okay. 

“Hey Joel...Can I stay the night?” 

“Sure. Id really like that.”

While you drink your hot chocolate, you and Joel catch up. You both talk about work, and about your new found interest in baking. Joel teases you about your lack of cooking skills, you do the same. Youre both useless. 

When its time to climb into bed, neither of you can actually fall asleep. Joel rolls onto his side, away from you and the window. You follow, curling up like a little cat against his back. The sensation is nice for the both of you.

You speak up after a little while.

“Joel?”

“Mm.”

“Thank you for letting me stay.”

He scoffs, voice thick with exhaustion. “Like I'd force you to leave after you brought me such a nice present.”

You let out a little giggle, “So if i didnt, youd kick me out?”

“Id think ‘bout it.”

You gasp, gently shoving at his back. “Thats mean…!”

“S’really not.”

“Oh yeah? And what if I poisoned them?.”

“Then itd jus' be a regular day of your cookin’ then.” Joel reminds you, lighthearted. Too many times where you left the shells in your eggs or burnt toast or left the bacon on the pan for too long.

“You cant get mad at me for my dark past when you made a perfectly good sirloin taste like horse leather.”

“Ugh. Dont remind me. That was like putting a one-hundred dollar bill into a paper shredder. How do either of us stay alive again?”

“Uh. Digiorno?”

“Digiorno.”

After a few moments, Joels rolling over again, and hes guiding your head to settle against his chest. Your arms wrap around him, and his arms around you. 

“Joel,” You whisper. He hums. “Im cold.”

“S’cause youre not wearin’ any pants.”

“And whos fault is that?”

“Still yours.”

“I was left out in the rain like a sad, sopping wet cat. One that was left in a box all alone with no family…” You pretend to sniffle. “Dont you feel bad for me?”

Joel sighs, not saying anything more except making sure the part of the comforter behind your back is tucked into your side so the cold air doesnt get in. When hes done, you do a little shimmy up his body, and throw your leg over his hip. Oh no.

Hes alert now. Very alert. Be normal. Joel hesitates, licking the dryness off his lips. “Uh. Feel better?”

“Mhm.” You push your face into his throat, cat-like, before settling down again. Hes like a radiator.

Actually scratch that, he cant be normal. 

“Darlin’.” He rasps, patting your back to get your attention.

“Mm?”

“Your leg. Move it.”

A few beats pass. “Why?”

“Because…” Wow,  he didnt think hed get this far. You shift forward and Joel lets out a quiet exhale through his nose, one that couldve been masked by the rain if you werent so close.

“Are you-”

“No! No. Its- Its not what you think-” He cant see your face in the darkness but he knows you feel the semi-hard struggling through the confines of his pants. Lame.

“Joel,” You say, soft. Your hands slide up his arm to cradle his jaw. Lightning flashes into the room, giving you a glimpse of Joels tight expression. He whispers your name back, just as soft.

“This is normal.” 

Its normal, it is! Except for the fact that you guys havent had sex yet. The stress of being intimate is too much, kills his boner in a blink. The longer he waits the worse the anxiety gets.

“I-I know.”

You place a hand on his chest, feeling it pound away like crazy through all the soft muscle.  

“Youve been taking your medication, right?”

Has he?

The silence of him thinking is proof enough. “Joel-”

He sighs, rubbing his eyes through the darkness .“I know, I know. Shoot, Im sorry. I just forget sometimes.”

“Its okay.” The pad of your thumb strokes the tops of his cheek, and you press a tender kiss to his mouth to soothe him.  “...Want me to remind you?”

The softness of your lips has him a bit dazed. “Huh?”

“I said, do you want me to remind you? I can- You know, call you before you leave work. Make sure you take them.”

“You know I wake up at five-o-clock in the mornin’ , right?”

“I know.” 

In a whisper, “Okay.”

Joels rough palms trail down your back and stop at the curve of your butt, finger tips delicately tracing the skin above your shorts. You shiver.

Barely above a whisper. “We dont have to go all the way.”

He says your name again, laced with worry. He doesnt want you to feel pressured. 

You pull your leg off his hip and push yourself up, settling your hands on either side of Joels head.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yes-”

“-And you cant get all in your head about it. You stay here, with me. You stay present.”

“Okay, okay.” He nods, a bit defeated. “I will stay present.”

“When you...When you say you dont wanna have sex, what is it that youre thinking exactly? I know you said you just get really nervous but I feel like youre not being totally honest.”

Joel stays quiet, idly rubbing your sides. Maybe you are a cat. Just getting to feel any part of you is soothing. “I jus’ want you to feel good. ‘Fraid ill do somethin’ you dont like.”

“You cant assume how I feel, Joel. Being intimate.. It takes time to learn what the other person likes.”

He sighs. “I know.” Youre always right.

Adding on, “Like I said, we dont have to go all the way,” You lean further back, situating yourself on his hips. He lets out a shaky breath when he feels the pressure of your ass through his sweats.

“But, I want to start somewhere. I want to feel you.” 

“Fuck- Um-” Hes shaking now, letting you grind your hips down onto him. Joel cant seem to control the way his hips instinctively push up to meet yours. Youre both becoming of a mess of little gasps and hot breaths and tiny whimpers already.

You hunch forward, guiding his hand under your your shirt- His shirt- letting him feel up the supple skin of your stomach, then the area where your ribs are, then your-

“And I want you to feel me,”

Surprisingly, you did actually go all the way that night.

Your sex life was a bit of a rocky start, but after Joel got over most of his anxiety, you learned quickly just how goddamn insatiable he was. Five years in and he still regularly makes you sore. 

There are a couple things you learned about him and his sexual interests. He loves to take you in his truck, in your kitchen, in your bathroom, on your couch. Other, riskier places. Anywhere that isnt your bed apparently, not that he isnt fucking you there either.

Joel is handsy, so handsy infact it embarasses you to no end, especially when youre infront of others. Thats usually how it starts, too. First he kisses you, then gropes your hips and your ass, and the next thing you know, youre cumming on his fingers. Then hed bend you over, or get you on your back, or make you ride him. Is it really riding if hes just slamming up into you until your brain turns into mush?

He likes that too. Making you not think.

Youd be lying if you said its only ever him. Sleepy morning handjobs before work, whining to him over the phone and touching yourself to his voice, arching your back into him while you're washing dishes, sucking him off after hours in his office.

And while most men prefer lingerie or little costumes, Joel likes dresses. Dresses that are discreet so he can take you in the backyard when he comes home early and sees you gardening. Or when youre both at a friends house and hes had a little too much to drink and finds himself alone with you. Dresses that make it easy to play his favorite game with you. I touch you, and you make sure we dont get caught by being too loud. Joel really is the worst sometimes.

Now, you only ever wear pants when its cold, or to bed or sometimes when youre lounging, like today. Youre in some shorts and a tank top. Otherwise, its dresses all year round, usually retro styles or ones meant for spring. Joels not picky though, he loves any dress on you.

Even if you wear an extremely modest, white lacey sleep dress, looking like some kind of vintage ghost, the man would still keep you up all night. And he has. He said you looked like a princess. You guess you kind of did.

The entire thing is like an unspoken arrangement between you both. He doesnt tell you to wear them, you just do.

And he works hard to spoil you, so why not buy as many cute dresses as possible? 

You got a cute dress today too, on the same day Joel has off. You think its going to be a new favorite of his.

The big polymailer stays hidden behind your back. Be casual. “Uh- Nothing!”

“Nothin’?”

“Mhm.”

“Whats behind your back then?”

You sway in place, trying to suppress a knowing smile. “I dont have anything behind my back.”

“Lemme see then. Show me your hands-”

“Hey, Mrs. Miller!”

Both you and Joel turn your heads to the voice, and only one of you has the energy to fake a a smile. Your neighbor is stopping in his driveway, having come back from a jog it looks.

“Hi, Lee.” 

Joel really, really, really doesnt like Lee. You dont like him either, but youre not one to cause problems. Lee on the other hand, is. Hes a bit younger than you, and a lot younger than Joel. Hes one of those tech dudes with a massive ego, thinks that youll be swayed by his money and his “charm” and youth as if youre some sad housewife in need of saving. Gross. 

And another thing, Lee doesnt even actually live here! Hes here ever so often to visit his dad between, you dont know, tech expos? You forget. Joel believes he started showing up more often to see you. 

Youre walking towards the porch again. Joels looking especially unhappy to see him today, knuckles pulled taut into a fist. His lips stay pressed into a thin line, careful not to let anything slip out. He usually lets you do most of the talking, as much as it pains him. 

Joels really not a fan of the way Lees eyes take a trip up your bare legs. Little shit.

“Out with no shoes again, Mrs. Miller?”

“You know me, Im uh- Im weird.”

“The weird ones do it best.” He smiles, all teeth. It gives you the creeps. His attention is on Joel now. Its like watching a puppy try to one up a wolf. “Right, Joel?”

“Uh huh.” Whatever that means.

“Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, Mrs. Miller.” Lee crosses into your driveway and you glance briefly at Joel, as if to make sure he isnt going to start growling at the other to stay away. Youre clutching the package to your chest now. 

“Have you ever been to a support group for uh- you know, the spouses of addicts?  I have a friend from work and shes really struggling.” 

Lees tone is sugary sweet, but the fake kind you put in diet soda except that stuff is way better. Joel sighs from the door. You stand there, dumbfounded on the porch steps because what the fuck is he going on about. 

You clear your throat, keeping your voice firm. “No. Ive never needed to.”  

Joels voice cuts in like a knife. “Been clean for almost twenty years now.”

“Yeah but, you know,” He shrugs, squinting a bit under the morning sun. “Relapses happen.”

Joel and Lee are at a stand still, and the moment Joel lets the arm leaning on the frame drop to his side, you know youre in for a lot of trouble. You move quickly towards the door. “We have to get ready for a- uh- a thing? but Im sorry about your friend.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Miller. Im doing my best to support her.” And before he turns away, he just has to be slimy to you. “If you need someone to talk to, Im here for you.”

“No, that really wont be necess-”

Joels slinging a strong arm around you to yank you back inside before shutting the door. 

“Motherfucker,” He hisses to himself, stomping through the walkway and into the kitchen.

“How-” You rub your eyes, letting them adjust to the light inside of the house. You put the package down onto the bar counter that opens up the kitchen and follow Joel to the fridge. “How does he know?? I thought-”

“Been living in this house for decades now,” His expression is tight, brows knitted together while he chugs a bottle of water. “People talk. ‘Specially if I'm being rolled into an ambulance on more than one occasion.” Joel frowns. “Fuck- I shoulda punched him in the fuckin’ face- Do you see how hard he tries so hard to flirt with you infront’a me?”

“I know, love. I was there.” You take the bottle from his hand and set it to the side, then wrap your arms around him. “Try not to let it get to you okay?”

Joel sighs into your hair, giving your body a squeeze. “I know, I know, but jus’ hearin’ him tryin’ta use my baggage to make a pass at you…S’fuckin’ evil.”

“I agree, but I dont want his blood on the driveway.”

“So get it on his driveway instead, got it.”

You giggle and tip your head up to kiss him. The tension eases from Joels shoulders, and he cups your cheeks, letting his worries melt away into your mouth. When the pads of his fingers start to slide under your tank top, youre leaning back. Youll be here for a while if this goes any further.

Joel mindlessly chases your lips, looking a bit pouty now that its over.

“Im gonna start getting ready for the barbecue, okay?”

“This early?”

“I like being punctual.” 

“My brother wont give a damn if were late.” He noses your jaw, pressing a kiss here and there. Your knees are beginning to feel weak. The bastard is trying to distract you.

“But I do. The farmers market opened today, and I promised Maria I'd get her fresh strawberries before we got there, remember?”

“Alright, alright.” He grumbles into your shoulder.

Joel lets you go, watching you round the bar counter to get your package and disappear upstairs.

-

Ever since you came down to a freshly showered Joel, and got into the car with the gift bags you prepared for Maria and Tommy, Hes been staring at you. One wrong move and the drools gonna start pouring out of his mouth.

Your hair is in its relatively natural state, freshly washed and shiny from the oil you put in it. You put on some light makeup, and went a bit heavy handed on the blush to look sunkissed, and topped it off with a flavored lip gloss Joel especially enjoys. 

Now, the dress. Its a pink floral mid-length dress, with a low cut sweetheart neckline and a corset style backing to cinch your waist and push out your chest. The material is thick and pretty, and there are two other layers under the skirt to keep its shape. You have on a pair of little pink pumps with little bows to match. 

The drive to the farmers market is fairly peaceful, the windows are half down and theres music playing at low volume on the radio. You and Joel have different tastes in music, but one genre you can always agree on is alternative rock. 

The weathers beautiful, sun high in the sky, and its not too hot or humid. The day really is perfect. Youre gonna soak up some sun when youre at the barbecue. Hopefully, they made lemonade again too.

Joel has been mostly quiet throughout your shopping. While it would worry some, youve been with him long enough to know that he just has a lot on his mind. What hes thinking about? Maybe youll learn when you make it back home at the end of the day.

You gasp, strolling through the grass to a stand with a mountain of apples. Granny smith, Macintosh, Pink Ladys, Honeycrisp, the works. He grunts, trying to keep the things that are already in your basket steady. You came for strawberries and are going to leave with much more than that.

Joel nudges you softly. “Remember, this is quality stuff, meaning itll go bad faster. Dont get too much.”

“Okay, got it.” You beam, and then begin inspecting the Pink Lady apples first, trying to find the ones with the best color.  He keeps the basket within reach so you can drop your picks in.

"These were Sarahs favorites."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, it was funny 'cause we started arguin' over these or Red Delicious. I think Red Delicious is better."

"Thats so cute! Hmm. Should we get one for her? A Pink Lady?"

"Uh," He thinks on it for a moment, unsure, but the smile on your face helps him make a decision. "Sure, why not."

You drop two perfect Pink Ladys into the basket, moving onto the next pile.

“Hey, Joel.” You grin, holding out a wrinkled granny smith apple. “This one looks like you”

“Ha ha.” He deadpans, and grabs it from you to put back. In turn, hes reaching for the runt of the pile. A pathetically small one sitting near the bottom. “Now this one looks like you.”

“Does not!”

“Does too.” 

The next stand has golden kiwis, and youre practically dragging Joel forward to try them. You ask for one, and the man at the stand slices it into halves, giving you a plastic spoon to go with. 

You let Joel smell it first. “S’good.”

“Lets see if it tastes good.”

You sink your spoon into it, humming when you see how soft and easy it is to scoop out. In your mouth it goes!

Its tastes sweet, a bit mango-y and fucking delicious. You bounce in place, spoon feeding Joel next. “Oh yeah,” He smiles, smacking his lips a bit to really let the taste settle on his tongue. “Were takin’ some of these.”

You take one, then two, then three and four then five and as you reach for the sixth one, Joels stopping you with a gentle hand. 

“Darlin’.” 

“Right.” 

For the next few stands its just you and Joel trying various kinds of fruit. Starfruit, blueberries, some mangos, and then youre going back to the truck.

“I think my favorites were the mangos and golden kiwis. I hope Maria and Tommy have enough space in their fridge for all of this.”

“They moved into a bigger house, I reckon their fridge s’probably bigger, too.”

“What time is it?” 

You let go of Joels arm so he can switch the basket from one hand to the other. 

“‘Bout…” Hes squinting at his watch. “12:34 in the afternoon.”

“Oh! Guess we got the shopping done sooner than I expected. Hmm. Should we stop somewhere in the mean time?-" You snap your finger when you remember something. "They opened up this cafe that has cats in it! We can drink coffee and play with them for bit! The next fourty-five minutes will go by super fast."

“Youre gonna make Cement jealous.”

You bat your hand dismissively. “Hes not gonna caaare.” 

“Oh yes he will. And remind me again why we named our cat Cement?

“Uh, we were both drunk and had gotten him the day before without a name picked out?”

“A whole year later and we still kept it. Worst pet owners ever.” Joel chuckles, opening the passenger door for you like he always does. 

“Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

The giant basket of fruit goes into the back seat next to the gift bags before Joel slots himself into the drivers seat. 

You fumble with the radio a bit, trying to see what else is on but ultimately landing back on your preferred station. Theyve been playing a lot of Linkin Park recently. Hell yeah. Joel buckles himself in at last, and pulls out of the parking lot. 

“Marias gonna teach me how to make baked chicken,” You hum, gazing outside the window.

“You sure youre not jus’ unteachable?”

“Ha ha,” You lightly shove his shoulder, making him smile. “I thought you loved the meat sauce pasta I learned how to make.”

He settles into his seat more comfortably at the stop light, elbow rested on the window. “Got me with that one. Think I like ground turkey over beef, though.”

“Yeah? Me too. The beef tastes better but the turkey is lighter. Stops me from feeling all sick.”

“Agreed.”

Youre looking out the windshield now. Where did all the buildings go? Youre out of the city. 

“Uh, Joel?”

“Mm?”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere to kill time.”

“Yeah but where?”

“Youll see.” 

Your brows pinch together. “I see a whole lot of nothing except for trees."

“Almost there.”

Joel makes a hasty left turn onto some campgrounds. Your stomach starts to twist into excited knots. Is he gonna show you a baby deer or something? Bunnies? He used to be a park ranger for this area, and would tell you stories about all sorts of baby animals hed run into.

The car comes to a stop, and he turns the engine off. Silence.

“So…Were out in the woods to kill time?”

“Mhm.” Joel unbuckles his seat belt and twists into the back to grab the spare jacket he usually keeps there, then gets out of the truck and comes around the back to open the door for you. 

He holds your hand to help you get down from the passenger side, and as soon as both of your shoes hit the ground Joel is on you. 

You dont know where your hands should go, youve kissed Joel a thousand times and yet you still get so flustered when he catches you by surprise. You keep your hands on his shoulders for now, letting him press wet kisses to your neck and shoulder.

“This is new right? The dress?” He gives your ass an appreciative squeeze through the fabric. “Thought you looked so pretty when you came down stairs in it.” 

Your heads spinning. Something about your dress? 

“Woulda been okay if you let me have you earlier.” He pulls away, examining your flushed face cradled by his hand. Every part of you just fits so well in his palms. “Then I thought, why not have you now? We got time to spare.”

“Joel- We- Someone could see us-” You sputter, and Joels already shaking his head with a knowing smirk. He pulls you around to the bed of the truck, popping it open, only pausing to spread open the jacket he grabbed, just having just thrown it in there when he came around to get you.

“No ones gonna come lookin’ for us.” He turns you around, pushing you down onto your front. “As long as youre quiet.” 

Fuck. You really hate this game. At least, you like to tell yourself that.

Blood rushes to your ears while Joels rough palms lift up the skirt of your dress, exposing your ass and thighs to the cool air. He whistles from behind you. 

“Red lace panties?” His fingers dont shy away from tracing along the fabric covering your cunt. “This new too?”

You crane your neck over your shoulder to look at his face. “Uh.. Surprise?”

Joels smiling now, fingers dipping under the lace. “Thas' awfully sweet of you.”

His touch slips and slides around your growing wetness, then trails down to your clit. Your voice wobbles a bit and fuck- fuck hes going too fast. “Joel- Ah-” You whimper and try to push yourself up to look at him but his hand is steady on your spine, keeping you down. 

Smug, “Go on, sweetheart. Keep sayin’ my name. Jus’ like that.”

A whine escapes you when he pulls away, “Nooo.” You push your ass back, as if to entice him. You succeed, because hes skipped his usual routine of fucking you with his hands and is now unbuckling his belt.

Joel rolls you onto your back, and peels your underwear all the way off, bunching it up and shoving it into his back pocket. Your face burns just watching him.

“Think i'll hold onto these for a lil’ while.”

His hands push the back of your knees towards your chest, exposing your heat. Youll never get used to the way he just seems so interested just watching your cunt squeeze around nothing. 

“Thats-” You swallow, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. "Joel.”

“Relax." He coos, "Seen it a thousand times already, and ill be seein' it a thousand more. Get used to it, honey.”

Your attention flickers down to where his dick is about to meet your entrance. Joels nudging you down onto your back again and pulling the top of your dress down to expose your chest. Its when youre distracted that he actually moves to push himself in.

Both of you groan together, and Joel could never get bored of fucking you, not when your cunt just pulses around him everytime hes inside you.

Joel wastes no time fucking you once he eases all the way inside. Youre trying your best to keep quiet. Shit is no easy task. Its like Joel is trying to get you guys arrested.

He props himself up with a hand near your head, and lets the other keep one of your legs pinned open. The moans start to claw out of your throat. “Joel- Joel-” 

“Shh. Thas’ enough.” He growls through his teeth, fucking you harder. “Youre gonna- Gh- Get us caught-”

Something rustles between the trees, making you both freeze. You clasp your hands over your mouth, watching Joel straighten up to look around.

After a few seconds of squinting, Joel can see a few foxes moving about through the trees. Thank fuck. His shoulders visibly relax.

Hushed, “E-Everything okay?”

“Yeah, jus’ some animals.” 

And like that, hes back to it. His dick is going to make your eyes permanently stay rolled into your head. 

Joel is always just so handsome when hes pounding into you. His forehead gets shiny with sweat, and his jaw is tight from clenching his teeth, keeping himself quiet so he can focus on your moans. His face is noticeably redder against his usual farmers tan too. Really, hes just so attractive.

A flurry of yes and harder and fuck spills out of your mouth and into your palms. Not too loud, you try to remind yourself.

“Joel- S’too much-”

“Nah, thas’ not it.” He huffs, humorous. “You can take it. Y'always do. In fact, you love gettin’ your cunt bullied by me, aint that right?” As if to get his point across, he thrust in all the way to the hilt, making you keen. You forgot how to breathe, lungs drawing tight in your chest.

"Fuck," You manage to squeeze out.

Your palms push weakly at his shoulders, trying to ground yourself somehow. His head drops to the junction of your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply.

“You good?” He checks in, breath hot on your skin. As if your crying isnt enough.

“So g-good, Joel- Fuck- Youre so good.” 

With a little nod, Joels pushing himself up, switching to slow and deep strokes, really digging himself into you, and trying to find that spot he likes to call home.

He massages your chest, then squeezes your sides and your hips and finally, his thumb finds your clit. Immediately, you jolt. 

“Oh fuck-” 

“Quiet.” And he says it to keep the charade going, even though his favorite thing is hearing your sobs.

His thumb rubbing incessantly against your that sweet little nub of yours. You choke, and Joels chuckling, watching the way you squirm, body not knowing whether it should lean into his touch because its too good or away because its too much.

It starts with this firey feeling under the pad of his thumb, then deep inside your stuffed cunt. Youre going to cum. 

Your hands fly to your mouth again, and you get all wide eyed from the sensation. Its cute. Your muscles pull taut, legs locking around Joels hips. Youre wailing into your palm when it happens.

“Good girl,” His voice soothes you through it. “Very good.”

He pets away the fly aways sticking to your sweaty face when its over. Your eyes drop shut while you catch your breath. 

Joels moving again now. He rolls his hips a few times, and thumb is building the foundation of another orgasm in you. Youre shaking badly.

Your words slur too, “Cant- Too soon- Joel- Joel-”

“Another one.” Joel says firmly, but breathless. 

Youre gasping, not sure where to focus your eyes. The trees around you look like theyre spinning. Your attention is back on Joel, whos looking rather satisfied watching you squirm and cry. If thats how wants to play, then fine.

Your hands slide up Joels biceps, and rests on the nap of his neck to bring him down. “Juh-Joel,” You pant, cradling his face with both hands. “Youre so good- The best-”

Oh, Joel likes that one, you can tell by the way he looks away briefly. Shyness. Excitement runs up your spine. Joel loves being told hes doing well. 

“You are- Nghh-” You swallow the drool in your mouth, trying to get the words out clearly. “The best husband I could ever ask for.”

Joel wheezes, head dropping into the curve of your shoulder. “Please.”

“S’true,” You nod rapidly, fingers curling into his hair. “Youre so good to me and-and youre mine and- Joel-  Im yours.”

“Jesus-” He groans, soaking up the feeling of you pressing kisses to his face and up his jaw. 

“Hhah-  No one else can have me, okay? No one- Not even-”

The name doesnt even come out of your mouth before Joels coming to a stop to slip his arms all the way around your middle. With the new leverage he has on your body, hes drilling his way into you. You fucking squeal, rules now long forgotten. Youre a useless ragdoll in his arms and he wouldnt have it any other way.

Your lips are shiny with spit and left over lip gloss, and he can still taste the mintiness in his tongue. Every now and again your eyes drop shut, but his dick just punches into your guts a little harder. Look at me. 

Your brain is mush, just the way he likes it, and youre perfectly pliant in his arms, babbling over how good you feel. Hes kisses along the valley of your breasts now, stopping to suck the flesh of your nipples.

Youre just so pretty. Even when you have bedhead, or youre snotty from a cold, or youre all dirty from working in the garden  youre still so pretty. Including now, all sweaty with you lipgloss all smudged and your mascara starting to run. Youre perfect. 

Joel grunts loud, jaw clenched tight as he gets lost in the feeling of your insides. His perfect little wife.

When he cums, hes doubling over with a loud grunt, getting a few last thrusts in before his spent floods your cunt.

Youre blinking away your tears, now watching the clouds inch along the sky. It really is a beautiful day. You pet Joels sweaty hair, and kiss the side of his temple. Your core throbs faintly. Jesus, he did a number on you.

“Love,” You say softly, patting his back.

“Mm?”

“Get up.” Another pat. “Youre squishing me.” 

Joel backs off to buckle himself up, but you stay seated to catch your breath and adjust your dress. At least it didnt get ripped during all the… Commotion. Not like last time.

“I need my underwear back.”

“Nope,”

“Joel.”

He kisses the center of your forehead and helps you down from the bed and into the passenger seat instead.  “Told you i'm keepin’ ‘em.”

You sputter, “I cant go to barbecue commando!”

“Sure you can.” He pops open the glove compartment and gets out some tissues, hand snaking under your dress again to clean you. You sigh softly at the sensation.

“Youre the worst.”

“I am indeed the worst.” Joel pulls the seatbelt over your chest and clicks it in. “You can tell me all about it on the way to Tommys.” 

[wolfiesmoon]

When you suddenly cry in front of them :(

Riddle, Vil, Kalim, Malleus x gn!reader (riddle's and vil's are explicitly post overblot tho it's not super important)

i'm back to entering tartarus every day (school started again) so i thought i might as well distract myself with some hot twst guys :)

i havent been very active i know, i just cant get myself to do anything at all these days 😞i am so so sorry for making a kinda lazy short collection of blurbs but i need to get back into my writing groove somehow

(as a sidenote, i'm worried some of these might be ooc? i sincerely apologise if they are :( )

RIDDLE honestly doesn't know what to do with himself. He never really got the comfort he needed whenever he cried as a child so he had no idea how to comfort you now. He scolds himself internally for not immediately acting and just kind of freezing up beside you so he panics and tries to recall of all the times he saw someone else comforting others in order to end the extremely awkward tension as quickly as possible. He pats your back somewhat rigidly and says "There, there." In an all too awkward manner. You're caught off guard so hard by the sheer akwardness of Riddle's comfort technique that you burst out laughing, troubling Riddle even further. "W...Why are you laughing now?" The dumbfounded expression on his face is the perfect medicine for forgetting your troubles just now. Riddle unintentionally just cheered you up. After the incident, he seemingly becomes less strict with you and starts asking about how you're doing umprompted, which always pleasantly surprises you. Sometimes, Trey even shows up at Ramshackle dorm, holding a tart of your favourite flavour and saying he got orders from Riddle to deliver it to you.

VIL drops his usual strict nature for a bit. Of all people, he would be the one who could tell you were constantly acting strong and unbothered by everything going on around you. He thought of it equal parts admirable as he did foolish. Such intense emotion is not something to keep bottled up inside you and you made him realise that. His expression is surprisingly soft as he places one arm on your back, gently stroking it. He talks you through your feelings with a big sense of maturity and care and you're suprised by just how much he cares for you and your feelings. You don't exactly get that same impression when he's scolding you for not sitting straight or not wearing your uniform properly... regardless, you're very thankful for his words, even the harsher ones about needing to tell someone about things like this. "Tell me, if you must. I will always listen." After the incident, nothing much changes, really. Atleast from the perspective of others. He still gets on your case for not wearing your uniform properly, but he also asks about how you're doing when he gets the chance and does not accept simply "fine" or "okay" for an answer. You simply must elaborate why that is.

KALIM enters big brother mode. He's comforted crying siblings for various reasons before so what makes you any different? He gives you a tight hug, gently rubbing your back and trying to cheer you up with comforting phrases. He'd also try making jokes you to cheer you up and the puns are so bad you might as well start laughing. He didn't even start asking what's wrong but instead waited for you to tell him yourself. He surprised you with how mature (or perhaps just experienced) he is when it comes to crying people. You feel much better even only after a few minutes and you ask Kalim how you can thank him for hearing you out. "Seeing you smile again is reward enough!" He replies and you feel like crying again (but this time not from sadness or stress). After that incident, he always personally invites you to Scarabia parties, hoping they might inject a little joy in your life and keep your mind off things. If you're not a fan of parties, he takes you on carpet rides around the dorm instead.

MALLEUS is shocked into silence. You were smiling at him as sweetly as you always do just a moment ago... He knows how to comfort someone in theory, but now that he has to put it into practice, it feels like he's forgotten everything. He needs to show you that you can rely on him when it comes to your comfort, and that includes crying around him. This might just be one of the most heartbreaking sights he's ever had the displeasure of witnessing. He vows to himself that he never wishes to see you cry again (unless it's at your wedding) and would do anything to prevent it. He wordlessly pulls you into a secure hug, worried that if he does anything else, you might start crying even more. You hug him back and just sob in his arms, thankful for his warm embrace. "It will all be okay, child of man. I'm here, after all." And somehow, you can't help but trust those words with every fiber of your being. After the incident, Malleus ends up confessing what happened to Lilia and Lilia goes into one of those "Oh, how my baby has grown..." rants. But he also does say that Malleus should start inviting you to new places to keep your mind off things and help you let loose. So he does just that, with an added sprinkle of gargoyle-hunting and gargoyle facts. You're now very well educated about gargoyles lol.

[venomhoundfanworks]

Hazbin Hotel - Lucifer Lactation Kink Headcanons

THIS WAS supposed to be part of a part 2 to the Lucifer Niche Kinks post. But not only did it get wayyyy too long; but I realized that I probably should add an educational section because people know nothing about breastfeeding. SO. I broke it off into its own thing.

The other Lucifer kink posts (and my other work) can be found on my masterlist >>HERE<<

Contents/WARNINGS: AFAB reader but gender neutral pronouns are used; all the kinky shit obviously; DISCUSSION OF PREGNANCY, BREASTFEEDING, AND CHILDREARING WEE WOO; honestly stay away from this one if you aint into having babies or that kind of talk; discussion of Lilith and Lucifer's past relationship; Im gonna drag Lucifer to therapy by his ankles (18+), MDNI, NSFW below the cut ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Educational Section ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Im just going to throw all this breastfeeding info here in a big info dump so I can actually get into the headcanons and yall can know what Im talking about.

The first couple days after birth are critical for establishing proper milk production. Basically, even if the baby is perfect and drinks your milk (which is rare but thats not what we are talking about), you NEED to make sure your breasts are completely emptied of milk and stimulate them even past that.

This is super important because its what tells your body 'hey, make more milk for babay'

Im just gonna straight up say it: breast pumps fucking suck. Everyone complains about how uncomfortable they are, if they arent straight up painful; they are super inefficient at getting all the milk out of your breasts so they can easily leave you engorged or mess up your milk production; and some women cant even use them because they dont fit their boob shape properly or they cant relax enough when using them.

What do I mean when I say the lady cant relax enough? You have to be completely relaxed for the milk to come out. This is the biggest reason women have trouble breastfeeding. Well, that and the completely empty breasts thing messing up their milk production.

So what is the alternative? Hand expressing! Basically human milking; only not worded so bluntly/terribly. This is much better for milk production because it allows you to actually get all the milk out.

The problem is, its alot more work and time consuming then a pump. Not to mention you have to be taught the proper way to hand express. So if you dont have any of these resources, your pumping.

To make it even worse, alot of women cant relax enough when they try to hand express themselves, so they HAVE to have another person do it (most husbands are COWARDS and aren't willing to do it so, oops back to pump I guess). Or they are the opposite and have to do it themselves.

Fun fact: before pumps, women had to go to their fricken DOCTORS to have themselves milked because their own husbands wouldn't do it. Cause they COWARDS.

ANYWAY. Now that you got a background in how breastfeeding works, remember; breastfeeding is hard work actually and thank god for formula because so many babies would die without it.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Actual Headcanons ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Its all so natural. Lucifer loves and adores every single change happening to your body during pregnancy. The stretch marks, the weight, watching his child grow inside you. Its all just... *mwuah* So perfect to him.

Lucifer gets so dreadfully giddy when your breasts begin to swell and grow heavy late into your pregnancy. He knows it means your so close to actually being a mommy.

Honestly the best husband you could possibly have. As soon as your baby is born, Lucifer is right there to help you with anything you could possibly need. Anything.

He knows how exhausted mentally and physically you are; so Lucifer offers to hand express your milk for you after feedings. Your body just went through so much, so just let him handle that!

This is when you first notice just how... bothered he gets. Lucifer almost seems to go into a trance. His half-lidded eyes glaze over while he pants through his open mouth.

He tries so hard to keep himself under control; but he cant help but let out tiny gasps, moans, or whimpers when he feels the life giving liquid seep between his fingers.

You cannot even begin to say how thankful you are for your husband's experience however. Its a load off your shoulders. Lucifer's hands and fingers skillfully work to encourage as much milk out of your breasts as he possibly can.

However, as soon as he is done, Lucifer has to quickly excuse himself; nearly running out the door hoping you didn't notice how fucking hard he is. Or that if you did, that he didn't gross you out at the very least.

After a couple days, once your home, rested up, and Lucifer has gotten your milk production expertly established; he will try to show you how to hand express yourself. But you quickly shut that down and tell Lucifer that you would prefer if he kept doing it for you.

Lucifer is a flustered mess at the proposition but cant really argue against it. Hand expression is much easier when another person does it, not to mention exponentially faster. Its also great bonding time for the two of you. Even if Lucifer enjoys the activity a little too much...

However, neither of you have the courage to address just how much he likes it.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Lucifer was clingy and protective during your pregnancy. But now its amped up significantly. Since the baby was born, Lucifer has been attached to you at the hip; permanently at your beck and call. Always ready to help you in anyway you might need.

Lilith was much more... independent, to put it nicely. Their marriage was already on the rocks when Charlie was born. So Lilith was determined to do everything herself and often shooed Lucifer away when he tried to help.

The fact that your not only letting Lucifer help you with your child, but actively including him in everything? Lucifer didn't think it was possible to love you more then he did. He is not going to miss a second of the child's life you have blessed him with, and so graciously included him in.

But this quickly proves to be a double edged sword. Not only does Lucifer get to dote on you and your child, but Lucifer also gets a front row seat to you and your... maternal body. And God does it do things to him.

People talk about a 'pregnancy glow,' and yeah, you were gorgeous then. But if that was glowing, you are completely radiant now. Lucifer always feels in awe of you and your post-birth body. He loves tracing your stretch marks, with his eyes, fingers, and tongue.

He also loves the extra 'baby weight' you've kept. Its literally more of you to love. You've gotten embarrassed several times because Lucifer will grab at your thighs and lovehandles while telling you how "fucking hard" you make him.

Oddly enough, you haven't heard him comment on the changes in your breasts. Not once.

Thats because Lucifer feels so guilty. He feels so guilty every time he sees how full and swollen your gorgeous breasts are. He feels guilty when he sees them leaking after feedings. The milk soaking through the front of your bra and exposing your hardened nipples.

Lucifer feels guilty about how hard he gets. Every single time. His cock already twitching in his pants just from watching you. Lucifer always ends up having to excuse himself so he can rush off and jack himself off as quickly as possible.

He is so fucking embarrassed by it too. This is parenthood; having kids; having a family. Its all so natural. Especially breastfeeding.

So why is his body perverting it so much?? Lucifer already bred you; got you pregnant. Why is his body demanding even more now that you've had his child??

God, he can't think of any other time he has had to masturbate this much.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

It takes a couple months. Months of constantly vacillating between states of sexual torture and marital bliss for Lucifer. It takes a couple months before you decided to finally test the waters; testing how turned on your husband is really getting.

"Th-there. I-I think that's all of it..." Lucifer stuttered out absentmindedly. Although Lucifer said he had gotten all your milk out, his hands remained firmly grasping your breasts. You couldn't help but look at him with a quizzical tilt to your head. This was new.

Lucifer was always quick to excuse himself; practically running out the door. He was always so fast at fleeing, that he never saw how much you smirked and laughed at him. Its not like his hard on was subtle. Even if he wasn't literally moaning in your face.

This was new. Lucifer didn't run away this time. It was as if he was completely frozen while he straddled your lap in your shared bed. The only real movement from him was the rise and fall of his shoulders from how hard he was breathing.

Lucifer only finally pulls his hands away when you force him to; so you can gently set the bottles you had used to collect your milk onto the nightstand. When you turn back to look at your husband, he is in a complete trance.

Lucifer's head is hanging slightly in shame even as his eyes remain glued to your chest. Rough, but even huffs are steadily leaving his mouth; as if he lost control of his breathing and is trying to get it back. His hands are practically white knuckling at his own thighs; your a little worried in the back of your mind that his claws might rips through his pantleg.

"Lucifer?" Your gentle voice breaks Lucifer out of his daze. His half lidded eyes pull away from your hard, wet nipples to meet your eyes. "I don't think you actually got it all, Sweetie. Why don't you try using your mouth?"

Lucifer's eyes blow wide at the mere suggestion; his pupils dilating like a predator. You swear you hear him whimper. His whole body starts trembling as his eyes dart between your heated gaze and your leaking breast. Silently asking if it was really okay.

You simply smile at him, your hands softly trailing up his thigh and giving his hands a reassuring squeeze. Lucifer licks his lips in a mixture of nervousness and barely restrained lust as he brings shaky hands up to grip at your chest.

Then its as if something in Lucifer snaps; suddenly he is diving right in and latching himself onto you.

It happens so fast. Lucifer's whining, moaning mouth sucking and licking at you furiously. Trying to get every last sweet drop out of you that he can. Every drop of your milk that enters his mouth is like a shockwave of pure electricity up Lucifer's spine.

Even in his almost rabid state, Lucifer remains ever mindful of his teeth. You can't help but whimper every time you feel them graze your hard nipples.

All this while Lucifer's hips are rutting against you in a blind frenzy. You aren't even sure Lucifer is aware he is doing it; that he is practically trying to fuck your thigh into submission. Or if he is so pent up and focused on your tits, that his hips are now acting with a mind of their own.

Lucifer releases your breast from his mouth with a wet -pop- as he squeezes his eyes shut and cries out obscenely. You can feel how hard he cums; completely soaking through the front of his pants and dampening your own.

Lucifer collapses into you; completely limp. For a moment, you thought he might have passed out. But then you hear him humming happily while he nuzzles deeper in-between your breasts.

You gently hold him closer, one of your hands carding through his soft hair as Lucifer takes a moment to recover. You swear you hear him mindlessly babbling praises into your chest. Praises of how much of a "good mommy" you are.

Lucifer drags himself up to look at you with hazy, lovedrunk eyes; breathing heavily and wearing that dorky grin you love so much. Some of your milk had escaped his frenzy, dripping down his chin and smearing along his jaw.

"Do you, uh... Need me to do your other breast too...?"

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

AN: If nothing else; I hope this teaches you something about the trials of breastfeeding. Women need more education on what happens to their bodies before, during, and after childbirth.

Don't be that reddit guy who thinks girls make milk whenever they are horny.

FURTHER READING ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Unfortunately, the OG poster deactivated. But you can find a archive of another Lucifer with a lactation kink post >>HERE<<

[missmeinyourbones]

omg megumi and "open your mouth for me" PLEASE

i like the way you think anon

NSFW 18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

cw: afab!reader, fingering, cum eating, spit (?). finger lickin' (good)

...

as distant as he may seem, megumi thrives off of intimate sex—which surprises him more than anyone else.

he remembers being an awkward teen, watching any god-awful porn he could find online and thinking oh, so that's what sex is supposed to look like.

like a fucking book report, he'd take mental notes of the underlying motifs and tones. always the same dynamics—men big, muscly, and dominant as they throw and bend women every which way. rough. cruel. dirty.

but now he's twenty-four. an adult. he pays rent and votes regularly in local elections and drinks black coffee and fucks like a real man, not the ones he used to see on his computer screen.

if he told his past self that he'd be here, with you, doing the filthy things you do to one another, he'd scowl in pure distaste. and honestly, the thought of anyone else doing it still does sound a bit foul to him.

but it's different with you.

it's intimate, something only he gets to see and only you get to feel. it's hidden from the world and completely your own, different each time yet somehow always leaves him feeling the same.

megumi's never been adventurous, but he's learned that he would do just about anything you ask as long as it's paired with a meek please and thank you.

his fingers twist and curl inside of you, practically molding your warmth to his liking as he softly rocks them in and out of your cunt. he sweetly kisses the sweat beading on your forehead and you whine when the palm of his hand brushes against your sensitive clit.

you're close—he knows you well enough to know through the heightened pitch of your whimpers and the clenching muscles around his fingers.

his voice is soft against your sticky cheek when he gently encourages, "come on, you can do it."

he knows you can, and you know you can. because megumi knows exactly where to poke and prod and linger inside of you to get you right where he wants you. something he's learned through the embarrassingly loving trials and errors of intimacy with you.

"always look so pretty," he kisses your jaw, relishing in the way your body feverishly chases his touch, "wanna see it, please."

and that's really all it takes. you come around his fingers with rocking hips and a breathless whine.

megumi lets you ride it out on his fingers, lets you rock your shaky hips into his palm for as long as you need to get the most out of him.

when your head falls back and your breathing slows down a bit, he allows himself to pull his fingers from you with a lewd pop (something he would cringe at years ago, but now makes his heart swell with pride).

you're tired, he knows, but still, he's incredibly hard and disgustingly in love with the moment spread out before him.

he nudges your nose with his, a silent command for you to kiss him. he cant decide if he loves or hates the way you teasingly turn your cheek, making him work for it.

he pouts softly, needy and shameless as he nudges you again, "come on, open your mouth for me."

and when he asks, he means for him to slide his tongue against yours, but you clearly have other plans.

his mind is only focused on tasting you right now, so when you reach for his wrist, he doesn't think twice.

and when you finally open your jaw slightly ajar, and it's to pop his cum-covered fingers in the warmth of your mouth, he's nearly nineteen again—cumming his pants at the sight of something he thought he'd never actually feel.

"jesus christ, babe," the groan comes desperate and whiny from his throat.

he hides his reddening face in your chest and you laugh at the sight, giggles muffled by his long fingers when you mumble out, "what?"

when he pulls away from your mouth, a string of spit follows, connecting your swollen lips to his pruney fingers. the romantic in him knows it's the invisible string that forever ties the two of you together.

but his words aren't as poetic as his thoughts.

"bitch," he grumbles frustratedly, and you actually laugh at his blunt words.

he doesn't mean it, and he's not trying to be sexy and degrading like the men he used to see online, he's being himself. desperate and needy and so in love with you that it hurts him in moments like this.

"that's not fair," he whines when you lick your lips through your giggly amusement.

his eyes go from his hand, to your lips, to your eyes with something that looks like shame mixed with hunger when he murmurs, "i wanted a kiss, not... that."

your nose scrunches, "you didn't like it?"

"no," he's quick to clarify with a blush. he leans into your swollen lips, and when you finally let him kiss you, tasting like your cum and his spit, megumi thinks he might pass out.

"no, i loved it."

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

Hey I was wondering would it be possible to do the dorm leaders with an s/o that suffers from Essential tremor.

And Essential Tremors is a nervous system condition, also known as a neurological condition, that causes involuntary and rhythmic shaking. It can affect almost any part of the body, but the trembling occurs most often in the hands, especially when doing simple tasks, such as drinking from a glass or tying shoelaces.

I have it and I was just wondering how they would deal or help with it

Disabled Yuu

I actually know a bit abt this but I did keep it vague as I don't have it myself. I also hope to do more disabled ayuus fr. I made Yuu assertive and exasperated in some parts– like Honestly if ur being an ass or demanding info abt someone's disability you have full right to return the energy.

I avoided the whole fixing thing in this too– though Azul’s part does bring it up. Platonic as I focused more on the hand aspect. Azul is Pre Overblot!! Hence why hes 2x as sleazy. I didn't Malleus cause it came out corny af. Also this is old and I wrote this on no sleep. Sorry this took so long I have like 70 reqs. Enjoy.

***

Riddle 

Since the first Unbirthday party you shared with Heartstabyul he got educated very quickly on the subject. He sees you shakily bring a cup to your lips and guiltily assumes it was because of his overblot. He doesn't blame you, I mean come on, he tried to kill you after all. It was then you explained to him your condition

Since then, he actually read up on it in his own time. He's honestly one of your biggest supporters– though you do need to remind him at times you don't need coddling. Still, you can appreciate it…

“Prefect.” You pause and turn your attention to the housewarden beside you. “Your tie is unkempt today. Will you allow me to fix it?” He asks thoughtfully, not wanting to intrude or risk coming off as rude.

“Ah, can you really? I'd appreciate it.” You presented your neck to Riddle, allowing him to reach over and adjust for you. His gaze was focused as he untied it, re-wrapping it with perfection as if it were second nature. Given his upbringing, you don't doubt it is.

“Thank you by the way, today I just didn't have the energy to deal with it.” When he's finished you pull away and nod at him. “Of course. Should you ever need help with anything in the future let me know. I'll be glad to help.”

Leona

Leona doesn't notice and doesn't really care. It's only when you share a room with him where he sees it, watching you tremble from where you lay. You have a blanket and the dorm is warm.  Why are you shaking?

“Look at you trembling in the lion's den. Do I scare you that much?” He quirked an uninterested brow at you as you turned your head to him.

“... It's a neurological condition…” You spoke bluntly, hoping that would be the end of it. “So it causes you to tremble like this?” 

“Yeah pretty much.” Leona merely hummed, and the subject dropped. No invasive questions. No taunts. No pity.

He's not mothering you or bending over backwards in the future and don't expect him to. It's clear you've been able to handle yourself well enough. Still, he takes it into consideration. He'll bite his tongue when you take a bit longer to do things.

You don't need to be babied, but when he sees you struggling to open a wrapper of some sort of a candy he offers his hand “Give it here. I'll help you out” You wordlessly handed over the candy and watched him slice through it with the claw on his thumb.

“Tch. You make me do too much…” It's an insincere remark as he hands off the candy bar and continues on his way.

Azul

“... I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly Azul, can you repeat what You said?”

“Cant believe your ears?” Azul wore a smirk as he put a hand on his chest, speaking once more with his confident tone. “The Mostro Lounge has quite a special deal just for you, dear Prefect! A special cure to your ailmen–”

“That's what I thought you said.” Azul paused for a moment taking in your annoyed tone. Did he miscalculate? “Something the matter Prefect–”

“Azul.” You now looked at him with a cold glare, clearly pissed. Azul swallowed, steeling his anxiety behind his businessman persona though the slight widening of his eyes gave away some of his true emotions. “... Yes, Prefect?”

“Why the fuck do you think saying that is okay?” You couldn't tell right now if your hands were trembling from your condition or rage. “Are you dense?” you ask, voice harsher.

“N-no, Prefect. I'm sorry if anything I said has caused you offense…” The deepened glare silenced him. “Think for a moment the implications of you wanting to cure me, and even if I did accept then what? You'd seriously hold something as sensitive as this over my head? Would you even be able to cure it long term?”

How badly you wanted to tear him a new one and let him have it, insults resting on your tongue. Instead, you sighed, exhausted from this conversation already. It wasn't worth your time.

“I'm not some ‘charity’ case though I doubt you know the meaning of the word. I don't need your ‘cures’. Just… leave me alone from now on. Don't talk to me, don't approach me.” you turned away and sped off, more frustrated than ever.

It would take until after his overblot for an apology.

Kalim 

Oh Kalim… he really does mean well but…

“And this spoon is designed for shaky hands!”

“I don't need…”

“And these are silk ribbons you wrap them with!”

“Thank you but–”

“And these magical devices are to help check blood pressure–”

“Kalim.”

Kalim blinked and tilted his head, still in the middle of putting the excessive amount of gifts into your hands “Ah?” He blinked for a moment. “Ohhh I know that tone, that's the same one Jamil uses when he tells me I go overboard…”

Kalim's brows knit together and he rubs his head through his white hair. “Did I go overboard again?” He's so genuine it's hard to be mad at him.

“... A little. Hey‐” You hold Kalim's face and pat him on the head. “Thank you though. It's very sweet of you to look out for me, but… I don't need all of these things. I'll be alright okay?”

“Oh! Okay! Well if you ever need anything I'm here!” Kalim pumps his fist then turns to the massive pile of boxes behind him. “So um… what should I do with these…?”

"Donate them maybe?”

Vil

Another example of doesn't really care. He inquired about it once, asked some polite questions and left it at that. There's no need for him to bother you.

When the VCD tournament comes around and he spends more time with you, he takes note of how it affects you. Many expect him to make comments or give you products to take care of your hands more, and he does, however he would have done that regardless of your condition.

Your disability doesn't define you and you're capable on your own. You don't need an able-bodied outsider to tell you what to do or how to feel. A really good ally. 

As he collects all the data on how your condition affects you specially, he's able to give you some welcome help. 

“This potion is good at helping with seizures, but it can also help with your Tremors. I will show you how to make it.”

Idia 

“So your hands can't stay still? Oof, bad RNG.” He immediately realizes he used video game terms out loud and dies just a bit. 

Really it's only Ortho that inquires about it. Your body's not any of Idia's business so why should he care? After all, how many times has he seen you irl? Yeah lol, he's cool. He barely knows you aside from a few random encounters on a bad roll. 

However Ortho cares. He cares a lot. And he's always trying to find ways to potentially help or cure you. Idia watches his little brother researching every book he can find on your condition and sighs.

“There's no cure right now Ortho. now even magic. Besides that's Yuu’s choice, isn't it?” He shrugs and looks off to the side apathetically. 

Sad beeps come from the humanoid. “Yeah I know that… I think I upset them but I didn't mean to…” The child's mournful expression suddenly perks up. 

“But! I'm not trying to do that! I'm researching the best way to make a game controller!” 

“A game controller? Isn't that pretty easy?”

“Well yes but…” Ortho pauses, reflecting on his earlier conversation.  “I asked Yuu if they enjoyed any video games and they said that they do. However, it's hard to play certain games because of their hands. So!”

Ortho shows Idia the 3d model he sculpted in his program. “I'm working on one that will work for them.”

“Working on one that works for them…” Idia looked to the side. He couldn't imagine a world without video games… and he doesn't have much to do… and he supposed the Prefect is okay…

“Send the file to me. I'll get to printing it.”

[ellastone-olsen]

Would it be possible if you could do a g!p wandanat x female reader with sex pollen?? Its okay if you cant, just an idea if you have nothing else to write🫣🤭

Blue glow - WandaNat

DO NOT COPY ANY OF MY WORKS. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY

Summary: Curiosity and alien flowers work wonders.

Pairing: G!PWandaNat × fem!R

Warnings:NSWF,SMUT SMUT SMUT, handjob, blowjob, breeding kink, threesome, cockwarming, dirty talk, after care

DISCLAIMER: ENGLISH ISN’T MY FIRST LANGUAGE SORRY FOR GRAMMAR OR SPELLING MISTAKES

Word count: 1.7k

AN: hi anon! I’m glad to see my first request thank you! honestly, until that moment I didn’t know what sex pollen is and I had to turn to google lmao

"What is that?." You asked looking at the strange plant in the pot. "Have you decided to take up gardening? Tony, I thought you weren't old enough to act like my grandma." You stop laughing when the man looks at you sternly, apparently not appreciating the jokes about his age. “This, by the way, is a plant unknown to science (at least on Earth), which I personally grew from seeds strictly for research and not what you just said.” “Okay let’s say it’s like this, let me take a closer does it smell like something?” You also kept a couple of cacti in your room at the Avengers headquarters, which recently bloomed by the way. As soon as you stood up and approached to the pot, a man blocked your way. “Are you crazy, what did I just say? Don’t touch this thing, I don’t know if it’s poisonous or not.” You looked at him sternly and muttered under your breath so that he could also hear, “You said not to touch, not to smell.” The attempt failed.

late Friday evening. Everyone went to their rooms or left the headquarters altogether. There was silence everywhere, only the sounds of Wanda’s steps were heard somewhere in the corridor. The woman had almost reached her destination when she saw some kind of blue glow in the darkness, “What the fuck...”. She came closer and examined some kind of plant that vaguely resembled a flycatcher, but with more spherical “traps.” Then she suddenly remembered...

“Y/N, Natasha, come here let’s hurry up. Y/N, you told me about something in Tony’s office. Check it out, Natasha take a look too.” Apparently the witch was very impressed by the flower, because she excitedly pulled both of you by the hands towards the light source. And where did she get this passion for flora…

“Wanda, we were already getting ready to go to bed, what did you see there?” Nat suddenly fell silent, looking at the strange light. “Did you seriously drag me out of bed for this succulent or what is this?!” She clearly did not share the witch's interest. “Oh, you’re right, this is the flower I told you about. Tony takes such good care of it, and apparently it’s...bloomed? Let’s take a closer and look, it’s cool,” Nat rolled her eyes but followed you two. You raised your face to the flower, wanting to look at it, when suddenly... the ball of the bud opened releasing pollen into the air, apparently from which the light came.

There is absolutely everything around in this stuff, you can hear Natasha’s exclamations: “Don’t breathe in this, it can be poisonous. Damn it, I told you not to come here.” The three of you cough, covering your faces, and go out into the corridor, shaking yourself and each other from the remaining dust. “Now you make me need to take a shower again.” The woman grumbles something else while Wanda calms her down, you also want to answer, but suddenly this feeling comes.

If there was a mirror in front of you right now, you could appreciate how quickly your pupils are dilating, as if you were a drug addict on a high (technically you were), beads of sweat are rolling off your forehead and this pulsation between your legs is as if you were given a dose of an aphrodisiac multiplied by five times. Oh no this is definitely not normal, you need to tell Wanda and Natasha what is happening apparently because of this cute glowing flower. While you were in your thoughts you didn't notice how the swearing died down and both women also noticed the changes.

When you turned your head, you saw two women looking at you with hunger and tents in their pants. Your mouth watered at the sight of the obvious bulge on both of your girlfriends and you impatiently walked over to Wanda, clinging to her like a lifeline. "Oh God, I don't know what it is, but I need you both so bad." Natasha came up from behind, pressing her rock-hard dick to your ass, her arms wrapped around your waist and the redhead’s whisper was heard in your ear. "Oh don't worry baby you'll get what you want.Damn I'm going to die if I don't fill your pretty pussy at least twice. What do you think Wanda?"

You feel the soft material of the sheets as they throw you on the bed, watching as they take off their clothes and look at you as if you were their prey. Your own panties are already hopelessly ruined, lub flows down your thighs at the sight of your girlfriends.

You quickly take of your clothes after which Nat takes you in her arms, pressing a kiss on your lips, you feel her cock poking into your stomach and dripping with pre-cum. Wanda, meanwhile stands behind stroking her length at this spectacle. "Mmm..Nat please." You rock your hips to rub against her cock, but you are suddenly pulled to your feet and forced to your knees.

"No no, first you're going to take every inch of my dick into your mouth, baby." The tip of her cock pressed against your lips and you obediently open your mouth and shake your head along entire length. Wanda can’t just watch anymore and comes up to you, takes your hand and places it on her pulsating length. "Come on baby, jerk off Wanda you can't leave either of us needy. Damn Wanda her mouth feels so good around me. That's such a good cocksucker." You move your hand and rub your thumb over Wanda's sensitive red tip as she begins to rock into your hand. Tears well up in your eyes when Natasha grabs your hair and shuts your mouth. Wanda helps you jerk her off and grins, “What is it baby girl? Is Nat’s dick too big for you? You’re so beautiful, now I want to cum all over your face.”

Natasha began to shamelessly fuck your mouth, running after her orgasm, the head of her dick hitting the back wall of your throat every time. "That's itmbaby, I'm going to cum in your beautiful fucking mouth and you'll swallow every drop. Wanda, are you close? Cum with me." Your hand was thrown away so that Wanda could jerk herself off, cumming all over your face, ropes of Natasha's cum hit your throat and you breathed through your nose as you swallowed every drop as you were told.

You took a deep breath as the redhead pulled out of your mouth and wiped Wanda's release off your face. When you were lifted from the floor, a small puddle of your arousal remained on it, your legs did not obey and your knees were red. You were already dripping and the pitiful whining and pleas left your mouth without hindrance. “Please it hurts so much, I need you to fuck me so bad.”

"What do you think Wanda, I think she deserves to have you fill her pussy." The witch got off with a simple nod as her two strong hands forced you onto all fours on the bed, allowing her to position herself behind you so she could start pounding into you without warning. "God Nat, her pussy was made for my cock, so greedy and tight. You need to see how well she takes me." Nat, meanwhile, spat on her hand for extra lub and stroked her red sensitive tip, appreciating how good the two of you looked. The long-awaited feeling of filling and Wanda’s quick thrusts drove you crazy, you put your hand under you, stimulating your swollen clit. "Yes yes thank you thank you so good fuck I'm gonna cum can I cum?" You know that with the tip of Wanda’s cock deliciously hitting that nice spot inside you, you wouldn’t last long, and having received approval, a minute later the orgasm hit you with incredible force. "Oh yes Y/N you squeeze my cock so well. Oh my God, cum for me like that, cum all over my length." The witch praised you.

You were turned over again and your back touched the cool sheets. Wanda pounding into you hearing a cute whine from your mouth, "Too sensitive. It's too much." "Oh baby girl you can take it. I need to filled this tight pussy so badly. You want my cum inside don't you? Do you love this cock?" "Yes yes I love so fucking much!". Natasha continued to jerk herself off when a cute little idea popped into her head that she only bothered to tell the witch about. The women looked at each other and Wanda nodded in approval of the plan.

The witch's thrusts became faster and she exploded, releasing her load inside you. “Oh yeah baby fuck take all my cum!” The feeling of fullness and how good it was, was the only thing you could think about. Wanda, meanwhile, pulled out of you, giving way to the redhead. Natasha turned you around, taking you by the hips and jerking off her cock, she stuck only the tip inside you, filling you even more. "Oh fuck fuck I'm so full fuck Natasha!" “That’s it my little greedy girl, I know you love it when I fill you up .” The only sounds in the room were heavy sighs and Nat's little whining as she pulled out and looked at the beautiful picture in front of her.

You were lying on your shared bed, Wanda took napkins from the nightstand and carefully wiped all the liquids from your thighs, kissing you and telling you how good you are and how much she loves you. When the witch finished, Natasha threw a robe over your naked body, picked you up, kissing your cheeks and carried you to the bathroom so they could both take care of you the way you truly deserve.

Sitting in a hot bubble bath, you asked, “How do we tell Tony about the pollen effect of his science experiment?”