#collapse into you. even if they're trying not to show it. but you try and hold them together. i think it's about trying

[vulpixisananimal]

(Mirabelle) (Thai belongs to @lavender-tea-dragon)

(You cut down the next sadness with ease, your sword slicing through it like butter. You step back, panting, that was the, seventh? Eighth? Glancing around, you can see Isa and Ramos back to back, Odile being helped up by Bonnie, Nille protecting them both, and-)

"MIRA!!"

(You turn, a sadness was rushing at you-)

(In a blink it was sliced clean in half. Siffrin, well, Null, landed a few feet in front of it, his new sword in hand, smiling. Actually, this might be the first time you've seen him smile.)

"T-thanks Null! Having fun?"

"No." (He said, still smiling.) "I never have fun."

"Heh, of course! Oh! lower your stance a little, leg to the-"

(You hear a protest from Odile.) "Now is not the time Mirabelle!"

(You and Null nod at each other, then dive again into the fight.)

(You had made it to Wolworth, and not a moment too soon! You were walking down the road when Null suddenly started running. "Stage time" was all he said. After a very winding sprint, you got here in time to see a wave of sadness storming the city gate.)

(There were SO MANY!!!)

(You throw a scissors sign, your sparkly discs of light slicing into another sadness. The one saving grace here was that these sadness were comically weak! B-but even then, you had to fight the off!! You might not get hurt but if even one makes it in-)

"How ya doing Mira!" (Isabeau yells) "I'm on about eight!"

"Six, here!" (Ramos adds, cracking a fist into another sadness.)

"Are y'really keeping track?!?" (Nille raised an eyebrow, keeping a sadness away from Bonnie and Odile.)

"Of course!" (Isa smiles.) "It's for the competitive spirit."

(You giggle, at least your friends could help make light of it all! You turn to face another sadness, but an arrow pierces it before you can attack. Someone at the gate was holding a bow and a satisfied grinn. You wave.)

(There was a small militia in Wolworth, just a group of everyday people who would come running to fight sadness, but they were overwhelmed when you showed up. Just behind that gate were half a dozen people nursing wounds. Change, they must all be so brave.)

(The wave was thinning out, you stab another, duck back, Null jumps in to strike. It was exhilarating and exhausting. By the time the last sadness fell, your dress was a mess and the tip of your sword felt dulled.)

(You're panting, look around, make sure it's all clear.) ". . Everyone alright!?!"

"Good here!"

"Alive!"

"Tired but great!"

"Safe!!!!!"

"I'm okay."

". . . Well done." (Null sheethed the sword and walked over to you.) "Saving the day yet again with no. . . Urgh-"

(Nulls knees buckled and he collapsed to all fours, breathing heavily. You rushed to his side, healing ready. You heard the others thunder over too.) "A-are you okay?!? Craft exhaustion??"

"Y-yeah-" (He was gasping for air, you got a small tonic out and handed it to him.)

"How many times did you loop just now?" (Odile asks, you could see the worry hidden behind her eyes.)

"Only, two times." (Null drinks down the tonic.) "First, got here late. Many wounded, had to, try again."

(Isa offers a hand, Null takes it, getting back up. Odile squints at him.) ". . . And the second?"

". . . Wanted to look cool."

"Null!!"

"You CRAB!!!

"Haha!!! That's a TERRIBLE idea!"

"Hey! Look alive." (Ramos gets your attention, they're pointing to the city. Right! Call Null Siffrin in front of other people. None of them want that secret getting out after all.)

(Now that the sadness were cleared, some of that city militia were coming to check the aftermath. One had an arm in a sling, another with a bandage on their head, you noticed one was still sitting at the gate, leg in a cast. You see that person with a bow running up to you all.)

"Change I'm glad you all showed up when you did." (The bowman said. She had a heavy jacket and messy darkless hair. She had a sword and shield at the ready, as well as her longbow and arrows over her shoulder. She had bonding earings, too, a snake and a darkless bird.) "Ha! the saviors of Vaugarde themselves coming to save the city, haha!"

"All in a days work!" (Isa said with a smile.)

"I-I'm just glad we made it on time!!" (You walk up to her, still tired, but smiling.) "I-is everyone okay?!?"

"Just some booboos, some real big booboos, but nothing major. What about him?" (She gestured past you to Null.)

"Oh I'm just tired." (Null started.) "Don't worry about-"

"Siffrin here is suffering from acute craft exhaustion." (Odile cuts him off.) "Is there a doctor or someone we could see for medicine?"

"Ha!" (She grinned.) "I know people like that. Sure, there's a medhouse in town, closer to the Wolworth House of Change."

"HEY! ARK!" (One of the other fighters came running over with a limp. He had partially dyed hair and darker skin, they were wearing a striped apron. His bonding earings matched hers.) "Who won!"

"Oh yeah!" (She, Ark? Turned to Isa.) "How many ya get?"

"Oh! I got ten! Ha."

"CRAB YEAH!!!" (The newcomer replied.) "No way anyone could beat that!!"

"Twelve." (Odile replies flatly.) "I guess I'm not anyone."

"COME ON!" (The newcomer pouted and crossed his arms.)

"Told you, Thai." (Ark looked smug, holding out a hand.) "Don't underestimate a book. Pay up-"

(Null coughs into a hand, attention at him.) ". . . Seventeen."

"WHAT?!?"

"NO CRABBIN' WAY!!"

"HAHA!!! YES!!! THAT'S MY BUDDY!!!"

(Thai gave Ark a smug look right back and put his money pouch back. You couldn't help but giggle.)

". . . Aren't you two bonded?" (Bonnie squints at them.) "You'd just have the same amounta money."

"It's about PRIDE! Kid!!" (Thai jeers back. Uhoh.)

"'M NOT A KID!!!" (Bonnie got all big and tall, ready to fight this stranger before Ark got between them both.)

"OH HOW RUDE OF ME I DIDN'T INRODUCE MYSELF! Ahem- My name's Ark (she/her), I help organize-" (Thai punches her in the shoulder) "Ow- Right. I'm in charge of this little group of guards-on-demand."

"Guards on demand?!?" (Thai crosses their arms.) "PUH-LEASE. We kicked their crabbin sadness butts!!!"

"How's the leg." (Ark grinned, Thai winced, still limping, point proven.)

"FINE Whatever. Oh, uh, I'm Thai (he/they), I'm just a tea guy who likes kicking sadness in the face!!" (Thai strikes a heroic pose.)

"Tea?" (Null perked up.)

"YEAH!!! The Tea-vern!! Toughest place in town with the BEST tea IN VAUGARDE!!!"

"Ooooh that's fighting words." (You say jokingly.) "I've had some really really good tea before!"

"We'll I'll make it BETTER!!"

"O-kaaaay we wont keep you guys any longer." (Ark interrupts, putting a hand on Thai.) "We got to clean up the place, thanks again, all of you."

"Thank you all so much!" (You wave goodbye as you head into town.)

"HEY IF Y'LIKE TEA COME BY TO THE TEA-VERN!!" (You hear Thai yell after you.)

(Well, that was a very warm welcome!)

(The city of Wolworth had nice cobblestone streets with a few carts and sturdy looking houses. From what you remember it was built by an architect who wanted to build a city to last, and it did!)

"Ah Wolworth. . ." (Ramos sighed and smiled as you walked through the main gate.) "Can't get rid of me that easily."

"Glad to be back? (Nille asks.)

"Yeah! Can't wait to see Eri again, I hope they're doing good without me!"

"Your guardian, right?" (Null asked. rubbing his head.) "Memory."

"No you're right! Eri! Last letter I sent them was around, well, the King stuff."

"It'll be a reunion to celebrate then!" (Isa cheers.)

"What about 'Frin?" (Bonnie pipes up, poking Null in the side.)

"Right! Well, we should get him to the medical house, but. . ." (You rub your chin, thinking.) ". . . I-Isa could you help me get Sif there? You all go on ahead an meet Mx. Eri!"

"Fine by me." (Null nods.)

"Aww, I wanted to meet 'em sooner but that's okay!" (Isa beams.) "Sifs health comes first!"

"That should be fine." (Ramos nods.) "We'll have the house all ready for you too. Heh."

"Perfect! I'm sure they'll be glad to see you, Ramos!" (You patted them on the back.) "I think we're going opposite directions, right?"

"Yep! You go that way to the House of Change, and the medhouse will be around there. But we're going this way!" (Ramos couldnt wait, and was already walking, jogging off.)

"WAIT UP YOU CRAB!!!" (Bonnie chased them.)

"LANGUAGE- Oh we'll see you guys later, K?" (Nille waves and runs after.)

"Gems. . ." (Odile sighed.) "I thought we were done with the running."

"Cardio is good for you M'dame!" (Isa says encouragingly. Odile just rolled her eyes and chased after the others.)

(The three of you started off in the other direction. It wasn't far, but, it was just far enough to give you a chance to talk about The Thing.)

". . . . S-so!" (You cough into a hand.) "Null, M-mind if I ask about. . . W-well. . . The Ramos thing?"

(Null looks at you and huffs.) "With Siffrin?"

"Yes. With, Siffrin."

"I've been, meaning to ask about that too actually." (Isa adds, he sounded sheepish.) "I promised not to pry but Ramos' really anxious about it."

"Right." (Null breathes in, and out.) "We have reached an agreement, as a Constellation."

"Oh?"

"Yeah?"

(Null nods.) "Mhm. Myself, Mal, and Loop have until we meet and get to know Eri to prove Ramos is a danger."

(You listen intently, Null continues.) "That deadline gives us time to get to know Ramos more, and meeting Eri will help confirm if Ramos is a good person. After that, Siffrin can do whatever they want."

"Right." (You nod. You saw the medhouse come into view.) "So, we'll find out soon, right?"

"Mhm" (Null sighs.) "And you're fine with it, Isabeau?"

"Huh? Oh yeah! I'm fine with it." (He was smiling ear to ear.) "Pretty excited actually!"

". . . Good."

(You walked up to the small one story building with a little tilted plus on the door, there was a little porch out the front. The medical house was just up the street from the House of Change.)

"Here we are! Ready, Sif?" (You turn and ask.)

(Null looked exhausted, but he smiled.) ". . . Ready as ever."

"That's the spirit." (Isa smiled at him.)

"Alright, let's go!" (You turn to the door and open it.)

(The inside was a little waiting room. A desk, a few chairs, and some random books. There was a couple of people here already, one had a doctors coat with some papers. The other had a vest, dark hair, bonding earings, and-)

"It's you!!!"

(Perci turns to you, the shock on his face was obvious. Your reach for your sword-)

"O-OH!! Yes I'm sorry for running out on our get together but I just had to check on my bonded!!" (Perci interupts anything you were about to say, he turned back to the doctor.) "A-and, you're sure they'll be alrght?"

"I'm positive, Mr. Monet. She just needs a few more days rest."

"Oh change, thank you, you've put my heart at rest. ." (He's smiling, normalcy intact.)

(He turns to exit, pausing a second. You see him very clearly and purposfuly put his hands into his vest pockets, one of them was bandaged. You take your hand away from your sword and step to the side. He waits a second, then walks past the three of you.)

"We can catch up outside." (You hear him whisper.)

(. . . What was HE doing here.)

"Friend of yours?" (The doctor asks.)

"Somewhat." (You reply simply- Oh crab.) "B-but enough of that. Could you help us? My friend here's suffering from craft exhaustion."

"A second case in so many days?" (The doctor chuckled.) "People need to remember to take crafts slow."

". . Haha, yeah, I know, right?" (Isa tries livening up the tone, helping Null over to the doctor. He glances at you, and nods. You nod back.)

(You pause for a second, the doctor lead them away. You do the Siffrin thing; breathe in. . . And out. . . You turn to the door, turn the handle, and walk out.)

(. . . . Perci was standing on the porch to the right. A soft 'tink tink tink' of metal eminated from a 3d puzzle he was focused on. It was the kind where you were supposed to untangle two things of metal spaghetti from each other.)

(. . . Well he could read your mind, right? didn't you want to talk?)

(. . . He's still focused on the puzzle. Well, fine then. You cough.)

(His head bolts up to look at you. Now that you weren't about to stab him through the chest, you could see the bags under his eyes. He sighs.) ". . Lady Mirabelle."

"Mister Monet." (You reply, taking a step forward.) "You have a lot to answer for you, you crab!"

(He raises an eyebrow, then looks back to the puzzle as he talks.) "Ahaa. . . I'm sure you think I do. . . How's Siffrin? Not sick I hope."

". . . They're fine." (You huff, and look out from the porch.) "It's craft exhaustion, they haven't fully recovered from your friendly scuffle."

"Ah, yes." (Perci pauses again.) ". . . Merlon was very cross with me about that when she woke up. She was not a fan of that loophole I used- ah, pun not intended."

"Hmph." (You don't look at him. 'Loophole', yes, exhausing Null half to death in that fight. Wait, when they woke up?) "Is something wrong with Merlon?"

"Ah. . Yes. She's also been recovering from craft exhaustion since that fight." (He sighs.) "That skill they used was one they never used before. It nearly killed her."

". . . ." (Are you lying to me, Perci?)

". . . ." (He still doesn't respond, the only sound that came from him was the tinking of metal.)

". . . And, so they're still recovering?"

"Yes, she is." (Tink tink tink.) "Transporting matter from one point to another takes an incredible amount of energy. Energy that she didn't have."

"That's. . . Hard to believe." (You were trying to keep calm. It was very, very hard to believe. If Sif can- wait stop thinking! He can still read your mind, right. . ? Or. . .) ". . Can't you read my mind, Perci?"

"Hm?" (He looks up again, then down to the puzzle.) "Oh! Well, yes? But you don't need to worry about that right now."

(He holds up the puzzle.) "A word to the wise if you learn Mind Craft, find something to focus your attention on. If I let my mind wander it will eventually wander to all the minds around me. Imagine hearing the inner monolog of every person around you at once. A puzzle like this, though? A wonderful way to focus."

"Oh!" (You perk up, mind clicking like said puzzle.) "So you really are being honest with me?"

"Of course" (He smiled, back to the puzzle.) "Why wouldn't I- oh dear don't tell me I left such a bad impression you think me a dishonest man."

"You are a dishonest man!"

"Lady Mirabelle, I promise I'm no such- aha!"

(With one last clink, he undoes the two bits of the puzzle, before happily starting to put it together again.)

(You huff.) "Alright, fine. If we're being honest with each other then, then, just know I don't trust you, Perci."

". . . I see." (Perci sighs, pausing a moment again before replying.) "I won't pretend like I can get that trust back. But, I would at least like you to know I'm really not an evil or dishonest man."

". . . I understand." (You sigh, letting yourself relax.) "I. . . It'll be hard to trust you. But, I'll believe that you're not evil." (Not like the King. . .)

". . . Thank you. Aha, actually." (He holds up the bandaged hand.) "Did you know about that little side effect of mind craft? Or did you get lucky in our fight."

"Side effect?" (You tilt your head.) ". . . If that's the wound from our fight, that should have been healed weeks ago."

"Good eye." (He nods, flexing his his hand and wincing.) "Advanced mind craft requires skin to skin contact; it's a connection of the nerves. If you use mind craft a lot like I do, the nerves on where you connect with mind craft become more sensitive over time. And for me, it's my hands."

". . . Oh." (You remember back to that day, how you struck his hand, and how he couldn't hold his sword, afterwards.) ". . S-sorry."

"Don't be, we were fighting after all." (He chuckles.) "But yes, my hands are very sensitive. My swords handles are specially made to be easy on the hands, and I really should get gloves too, but. . ."

"No you should, that sounds like a great idea! For everyone." (You giggle to yourself.)

(He laughs back, and clicks the two pieces of the puzzle back together. He held it out to you.) "Lady Mirabelle, I promise that, until my bonded has recoverd, I will not cause what you consider trouble."

(You look at his outstretched hand holding the puzzle, then to him. There's a quiet, uncomfortable pause.)

". . . Ah! Right." (He chukles, and places the puzzle on the banister, NOW you take it. Looking over, he's already pulled out a new one.) ". . So, deal?"

". . . Fine." (You huff.) "I don't like you, Mr. Monet, but I'll try and trust you here. It would be nice to have a few days without worrying about trouble."

"Ahaha, I imagine. I heard about the dramatics outside the gate. Oh! What brings you to Wolworth, by the way?"

"Oh!" (You look at him, smile on your face again.) "We're actually visiting Eri! Ramos' guardian! Once Siffrin's better we're meeting up, at. . ."

(Your voice trails off. Perci is looking at you, mouth open with a mix of shock and horror.)

(You tilt your head.) ". . . .Is, something wrong."

"You. . ." (You can see him struggling to keep his mask in place, but it slipped. It slipped just enough to see the sorrow behind it. He looks away.)

"You, you don't know. . ?"

[sapsolais]

<3

[callahanisms]

all you need is more radaway

save a horse. ride a cowboy. ;)

anyways i really loved the tv show and i love the game. and ghouls are just chef's kiss. or maybe that's because i love monsters. sad that i finished it so quickly. :(

perhaps i can put what i learned in my western class to good use lol

character: cooper howard aka. the ghoul

it's never easy surviving the wasteland. you don't know how you managed to survive for this long. perhaps because you seemed to have been blessed with incredible luck.

and building up endurance, of course.

you felt little to no side effects from the radiation of the food you were eating. which just meant you had a lot of radaway and rad-x stocked up.

to make ends meet, though, you had to start hunting. scavenging and scrapping by wasn't enough. you needed the extra caps.

thus your rivalry with another bounty hunter was born.

"well, well. aren't you far from home, sweetheart?"

you were used to comments about your outfit. a vault suit. yes, you came from one. you had been exiled after your father was revealed to be managing the experiment behind it. the child pays for the sins of the father always.

"you're not the first and you won't be the last." you pull the head off the body as clean as possible.

"now i don't know if you should do that."

"and why not?"

a bullet flies past you and burrows itself into the ground. you finally look up. a cowboy hat. the face of a ghoul. his gun pointing right at you.

but you weren't afraid.

"because he's my target." he pulls out a piece of paper. "and he's mine."

"seems unfair if i did all the work. and you just collect his head and the prize." you pull out the same piece of paper. yours is a little more worn out though. and covered in dried blood.

"that's the way of the wasteland sweetheart."

"if you believe so."

your hands were fast. two bullets lodged into his right left and when he looks up, you're gone.

of course, you learned from the best: western holotapes. you really liked them when you were growing up. claimed to want to be a lone hero.

in some ways, you were. the wasteland was just a new version of the wild west, wasn't it?

"spaghetti? like...the pasta?"

more like spaghetti western. he knew that, of course. but no one in the wasteland knew what a spaghetti western was. they were remnants of a past long gone and one only accessible by holotapes in the vaults.

"that's their name." the person says. "why? you have business with them?"

"perhaps." the ghoul was looking to return a favor.

"don't even try. they're far more formidable than you think."

"we'll see about that."

your rivalry was an exchange of bullets, more often than not. thankfully, you always stocked up on bloodbags and could make a stimpack from your heavy (but useful) travel chemistry kit. you were smart like that.

surprisingly, it became something to look forward. mostly because the ghoul preferred if he tried killing you, so he managed to get you out of a tough situation by killing the other people trying to kill you.

and you returned the favor. there was something satisfying about lodging a bullet into him again.

unfortunately, this left you two stuck on a job once. captured by raiders. you had been knocked out with a drug. and he had collapsed from...something.

"fuck." you mutter, pulling at the ropes binding you. your luck had run out for the day it seems, because your arms were tied to the ghoul's around this godforsaken pole. the metal was also uncomfortably rubbing up against your skin.

"you got a knife or anything sharp?" he looks over at you. it's rare to see him without his cowboy hat. his head was rather smooth.

you chuckle a little.

"something funny?" the ghoul asks.

"nothing. you're just...shaped like an egg."

"very funny."

"let me guess. your answer is no?"

"i don't have a knife up my sleeve, sadly. think they took it."

"shame." the ghoul shimmies something out of his own sleeve. he flicks the blade out and begins sawing at the rope. "watch your fingers."

you keep your fingers tucked in. eventually, the rope on your wrists comes undone and one arm soon after. the rest comes off and you rub your skin. "fuck these guys. always hated raiders."

"well, we both got sold out. we need to find that thing now. or else we'll be dead by sunrise." he tugs on the door of the jail cell and clicks his tongue.

"i don't have sharp objects. but i do have these." you pull out the bobby pin taped on the inside of your sleeve, alongside a mini screwdriver.

the lock wasn't very complicated, so you picked it with ease.

as you both are grabbing your equipment, you hear footsteps up above. light ones and heavier ones. and the sound of a muffled, altered, robotic voice.

the brotherhood of steel was worse than raiders, honestly.

"you go left, i go right. how does that sound?"

"i don't usually like taking orders from my rivals." he reloads his gun. "but for you? sure."

the event left the both of you soaked in the blood of your enemies. on the other hand, you guys left with plenty of loot and an idea of where your target was: dead. at the bottom of a lake.

it was a journey to get there, wherein you learned the details of each other's lives. you didn't think he was paying much attention to your sentences. after all, you came from a vault.

and yet, you saw a hint of sympathy in his eyes.

he seemed less keen on sharing details about his life, aside from his former name. cooper howard.

undeniably, as a fan of westerns, you recognized his names. from the holotapes.

"they had those?" cooper shakes his head, taking sips of water. "no way."

"yes way! it's where i learned to shoot."

"from watching my movies?"

"yes!"

"that is...a pleasant surprise." cooper leans back.

"that also makes you over 200 years old."

"that it does. something wrong with that?"

"no. the wasteland changes people." you maintain your attention to your suit, sewing a tear up. "just...you're looking for something, aren't you? everyone's always looking for something up here."

"are you looking for something?" his voice hardens and he sits up straight.

"i was. and then i found it. and i stopped." you tie the thread to seal the stitch and then tear the thread with your teeth. "i hope you find what you're looking for though."

"well, that's awfully kind of you, sweetheart."

"i have a name, you know."

"what is it?"

"(y/n)."

getting personal in the wasteland was something cooper wasn't adamant about. but the circumstances seems to call for it.

"guess we're even now."

the body of water was daunting. it was murky and dark. you pursed your lips and dumped your bag. "well. guess we have no choice."

cooper looks over at you then quickly turns around when he sees what you're doing: taking off your suit and going down to your underwear. "what are you doing?"

"i'm going to go get that head. that's how we get paid, right? easy three thousand caps. 15 hundred split evenly." you stretch.

"i think you might die."

"i'll be fine. i've done it before." Aquaperson perk.

"i can also swim, you know."

"i'll be fine cooper." you pop a rad-x pill just in case. "be back in a bit."

you dive like a swan, making minimal splash into the water. your form disappears beneath the darkness.

you're gone beneath the water for over an hour. cooper's heart was beating against his rib cage. you should be out by now. it should not be that hard. did something get you? things lurked beneath the murky waters always.

"fuck!"

he drops his equipment and begins stripping down, until he is just in his pants. he would need to dive after you. if you were dead, then so be it. it was fun while it lasted.

suddenly, you emerge. you take in the oxygen of the surface and hold the head up high. "got 'em." you swim over to the shore and walk out of the water.

there was something about how...wet you were that got him feeling hot and bothered.

"something happen down there?"

"couple of mirelurks. no big deal. which reminds me." you set the head on the ground and go back into the water. within minutes, you're pulling out the bodies of the mirelurks you had killed. "dinner."

while cutting the mirelurks open, you observe the way he walks around you. his muscles bulging a little as he cuts a mirelurk open and takes the meat. he was kind of...attractive?

"were you going to come after me?" he stops cutting hearing your question. "in the water, i mean."

"so what if i did?" cooper averts his eyes.

"that's sweet of you. i didn't know you had a soft spot for me."

"i don't."

"sure." you can tell he was lying through his teeth.

dinner was a nice, cozy meal. it was delicious. a nice surprise considering the nature of the wasteland.

cooper notices the way you're looking at him. and he looks at you the same way.

though how does this work exactly?

"do you want to..." you try to find a decent way to say this. fuck is a good term. but it felt a little vulgar in the moment.

cooper already knows what you're asking. "absolutely. if you can handle it." he smirks.

it's so cute when he smirks.

you glance over at your bag, looking at your stash of radaway. you had plenty. plus your stash of rad-x too.

"i absolutely can."

[marvelfilth]

The mustache

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x f!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Natasha crashes your date

Masterlist

You let a fake laugh bubble out of your mouth for what feels like a hundredth time this evening. Your date looks smug, her eyes trailing over your form, almost leering. She takes a sip of her wine and licks her lips slowly, daring you to look.

You don't.

You can almost hear Natasha say I told you so.

You clear your throat and take another bite of a perfectly made steak - the only saving grace of this disastrous date.

You mentally cringe, closing your eyes briefly. Objectively, the date is going well - she showed up on time, held the door for you, helped you to your seat and made perfect small talk, occasionally throwing in a joke or two. You can excuse her wandering eyes, knowing you've been throwing mixed signals all evening.

You nod along to whatever story she's telling, smiling and chuckling when it's appropriate. You barely resist the urge to excuse yourself. You chew on your lower lip, wondering how you allowed yourself to get in such a mess.

Your phone chimes once, screen lightning up with a new notification.

Natasha.

Yep. Here's your answer.

You look at your date, hating how different her smile is from your best friends. It's too large, too open and not even half as genuine. Natasha's smiles are small, barely noticeable, but they're enough to make your breath come short.

You sigh. You need to stop comparing your every date to Natasha.

“Do you mind if I take a look? It might be important,” you ask, reaching for your phone. She nods happily, waving the waiter over for another glass of wine.

How bad is it?

You snort, coughing immediately to cover up the sound and reaching for your glass.

Another message appears right in front of your eyes.

That bad?

You choke on your wine, discreetly looking around, but coming up short.

Six o'clock, dumbass.

You wait a moment and look right behind you, mouth falling open when you finally see her.

She's sitting three tables down, wearing your favorite hoodie and a black cap. With sunglasses covering her eyes. In a dimly lit restaurant. What makes you let out a strangled laugh, though, is a perfect old fashioned mustache glued right under her nose. She twirls both ends around her fingers, curling them up, before lowering her glasses and sending you an exaggerated wink.

The best spy in the world, the woman who made entire governments collapse, is sitting right behind you, looking like a child playing dress up.

You whip around, your face red, and wave off your date's concerned look. “I'm alright.”

She nods, all too happy to continue talking about all of the famous people she's met through her job.

You hide your phone under the table and shoot your best friend a text.

You're ridiculous

Her reply comes instantly.

And yet you love me.

Her words hit a little too close to home.

You are hopelessly in love with your best friend.

Another message comes through.

What's wrong?

You frown, eyes darting around. You didn't even do anything to warrant the question.

And don't even try to lie. I can tell something's wrong.

You sigh, tell Natasha everything is fine, and place your phone face down on the table, your date still recounting a story of how she met some actress.

The next half an hour is tense. You can feel Natasha's eyes on you. You can hear her plotting a way to get you out of here, but you know you have to at least try to make it work, if not with… Connie? Courtney? Then with someone else, before you go completely mad.

Your phone rings. You can't stop yourself from picking it up.

“Sorry, it’s an emergency.” Your excuse sounds bad even to your own ears, and you wince when your date pointedly looks away with pursed lips.

“Do you want me to throw her out of the window?” She starts without a preamble. “If not, I have a knife in my boot and you know how good I am with knives.”

“Can't you handle it without me?” You ask, knowing Natasha will play along. Your date reaches for her purse, dejected. Guilt swirls in your chest, and you contemplate your next words. Maybe you should stay and-

“Don't feel bad, she's been looking at the blonde to your right since she came in,” Natasha drawls, “and no, I can't handle it without you. I need you back home.”

You blush, biting on your lower lip.

“I'm sorry, but there's been an-”

“Just go,” your date cuts you off, “I'll handle the bill.” Her eyes are on the blonde girl before she's done speaking, and you leave with your conscience clear.

Natasha catches up to you outside and leads you to her corvette - her sunglasses and cap are gone, but that ridiculous mustache is still in place.

“What do you think?” She asks as she opens the door for you before going around the car and taking a seat behind the wheel. “I like the look.”

You snort and shake your head, amused with your best friend's antics. “It's… something.”

She rolls her eyes, starting the engine. “I know you love it.”

You hum, relaxing against the soft leather, your worries stoved away by Natasha's calming presence.

“Why do you keep going on dates if you hate it so much?” She asks when you reach Compound gates.

You sigh, think of an answer that would get her off your back without making her suspicious.

“I just… I-” you stutter, wincing.

Great.

She raises an eyebrow, looking absolutely ridiculous, but so, so beautiful, it makes your entire chest ache.

The car comes to a stop, and Natasha focuses all of her attention on you.

“I need to get over someone.”

There, you've said it.

“Who?” She asks, and for the first time in all the years you've known her you can't read her at all.

“You don't know them.”

She looks ahead, her jaw clenched tight. “How long?”

You blink away the tears. “A few years.”

She looks down at her lap, her fingers tapping against her thigh. “Who?” She asks again.

“Natasha…”

“Is it Carol?” Her voice is tight, her eyes dart around the street.

“God no,” you chuckle, thinking about your blond friend. Valkyrie would kill you on the spot if you even looked at her the wrong way, not that you're interested anyway. They need to get over themselves and finally admit their feelings to each other. Anyone can see their pining from a mile away.

“Kate?”

You shake your head. “You don't know them.”

“Then tell me. What would it matter?”

“Nat, can we just-”

“Tell me.”

You groan, and turn to open the door, but Natasha’s hand landing on your thigh stops you. You swallow, freezing on the spot.

“Please.”

You close your eyes, bracing yourself for the inevitable. “It's you,” you whisper.

The hand on your thigh clumps tight. “What?”

“It's you,” you repeat, feeling braver after the admission. “Always you.”

She lets out a deep, shaky breath, before reaching for your face with her other hand. “Look at me, please.”

You face her, eyes still closed, a few tears sliding down your cheeks. They're wiped away a moment later, and your face gets enveloped in the softest warmth.

“Open your eyes.”

You swallow, and do as she asked. She looks at you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

“I love you.”

Your heart skips a beat at her words, lips falling open. “What?”

She smiles, her thumb tracing patterns on your wet cheek. “I love you.”

You look at her for a long moment, taking in her features - her forest green eyes, tender and soft, the slope of her nose, so kissable. Your eyes trail lower and then suddenly a loud laugh makes its way out of your chest. You bend, clutching your stomach, happy tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

Natasha looks delightfully confused.

“I'm sorry, it's just…” you giggle, pointing at her face, “the mustache.”

She groans, tearing it away. “I've been going crazy all this time, you know.”

“Yeah?” You grin, head spinning.

“Yeah,” she says before claiming your lips. She's soft, so soft it makes your toes curl and your chest get warm and fuzzy. The kiss is gentle, loving. You mewl against her, opening your mouth and welcoming her tongue.

The kiss grows heated.

“I,” you gasp between the kisses, “I love you. So much.”

You can feel her blinding smile in the next kiss, and the one that comes after.

[otto-s-alskling]

TF141 X Hardworker!Reader

"Their Sleepyhead"

You're a hard worker, everyone knows that. God, even Price had to carry you a few times to bring you to bed (and not in *that* way, get your mind out the gutter!) But your insistent attitude of working till you collapse is a trait that the 141 is aware that will never go away, not when they've seen you do it for over three years.

Price

You have your office close to his, connected with an adjoining door which was lucky because you bought your own coffee machine. Majority of the time, you're brewing him a fresh cup of coffee, black with a hint of sugar to cut the full bitterness.

He loves listening to you shuffling and singing next door, sometimes singing back to your songs when duets are playing from your phone but he'd be damn and hide in a hole before he'd let you know that he sings along to you and your velvety voice with his gruff one.

But this also includes him actually hearing you when your head finally thuds down on the desk when you refused to stop working from 5AM till wee hours of the night. He'd peek through the adjoining door first before sighing and picking you up, cradling you close before carrying you out the offices, ignoring looks from the other soldiers still awake late at night. Gaz would immediately walk up to help, opening the doors for Price so he can tuck you into bed, removing your boots before turning off the lamp light. He'd sneak a forehead kiss before closing the door and walking back to the offices, ignoring his racing heartbeat.

Soap

Our Scot is a freaking sweetheart (this is the hill I'll die on.) If he knows Cap isn't in office or in a mission or conference somewhere, you bet your ass he'd delegate himself into keeping company, literally. He'd play on his phone in your office couch, nothing too loud but just enough to be there.

Talks will be nonstop and he'd teach you some Scottish slangs too, much to a certain Skull masked teammate. He'd even teach you traditions and if he had the time and the energy, he'd do your hair into some Scottish Braids. (Look em up, they're GORGEOUS.)

He'd pause from time to time, get a snack or something and he'd come back with something for you too! And if you fell asleep, you bet he'd transfer you over to the couch and find your emergency blanket and tuck you in.

He'd brush your hair out of your face and plant a kiss on your cheek before sitting on the floor next to the couch, just playing on his phone till he fall asleep himself or if he gets hungry and get another snack. He'd wait till you wake up, and not even Ghost can drag him out the room. Someone had to guard the team's Bonnie after all.

Gaz

If you think he wouldn't help out with the paperwork, you'd be fucking wrong. Being the youngest meant you two are the closest, age wise anyways. Would pause halfway on working to show you something in TikTok or play some random playlist on YouTube or Spotify just to break the silence in the room.

He'd being his own snacks, which also includes a big bar of Cadbury. Sometimes Lindt if he got to visit in the nearby city. Work goes faster so he always try to help out on hell week so you wouldn't handle the full brunt of the workload.

If you fall asleep, he'd switch the music to a lullaby or a soft classical music, keeping you asleep as long as he can anyways. Like Soap, he'd transfer you to the couch but he'd push an armchair flush against the couch to block you in from falling like a pseudo bed (or fort or crib. Do people still do this?)

Tucks you in gently and continues his half of the paperwork before joining you on the couch and cuddling you to sleep. He's not one to pass up in getting to sleep in your arms after all.

Ghost

This man trusts with his life. (He'd never say it out loud.) He wasn't really warm with the idea of having a support member in the team, especially one who's specialty ranges from medic to sniper to assistant. Like how is that even possible? So when he realized that you're one of the most hardworking person he'd ever met, respect was earned... And affection.

It was around halfway the second year when he showed his face to you, the heat surge in the office making it annoying to have the mask. He didn't make a fuss so you didn't as well, just working along with him and Price in the Captain's office and hope to survive the heatwave enough. Door was locked so he was confident enough to do it even if Price did raise an eyebrow for a moment before shrugging it off.

By the third year, he already made it a habit to remove his mask once he got you to your room, finally dragging you to bed even before you fall asleep on the desk. You'd grumble and complain but when he glares you down, you relent anyways, not like you can fight him back easily when he's the largest amongst your teammates. So against your unnecessary complaints, he'd spoon you till you fall asleep, much thanks for your exhausted body and mind. Once asleep, he'd sneak a nap for an hour or two himself before letting you be, heading back to his own room, but not after sneaking a kiss to the hair and hand. For him, you're his hardworking lovie, not that he'd let it slip out to everyone else.

[itneverendshere]

pogue reader getting sick but she can’t call out, but rafes fr mad at you about it

changed it a bit just bc i want to show reader's progress regarding her hyper-independence, they're already dating and past the "i love you" phase, i felt like some progress had to be made by this point, especially bc this is after their big fight in this. hope you enjoy <3

don't want less, don't want more - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

The floor beneath you feels like it's tilting, moving under your feet like a boat rocking on rough water. You blink a couple of times, hoping that’ll shake the haze taking over your vision, but it doesn’t do much. 

The bar lights over your head are too bright, and the music thumping from the speakers makes your head feel like it’s trapped in a vice. The clink of glass, every laugh, every order shouted at you feels like a hammer driving nails straight into your skull.

You swallow hard, trying not to gag. Your throat’s raw, and your chest feels tight, but you’re powering through it because you don’t have much of a choice. Not a choice at all.

"Whiskey sour, extra sour!" some country club douchebag yells from the other side of the bar.

His voice is like nails on a chalkboard. You force a smile and nod, reaching for the bottle, but your hands are shaky. You catch yourself on the edge of the bar before you can drop it.

This morning, you could barely get out of bed. Fever burning through you like you were standing too close to a bonfire, throat too sore to talk, and your head pounding so hard you thought you were going to pass out just brushing your teeth. 

You tried calling in. Tried. Told your manager, Greg, that you were sick as hell, couldn’t make it, but the guy just grunted like he always does. "Can’t afford anyone calling out today," he said. Like the world was going to end if you didn’t show up to sling drinks for a bunch of rich assholes.

So here you are.

You rub the back of your neck, trying to loosen up some of the tension building there, but it doesn’t help. Nothing really does at this point.

"Hey!" The guy who ordered the whiskey sour snaps his fingers in your face. "You deaf or something? Whiskey. Sour."

"Got it," You mutter, trying not to let your voice crack as you finally pour his drink. 

Your vision swims a little as you set it down in front of him, and for a second, you think you might actually faint right here at the bar.

That’d be something. Faceplant into a bunch of overpriced cocktails in front of half of the Kooks on this island. Greg would probably just step over you and ask you to get back to work.

You lean against the bar for a second. Your stomach rolls, threatening to revolt, but you choke it back. You can’t afford to be sick here. Not when you’re already in trouble with your manager for barely making it on time. You think back to the half-assed breakfast you tried to eat—if you can call a slice of toast breakfast—and how your stomach rejected it like poison.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Rafe coming in. And suddenly, you’re even more aware of how wrecked you are.

You know he still struggles with how independent you are sometimes. You’ve always been the kind of girl who handles things on her own, and Rafe has this tendency to think that means you don’t need him.

Today, though? You need him more than ever, but you couldn’t bring yourself to call for help.

You immediately know it’s gonna be a thing.

His eyes lock onto you from across the bar, and even through the fog in your head, you can see that look on his face. He’s pissed. Of course, he’s pissed. His jaw’s clenched like he’s biting back whatever rant he’s about to drop on you, and you can already feel the tension creeping up your neck.

Great, as if you didn’t feel bad enough already.

You try to stand a little straighter, look a little less like you're one second from collapsing, but your legs are jelly, and the room’s still spinning like you’re on some messed-up carnival ride.

You don’t want him to see how bad you’re hurting right now. But today? You’re too out of it to even try and explain.

He strides up to the bar, looking sharp, as usual. Meanwhile, you probably look like death warmed over. His eyes are scanning you, taking in the pale face, the way you’re gripping the edge of the bar like you’re about to keel over. You see his lips tighten, and yeah, he’s definitely about to lay into you.

“You didn’t call,” he says, voice low but definitely annoyed. He leans in, trying to keep this between just the two of you, but with how loud the bar is, it still feels like a confrontation.

“I’m fine,” you lie, forcing a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. 

Rafe’s eyes narrow. He’s not buying it. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Why didn’t you call me?”

You hate that you feel guilty.

“Because I’m handling it,” you say, voice softer now. But even you can hear how weak you sound.

It’s not convincing. Hell, you’re not even convinced.

He crosses his arms, looking down at you like you’re a puzzle he can’t figure out. “Handling it? Baby, you can barely stand.”

You let out a sigh, trying not to let it turn into a cough.

"I’m fine," you repeat, but even you know it sounds pathetic at this point. Your head feels like it's full of cotton, you’re not sure if you’ll make it through the next few minutes, let alone your entire shift.

But pride’s a bitch.

Rafe just stands there, arms crossed, staring at you like he’s waiting for you to come clean. You can feel his frustration, but there’s something else, too. Worry. It’s in the way his eyes keep flicking over your face, how his fingers are tapping against his arm like he’s holding himself back from just scooping you up and carrying you out of here.

"I heard from Topper," he finally says, like he’s been holding that card in his back pocket. You blink, trying to keep up. "He saw you at the club earlier, said you didn’t look right."

Great. Freaking Topper. Of course, idiot couldn’t mind his own business. You can almost picture him, all dressed up in some preppy golf outfit, spotting you from across the course and making a note to text Rafe the second he saw something off.

Rafe’s still watching you, waiting for a reaction.

You open your mouth, trying to come up with some excuse, some way to brush it off, but your brain’s too foggy, and all you manage is a weak, "I was fine then."

He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? 'Cause Top said you looked like you were about to hurl on the 9th hole." He’s trying to keep his voice low, but you can tell he’s annoyed. Not at Topper, not even really at you—just at the whole situation.

You want to snap back, tell him you’re fine, that you’ve got it under control. But instead, all that comes out is another tired sigh. “Greg wouldn’t let me call out. Said they needed me.”

“You serious?”

“Dead-serious.”

Rafe’s jaw clenches so tight you think you hear his teeth grind. His hands come out of his pockets, flexing like he’s about to hit something—or someone. He runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to calm himself down before he says something he’ll regret.

But you know him—he’s never been great at holding back when he’s pissed. And right now? He’s definitely pissed.

“Greg said that?” His voice is low, but there’s this dangerous edge to it, like he’s two seconds away from losing it, “You should’ve called me. I would’ve come down here, I would’ve—”

“I know.” You cut him off because you do know.

He would’ve dropped everything and come running. That’s exactly why you didn’t call. You didn’t want to be the a burden again. Like you said, you’re still working on yourself.

Rafe leans against the bar, his whole body radiating this intensity that makes you feel both comforted and nervous.

“So, let me get this straight,” he says, voice louder now, not even bothering to keep it low-key anymore. “You’re sick as hell, and that asshole wouldn’t let you stay home?”

You wince. He’s drawing attention now, people at the bar starting to glance over. You hate seeing him like this, but you don’t have the energy to smooth things over.

“Rafe, please—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“No, seriously. What kind of fucking manager forces someone to come in when they’re this sick?” His voice carries, and a couple of the other bartenders are giving you looks, like they can’t decide if they’re more surprised or impressed by Rafe’s audacity, "You’re killing yourself for this job, and he doesn’t give a fuck.”

You glance toward the back, hoping Greg’s still in the office and not witnessing this meltdown. The last thing you need right now is more heat from him. But of course, your luck sucks, because just as Rafe’s ramping up, Greg strides out from the back, clipboard in hand, that same stupid scowl on his face like he’s already annoyed at everything.

Rafe spots him instantly, and if you thought he was mad before, now he’s on a whole other level.

"Greg!" Rafe calls out, loud enough that half the bar turns to look. Your stomach sinks. This is about to get ugly.

Greg stops dead in his tracks, his eyes flicking to Rafe and then back to you. He knows. He knows exactly what’s about to happen, and he’s already losing the upper hand.

“Yeah, Rafe?” Greg’s voice is weak, almost shaky. Like he’s trying to keep it together, but he knows he’s got no chance. Rafe’s family literally owns half the island—Greg’s just some middle manager with too much attitude.

Your boyfriend steps forward, slow and deliberate, closing the space between them like he’s already won this thing.

“You made her come in today?” His voice is calm, but it’s that scary kind of calm that’s worse than yelling. The kind that makes your stomach drop because you know the person holding it together is barely holding back.

Greg opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out is this pathetic mumble. “We… we were short-staffed.”

Rafe raises an eyebrow, his lips pulling into this cold, humorless smile. “Short-staffed?” He glances at you, and you feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You really didn’t want this to turn into a scene, but here you are. “You see how she looks right now? You made her come in like this?”

Greg’s eyes flick back and forth between you and Rafe, and you can see the panic starting to set in. He’s sweating now, probably realizing that this little power trip he’s on is about to bite him in the ass. “She didn’t… uh… say she couldn’t work…”

“She told you she was sick,” Rafe cuts him off, voice like steel. “You’re the manager, right? Thought that meant taking care of your staff. Guess I was wrong.”

Greg’s mouth opens and closes like he’s trying to think of something to say, but nothing’s coming. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, knowing any move he makes right now could get him fired. Hell, maybe even blacklisted from every job on the island. The Cameron’s have that kind of pull.

“I-I didn’t realize how bad it was,” Greg finally stammers, but even he doesn’t sound convinced by his own excuse.

Rafe takes another step forward, practically towering over Greg now. “You didn’t realize?” He laughs, but there’s no warmth in it. “Look at her, man. How could you not realize?”

You wince as the room seems to get quieter, everyone watching this power struggle unfold. You’d rather be anywhere but here right now, but you also know that Rafe’s not letting this slide.

Greg takes a step back, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. 

“I-I was just trying to keep things running. We… we were slammed.”

Rafe’s smile drops, and now it’s just pure ice. “You think that’s a good enough reason to put my girlfriend’s health at risk?”

Greg looks like he’s about to pass out himself at this point, but he manages to mutter, “No… no, I—I didn’t mean…”

“Here’s the deal, Greg,” Rafe says, voice low but dangerous. “You’re gonna back off. Let her finish this shift if she wants. If she doesn’t? She’s out, no questions asked. And next time, when she says she’s sick, you listen.”

Greg nods so fast it’s like his head’s on a swivel. “Of course, of course, Rafe. I didn’t mean any disrespect. I just—”

“Good,” Rafe interrupts, already turning away like he’s done with this conversation. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Greg just stands there, wide-eyed and frozen, clearly too scared to even argue. He stammers some half-hearted apology, but Rafe’s already turning back to you, brushing the whole thing off like it was nothing.

You look up at him, still in shock at how quickly Greg folded. “You really didn’t need to do that.”

He shrugs, leaning back against the bar with that easy confidence he always has. “Yeah, I did,” he says, his tone softening now that it’s just the two of you. “I’m not gonna let some nobody push you around like that.”

You sigh, feeling both relieved and slightly embarrassed. “You know he’s probably gonna hate me even more now.”

Rafe smirks, like that’s the least of his concerns. “Who cares? He won’t say a fuckin’ thing. Trust me.”

“Everyone’s going to say a thing, baby. They’re gonna think I have some kind of privilege because I’m dating you.”

Rafe’s smirk softens. He steps a little closer, lowering his voice so only you can hear him over the dull roar of the bar.

“Let them think whatever they want,” he says, his hand brushing against yours. “You’ve been busting your ass here long before I ever stepped in. Nobody can take that from you.”

You bite your lip, feeling everyone’s eyes on you, judgment and curiosity. He’s right in a way—you’ve been working extra hard. But still, it’s hard to ignore the feeling that now, everyone’s going to assume you’ve got some special treatment just because of Rafe’s name.

“It’s not about that,” you murmur, “I just—don’t want people thinking I can’t stand on my own. I don’t want to be the girl who hides behind her boyfriend’s power.”

Rafe tilts his head, studying you with that look he always gives when he knows you're holding back.

“You think that’s what this is?” His voice is steady, his tone a little softer now. “This wasn’t about power, baby. This was about someone treating you like you didn’t matter. And I’m not letting anyone—anyone—do that to you.”

He’s not wrong.

Greg didn’t give a damn about how sick you were, only about keeping the bar running, like you were replaceable. And you hate how right Rafe is, how much you needed someone to step in, even if it makes you feel a little helpless. You swallow hard, the tightness in your chest easing slightly, though your body still feels like it’s been run over by a truck.

“And you’re not working anymore today, or the next week for that matter. You’re gonna get your ass in my car and we’re going to the doctor.”

You nod, knowing there’s no arguing with Rafe when he’s like this, but part of you still feels guilty.

Not for needing help exactly, but for not being able to handle it all on your own. You've always been the girl who grits her teeth and gets through it, but today? Your body is screaming at you that you just can’t. Not anymore.

Rafe’s watching you closely, like he’s waiting for you to argue, but you don’t. You’re too drained. The adrenaline from the confrontation with Greg is wearing off, and now all you feel is this bone-deep exhaustion.

“I’m not going to a doctor,” you say, even though you know you probably should. “Just home. I just need to sleep.”

He narrows his eyes like he’s trying to read between the lines of what you’re saying, but then he just nods. “Fine. But if you’re not better by tomorrow, I’m dragging you to urgent care. No arguments.”

You give him a weak smile, trying to show you appreciate it even though you feel like crap.

“Deal.”

Without another word, he moves around the bar, ignoring Greg’s gawking and the way everyone’s still sneaking glances at you two. He gently takes the towel out of your hand, sets it on the counter, and slips an arm around your waist.

It’s the first time you’ve felt stable all day, leaning into him like you might actually make it to the car without collapsing.

“I don’t think I can afford an appointment.”

He looks at you like you’ve just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. His arm tightens around your waist, steadying you as you start to sway a little on your feet.

"Not worried about the money.”

You try to shake your head, but the movement makes you dizzy, and you stop, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

"I just don’t want to be that person, you know? Relying on you for everything."

He gives you a side glance, eyebrows raised.

"Baby, you’re not relying on me for everything. You’re literally sick, and I’m not about to let you tough it out just because you’re too stubborn to ask for help. We’ve talked about this a million times.”

"I guess," you mumble, letting your head rest against his shoulder as you walk towards the door.

"No guessing about it," he says, softer now, his fingers brushing your arm in a way that makes you feel more grounded. "You’ve been holding down the fort for too long. Let me take care of you for once."

The air outside hits you like a slap, but Rafe keeps you close, leading you toward his car. Your legs are weak, the fever still simmering under your skin, but his body warmth keeps you upright.

"Thanks," you whisper, even though it feels weird to say. You’re not used to thanking people for basic care, but with Rafe, it feels different.

He pauses, opening the passenger door for you.

"You don’t gotta thank me, okay? I’m just doing what anyone who loves you would do."

Your heart skips at that. You’re still not used to how easily he says stuff like that, like it’s no big deal. But he’s rubbing off on you, because you can say it just as easily now.

“I love you too, sorry for being a pain in your ass.”

Rafe chuckles as he helps you into the car, leaning down to make sure you’re settled before he shuts the door. He bends down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"You're always a pain in my ass," he murmurs against your skin, grinning as he pulls back just enough to look at you. "But you’re my pain in the ass, and that’s what matters."

You can’t help but roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips despite how wrecked you feel. The fever, the headache, the exhaustion—it all takes a backseat, at least for a moment. 

Knowing Rafe’s always got your back? That makes it a little easier to breathe.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism: "No thank you! I have a partner!"

Silly. G/N. Y'all probably seen the meme. Your partner comes home drunk and doesn't recognise you. Masterlists

Gun Park, Ryuhei Kuroda, Goo Kim, DG, Vin Jin, Jake Kim, Samuel Seo

Loud scratching and thumps at your front door wakes you. You wonder whether to arm yourself with a frying pan and then you hear your boyfriend muttering slurred profanities.

A loud bang reverberates through your home as he stumbles, drunk, through the door.

With a sigh, you crawl out of bed to check the state they're in.

Gun gazes at you, bleary-eyed and half focused. Slightly swaying on his feet, a very unusual sight of someone usually in full control of their body.

Then something clicks in his brain, eyes hardening just before he looks away. He tells you, tone disinterested, that he's a taken man.

"I don't know how I ended up here, but don't get the wrong idea."

He turns around, exits his own living room, exits his own home, and sleeps outside the apartment in the hallway instead.

.

.

"Yeah you're pretty cute," Ryuhei mumbles, words slurring together, "But my partner is cuter."

He pulls his phone out, drops it twice, unlocks it on the third attempt and shows you a picture - one that you have seen, actually one that you took of him smooching you on the cheek.

"Aren't they cute?" He beams, utterly besotted. "Let me just crash here," he says as he collapses on the sofa. "If you touch me I'll scream."

.

.

"Get your hands off me!" Goo screeches, slapping you away as you try to undress him and get him ready for bed. "My my, you're forward aren't you?"

Goo leans forward and gives you a smile halfway between utterly charming and complete sleazeball.

Then, all bravado evaporates and he sighs.

"Oh sweetheart you would be just my type, but," he pushes you off the bed, "I'm taken and very happy about it."

He lies down, burritoing himself and turning his back to you. "You can make your own way out."

.

.

Vin fiddles with his sunglasses, peering approvingly at you.

Even in his drunken haze he can tell that damn, you're fine. Except. He is also lucid enough to realise he is not looking respectfully anymore and he thinks of you, his ride or die, and his face completely changes.

He frowns and asks you what the hell you are looking at. That you have no chance. He has a partner at home that is much hotter, much better, thank you very much and yeah he's an asshole but he's not going to cheat so back the fuck off.

You roll your eyes, hackles would have been much higher if he wasn't actually being sweet in his own way.

.

.

DG takes a moment to process the situation. And when he does, he gets it completely wrong.

He plasters on his k-pop smile. The one reserved for winning over fans, interviewers and for his insincere apology videos.

"Did you want an autograph?" He pulls out a photocard from his inner pocket and a pen (and wow, you did not realise he carried a stack of his photos. You are not going to let him live this down) and scribbles his signature that comes with some love hearts and sparkles and passes it over to you.

"Here you go," he holds it out to you in both hands, not before mumbling under his breath, "You're cute but shit if you turn into another stalker..."

.

.

Jake is already asleep on the sofa by the time you pad out, which must be some super power in itself.

"Wake up," You give his shoulder a shake. He frowns, then cracks one eye open. "Come to bed."

He grunts something indecipherable and attempts to roll his oversized frame on your undersized sofa.

"Jake, cmon."

You start to drag him to your bedroom, your touch finally waking something inside and he bolts upright, removing your hands firmly off him.

"I have a partner." He tells you with no room for any misinterpretation. "But," he scratches absentmindedly at his stomach, "Do you have any food?"

.

.

Samuel does as he's told. Obediently removing his trousers, and unbuttoning his shirt, taking it off-

(Truly, you had no ulterior motive, you just wanted to remove the stink of alcohol.)

When, maybe for the first time in his life, he is afflicted with modesty and a startling clarity.

He yanks his shirt back on and pulls his trousers on with surprisingly sober efficiency.

"Absolutely not," he glowers at you, "This is not happening. I'm taken."

[elfiewhore]

You meet an angel. They're the most beautiful creature you've ever seen with porcelain skin and wings with feathers as soft as clouds. Above their head is a gorgeous halo of radiant light. You are immediately enraptured by them.

The angel is curious about the mortal world so you show them all around your street and take them home. You feel embarrassed by all of the kinky shit you have lying around but they simply ask what it is all for.

You explain in much detail as shame wells in your chest and your cheeks burn about how some people enjoy being collared like dogs and others like being struck. You show them your collection of cocks, embarrassingly describing how your people enjoy not only the cocks of humans but those shaped like animals and creatures of myth.

They ask if there are angel dildos, you reply no. They seem disappointed so you offer to let them wear one of your straps to see what it feels like. With some trepidation they accept and soon have a massive silicon dick hanging from their hips.

They ask what they are used for, and you explain. You even offer to let them try, climbing onto the bed and offering up your holes to them. It takes only gentle encouragement before they're slamming into you over and over, stretching you wide as you moan and writhe. They enjoy when you scream "oh god" (it makes the act feel holy) and their unnatural strength makes their thrusts so hard your eyes almost roll back in your head as you cum.

The angel then asks what happened and you explain. The concept seems foreign to them. Angels do not experience such things. At least, they whisper, not in their mortal body. They indicate their halo. That beautiful ring that seems to be glowing even brighter now. You reach up and touch it, and the angel shivers and smiles. Gently you run your fingers around the circle and they let out a whimper that almost sounds pained. You're touching the essence of their being. The body is a projection, the halo is their true self. Your fingers slowly wrap around the halo and their eyes widen and they push you away.

The angel apologizes, to hold them like that would almost be too much. It would feel like controlling them, and they only serve the almighty. You nod along as your mind turns. You spend some time running your fingers along the halo, even pressing a vibrating wand against it which makes them whimper and even let out the most beautiful moan that nearly drives you to tears. Every pose they make is a work of art. Truly they are divine.

You need them. Whether to free them from the control of an uncaring deity or just because you can't bear to lose such a precious creature. You need them.

You continue to edge the angel with toys and fingers and even lapping your drooling tongue along the circle. It tastes like fire and comfort and hope. Your drool turns to gold as it drops onto their face. Eventually you try again, curling just a finger around the rim. They whimper but at this point you had given them so much pleasure they don't, or can't, stop you. You tug on the halo a little and it moves weightlessly, their body following inexorably.

Previously you couldn't get the thing to budge if you tried. But the moment you fully wrap around it, it is yours. The perfect tool of control. And what's more the angel is staring at you now not with confusion or fear but with utter adoring lust. Their tongue is out like a dog. You pull the halo again, yanking hard this time. They fall to the floor beneath it with a yelp of depraved pain. The kind of sound only a pure being could make. The essence of corruption made audible.

You take a leash from your desk. Pulling the angel closer you open the clip and hold it to the ring. You close it.

The angel collapses onto the ground, grasping at their halo in utter and complete ecstasy. Their body convulsing as they moan and whimper and whine and beg and plead and lustfully demand. The whole time the leash held in your hand slowly turning from a simple chain of stainless steel into solid gold inlaid with the most beautiful designs. The leather handle turns pure white. The clip at the end is gone now, the chain is permanently fused to the ring about their head.

The angel relaxes, staring up at you now. Their face the picture of absolute adoration. Worship. Love. Lust. Subservience. You pull on the chain, bringing them closer to you. You grasp their halo and shove it against your crotch, grinding against it lewdly. Utterly claiming it. And then you shove them to the floor and tell them to open their mouth, before riding their face while holding that ring like handlebars.

Angels aren't like you or I. We stole our free will and made our own destiny. We are our own rulers. But an angel? They were made only to serve. They know nothing else.

So why not make them serve you? You'll never find a better fuckdoll.

[exhuastedpigeon]

All the Buck and Eddie we've gotten this season has been so damn refreshing. Their friendship is shining. Their family dynamic is on full display. The way they are so intertwined in each other's lives is visible from space.

They're trying to defuse a bomb together at work. They're putting out a fire together and talking about Eddie's kid - about their family.

Eddie doesn't know how to talk to Chris about talking to multiple women at once so he brings in Buck because he knows Buck has been there and he'll be able to relate to Chris in a way he can't.

Buck had a huge revelation about himself and his sexuality and he's worried that he lied to Eddie. He accidentally outed himself to his sister because he couldn't stop talking about lying to Eddie.

Buck comes out to Eddie and Eddie immediately assures Buck that it's not weird and it doesn't change a thing between them.

Buck plans an 80s themed party and Eddie immediately suggests doing a costume together.

They take said party to Chim when he doesn't show up and when they don't have a key Eddie reminds Buck that they're firefighters before kicking the door down.

They delivered Maddie a change of clothes and food while she's at dispatch chasing down leads on where Chimney might be because they've been together all day and they know they work best as a team.

They go together to help Bobby and Athena canvas the area where Chim was last seen.

They're attached at the hip. They're bonded through blood and trauma, but also through joy and laughter. They love each other to the core. They understand each other better than anyone else around them.

Are they romantic? Are they platonic? Does it actually matter?

They're soulmates. Their love is so deep and so certain that no matter how you view them you know that there's just so much love between them. It's kind of love that survives ladder truck bombings and tsunamis and collapsing wells and snipers and breakdowns and lightening strikes. It's the kind of love that means even if they drift apart, they're never far from each other. They're always pulled back to each other.

[the-oracle-of-the-lost]

i do think it's really interesting to compare the ways Star Trek and Doctor Who succeed and fail as pieces of progressive media because they almost have the opposite problem.

both of the shows are progressive, let's make that clear. while there are exceptions, both shows and worlds consistently critique capitalism, value compassion, solve problems without violence, and at least try to be diverse. there will always be individual episodes (and even eras/arcs) that contradict those values but in general, they are progressive compared to your average procedural or whatnot. but they, by the very nature of their premise, often fail to live up to fully realizing those progressive values. and yes, individual instances of racism or misogyny or any type of bigotry is a product of the bigotry of the writers/creators, but Star Trek and Doctor Who ultimately fail and will always fail to fully embody progressivism.

Star Trek is trapped in its own system of the Federation & Starfleet. for any of the shows to work, we the audience have to believe that the Federation is almost always a good & benevolent force and while criticisms of it are made, those criticisms are the exception and not the rule. the Federation/Starfleet can be criticized but at the end of the story, we must reaffirm that our characters are still good people and it's individual corruption that's the problem. the system can be portrayed as flawed but it must always be better than the alternative. if there is a Star Trek show that would truly dig far enough into how the Federation is a product of imperialism and how the nature of exploring & going where no one has gone before is inherently rooted in racism & orientalism then the franchise would collapse because nearly everything to this point relies on the belief in that a fundamentally good utopian system is possible.

now there's Doctor Who. Doctor Who has a quite different premise in that it is never rooted to one place or time the way Star Trek is attached to Starfleet/the Federation. (there could be an argument that Doctor Who is ultimately rooted in Britain but despite the 2005 series and the UNIT era in classic who, there are large swathes of classic who and the EU that never visit Britain. it's been made an important part of the show (as the show is an important part of British culture) but it's not inherent to the basic premise.) however, because Doctor Who is focused on traveling and seeing the wonders of the universe, its premise essentially becomes "some people turn up to fix a problem and then disappear". again, there are exceptions to this (especially in early classic who), but the formula of the show is almost trapped in the belief of individual action and power to solve systemic problems which... is not how most problems or solutions behave in reality. and just as Star Trek can criticize the Federation but must ultimately forgive it, Doctor Who can criticize the Doctor and portray them as flawed but must still reaffirm their status as a hero.

so we have Star Trek too caught up in its own systems to be able to critique them and Doctor Who too focused on running to portray how complex, long term solutions are needed to solve deeply entrenched problems.

and honestly... i don't think either of these are bad. they're simply the limitations of the shows as they exist and it would be far more worthwhile to develop new premises & find other media that incorporate those types of leftist political values from the start than to try to graft them onto 60 year old media franchises and pretend like they've always been there.

and they do serve a purpose! Star Trek might not be able to adequately portray the flaws of a system but it does give you hope for a better utopian future where people are taken care of and allowed to live however they choose, where there's infinite diversity in infinite combinations. Doctor Who might not be able to portray the complicated solutions to complicated problems that we face today but it tells you that every life matters, that kindness is the most important quality, and that everyone can make a difference in some way.

[fourmoony]

heyyy read you're looking for requests so here's one! james coming from hockey practice (i love hockey player james) and you tell him that a guy from uni has been hitting on you and stuf. he doesn't get mad just queasy, but then he needs reassurance too!

thanks for requesting, angel!

cw: insecurities, language, unwanted advances

1.4k, modern au, ice hockey James

The tell-tale sound of James' bag being abandoned haphazardly by the door alerts you to his presence. The door clicks shut soon after, followed by a heavy sigh. He's likely exhausted - always is after practice, especially if he and Sirius get caught mouthing off and are punished with bag skating.

James rounds the corner into the living room at the same time you pause your show and sit up to greet him. He doesn't acknowledge your abandoned plate from dinner or the pile of unfolded washing on the arm chair to his left. Instead, he gives you a tired smile and collapses into a heap beside you on the sofa. "Hi, bug." He mumbles, chin tucked into the neckline of his hoodie. Exhaustion seeps from his voice.

"Hi, handsome." You soothe, hand reaching out to toy with the curls at the nape of your boyfriend's neck. They're still damp from his post-practice shower, the smell of his body wash sweet and heady in your nose. "How was practice?"

He lets out a long suffering sigh, leans into your touch, "Stressful. The team isn't where we need to be for the playoffs. Coach made sure to let us know how angry he is about it."

You hum softly, scoot closer to James on the sofa until you're practically in his lap. James likes touch, he likes the connection, the intimacy, the weight of your body on top of his. You're happy to indulge him, the flowers that your boyfriend brings about your rib cage blossoming as his arm wraps around your middle, hoists you fully onto his lap. "What does he expect, you know? Half of his team graduated out, last year. He only has a couple of you guys left and the rest are freshmen." You try to justify James, but it seems the reminder only further sours his mood.

"Yeah, try telling him that. He thinks everyone is just born to be in the NHL, that these guys should already be up to standard, that they don't need the same exact training and coaching that we got." James' voice is thick with coiling tension, even if his muscles seem to be relaxing under you.

You smooth the baby hairs under your fingers, tilting your head until his eyes meet yours, "You're their captain, baby," You smile, "I bet they'd listen to it a lot better coming from you. They like you, look up to you. You be their coach if coach isn't going to step up."

Your boyfriend smiles, the sun peeking through storm clouds. A glimpse of your Jamie. He leans forwards, lips soft and gentle as he presses them to yours. He hums into the kiss, hands squeezing your hips. "Thanks."

"Anytime, handsome."

"How was your day?" James asks, feet stretching out to sit atop the coffee table.

You'd scold him if you weren't so busy quelling the beating of your heart. Any kiss from James sends you reeling, has done since the first time in freshman year. You don't think you'll ever get over the fact that he's your boyfriend. That he loves you as you love him, that you'll grow old and grey together. It never quite feels real.

"Good. Productive. We have a project due for McGonagall's class on Wednesday so I just worked on that most of the day." You don't feel the need to mention that you pointedly worked alone on your half of the project, but James frowns at your words and you know he's going to ask.

"You worked alone?"

"Yeah." You should probably say more, but James has a shorter fuse than Sirius does in general when it comes to you and you don't feel like unleashing all two hundred pounds of ice-hockey muscle onto the arrogant asshole who won't leave you alone.

James' thumb rubs steady circles into the fat of your thigh, his brows hooked upward in the middle a blatant sign of his confusion, "Your group have left you to do all the work?"

"No," You shake your head, "It was just easier to do my part on my own."

James doesn't say anything, but it's clear that he's waiting for you to go on. You sigh through your nose, head falling to rest on your boyfriend's shoulder, "One of the guys in my group has been hitting on me pretty regularly."

"What?" James asks around a swallow, voice hoarse. His muscles tense under you, his thumb pausing it's soothing measures on your thigh.

You shrug, "He keeps saying how he'd treat me right, how a 'pretty girl like me' deserves better. It's all bullshit, so I chose to work myself and just send the rest of the group my sections."

"Right."

It's odd, the way your body reacts to a single word as though it were a slap in the face. Your stomach sinks because you realise James isn't angry. He isn't itching to pound the guy's face into the ground and he isn't insisting you allow him to fix the problem, himself. You remove your head from James' shoulder, find him pale faced and distant. He looks lost, nauseous. "Jamie?"

James shrugs, eyes cold, "What?"

"'Right.'? That's all you have to say to that? What's wrong?" You ask, drawing further away the colder the look in James' eyes gets.

"What would you like me to say? That he might be right?" There's a clipped edge to your boyfriend's voice that you've never heard before, that jolts your body into fight or flight mode quicker than you'd care to admit.

You remove yourself from James' lap, confusion evident on your face as you settle to face him on the coffee table. His feet meet the ground with a thud as he moves to stand. Your hand flies out, a firm grip on his knee that begs him not to move. James gives you a sad look as he complies, fidgets with the draw strings on his jogging bottoms. "You think he has a point?" You ask.

James nods, lips pursed, eyes avoiding yours so evidently it angers you.

"Why?"

Your boyfriend shrugs again, tips his head back and lets out a groan, "You know at the end of this year I'm going to be drafted, right? I'm going to have to move across the country, probably, I won't have a choice in the matter and neither will you."

"We've had this argument before, James. I'm going wherever you go. I don't care where it is! It could be fucking Antartica and I'd still go." Your voice sounds less stern than you'd intended, but James softens slightly at your words.

"But you shouldn't have to just pick up your life and move because of me. You deserve someone who can give you stability and all of their time. I can't." James leans forwards until his elbows are resting on his knees, his face so close to yours you can feel his breaths.

It's an age-old argument, one you and James used to have often in the beginning. Before you knew that you wanted James in your life forever, back when he was trying to push you away with everything he had because he didn't want to risk falling in love with you and having to leave you, one day. The argument lessened the longer you were together, decisions made. You'd made up your mind the day James told you he loved you that you'd follow him anywhere, that you'd give up anything and everything to just be with him.

"I don't want anyone else. I don't care where we are in this world, James. I want you. That's all." You reach for him, thumbs swiping under his eyes in steady motions.

He takes a breath, closes his eyes under your touch. "I can't help but feel I'm asking you to sacrifice more than I'm worth."

And that just won't do. You clamber back onto his lap, legs on either side of his hips and chase his eyes. They're dark in the dim light of the living room, a deep brown filled with fear. "You're worth everything, Jamie. Everything." You tell him. And you mean it.

James swallows, nods. His arms wrap around you, pull you to him until he's falling back into the softness of the couch. "I love you." He tells you, vulnerable as you've ever heard him.

Flowers bloom all along the crevices of your rib cage, pull taught until you're so overflowing with love and happiness that all you can think to do is kiss him. He chases your lips when you pull back, a smile toying at the corner of his mouth. "I love you too, Jamie."

"So you're not gonna leave me for that guy in your Psych class?" He asks, a twinkle in his eye that lets you know he's kidding.

You laugh, loud and obnoxious and your boyfriend swallows it with a world-ending kiss.

[ghouljams]

Currently laughing at the thought of Nikto dealing with the Shining AU, but all it is is the ghosts trying to convince him to kill his partner and Nikto completely ignoring them because he already lives with the voices in his head saying much crazier shit and is entirely unfazed.

Ghosts: Kill your wife! Do it!!

Nikto, thinking he's suddenly developed another voice in his head:

Omg shining au Nikto who is having the most normal time is actually so fucking funny.

The Overlook tries, dear God does it try, but the man's already lost his mind. The ghosts can't shatter it any further. He doesn't even bat an eye when they try to talk to him. He just keeps going about his day, ignoring their attempts to lure him to the bar, and spending evenings with his family.

It's a welcome break, caretaker. Nikto didn't expect to find a job so perfect. No people for miles, no loud noises, no flashing lights or gunshots, just you and his boy and the snow. It's been wonderful. The noise has quieted down, the nightmares are slow, and you're here.

"Moya milaya?" Nikto's voice feels rough as he claws at the empty space beside him. He sits up in his bed, and stares through the kitchen to the open door of his son's room. It's only as the bile is rising in his through that he hears the clatter of cart wheels, the sing-song sound of his son asking questions as quickly as you can answer them. You peak around the archway into the room with a smile and shoo the boy out of the way to show off the stack of pancakes you've both created.

"Papa!" The boy rushes to clambor onto the bed, tugging at the quilt to aid his climb until Nikto takes pity on the little thing and hauls him up against his side. "We made breakfast." His son tells him in soft Russian.

"We see." Nikto hums. He turns this feeling over in his chest, feels the stings that bind it, unfamiliar and yet so deeply known. Worries flow as estuaries of care. He settles a hand on the boy's head. "Are you still seeing the little girls?" He asks.

The boys brows draw together, his lips pout as he hangs his head under Nikto's heavy hand. He gives a short nod and Nikto feels his pulling at his heart. He sees the pain on your face, an expression of concern you try so hard to hide. There isn't anything to be done about it but mamage it. Nikto knows that all too well.

"We will investigate." He assures his son.

His own voices have gotten more aggressive since the move up here. He'd almost think they'd gotten worse if this didn't happen periodically. They get loud before shrinking back into their grumbling. He thought it was from Zakhaev, but perhaps it was genetic.

"They're not mean," the boy tells him quietly, "you said they were only bad if they were mean."

Nikto stiffens. "We did say that." He agrees. This boy... so much gentler than he ever had the chance to be. That's your doing. Your loving hands that hold the boy's face and tell him things will be alright. Nikto has only ever wiped tears with an awkwardness that felt alien to his bones. Somehow it's never stopped the way his son hugs his leg, jumps to grab his hand, or kisses the side of his mask the same as you do.

"Papa only wants to keep you safe baby," you coo at your son, scooping him into your arms and collapsing back onto the bed, onto Nikto, again, "he won't hurt the little girls."

Nikto wraps his arms around you and the boy, watches the way his son puffs up in outrage. It's almost funny.

"Papa wouldn't hurt them!" The boy tells you, almost chastising. You blink at the child in surprise. Nikto joins your staring.

Even you know he is a dangerous man, he'd thought the child might at least fear- and yet-

Well, he's never had someone defend him so vehemently before.

[obscureashe]

First Loves » KNY headcannons

❧ starring: [ gn!reader ] + tanjiro, inosuke, zenitsu, genya (the bois) ❧ synopsis: just generally figuring out that what they're feeling is a first crush/relationship! ❧ a/n: valentines day man, it's got all the ideas going. and to include how these guys might react is just so cute! (side side note: writing for zenitsu made my heart completely explode)

Tanjiro Kamado »

the way he falls in love is very subtle, and at first he doesn't even realize his feelings

its just a fluttery warm feeling in his chest when your hands accidentally touch, or his soft thoughts when he sees you just being yourself

when it hits him, it hits him hardd

like makes him physically sick to think about it (sick with nerves suddenly)

won't look you in the eye, will jump about a foot back if you're too close, the works

but, i think he'd adjust well after that, because

i mean he's lucky to have fallen in love with you, of all people

why be afraid to show it?

he's very respectful, and sometimes eye contact becomes a little intimidating for him (he laughs it off)

his face is almost always red (and you can tell when he's super happy because the tips of his ears start burning)

tries to be as romantic as possible sometimes, sort of remembering the way his parents showed their love

his love language is definitely words of affirmation

Inosuke Hashibara »

does not know what a crush is, and at first can hardly comprehend the idea of a relationship until zenitsu and tanjiro explain it to him

has the urge to fight you all the time (he doesn't know why, but it's because he wants your attention)

would probably go to shinobu bc "he's sick"

literally him explaining that he's itchy all the time, shaky like he's going to collapse, and sweaty. "probably a fever" in his words.

"you're in love" doesn't explain much to him either when she points out the source of his "sickness" is you.

he still doesn't understand what he feels completely, but does see it through new eyes

like accepting the fact he wants to be around you more than anything

and make you happy (seeing you laugh because of him, just makes his heart flutter)

in a relationship, you'd be taking most of the first steps

like holding his hand or even hugging him

it's a slow process of him adjusting to the relationship

but it's 100% worth every bit

likes praise, and kinda tries hard to get your compliments (gets kind of mopey if its been a while)

kind of his weakness

probably gives you little wild flowers (and occasionally acorns)

Zenitsu Agatsuma »

its not his first crush, so he knows 100% that he's head over heels in love

he falls in love hard, and often. both a good thing and a bad thing

but this one feels different?

you're not like the others he's crushed on because he knows he can trust you with his affections

and that gets him nervous as hell

i think he'd have butterflies and a smile 24/7 (he'd just be so happy to be in the relationship of his dreams with someone so special)

old fashioned, and likes giving you tons of gifts and flowers (he probably thinks its his job to give you the world, and he'd try)

but to be honest, he'd probably need a ton of your attention and guidance

his past relationships taught him nothing but how selfish others could be (doesn't stop him from loving endlessly though so that's good :)

still hasn't had a first kiss, and loves holding your hand

would probably weep from joy if you said yes to his confession

really protective of you

Genya Shinazugawa »

probably swearing in his head and completely aware of his turning feelings towards you

to be honest, he's probably loved you since he first laid eyes on you

he just respected you too much to realize it

and now that he does. . . he's actually prone to avoiding you as much as possible(?)

he's the kind to daydream random scenarios (admiring from a distance)

of course this gets his ears and neck burning like crazy

is in denial for a long time about his feelings, until he comes to terms with it

he needs a little bit of direction and confirmation that you're actually interested in him (it might be the only way to get him to confess anything)

and being in a relationship is a difficult adjustment too

the reality of it all doesn't sink in for a while

like holding your hand or even kissing isn't just a thought anymore is. . . bizarre. to say the least

gets embarrassed easily and it makes him frustrated that its out of his control

just has to walk away sometimes to cool down

is a sucker for the little things and likes feeling like he can protect you

[lennadanvers]

Ex-husband!Eddie Munson pt. 4 because it's cold and I want him to hug me for a couple of hours.

Something people don't tell you about car accidents is how stupid they make you.

They tell you they happen fast (somewhat of a lie: it happens in slow-motion), they happen because of an imprudence (flat out lie, you're always careful- Eddie says you worry too much, even) or that they're scary. This last one is both a lie and a truth.

It's a lie for you, who was behind the weel all this time. A lie for you who feels nothing right now, besides adrenaline and weak legs. A lie for you who can think clearly (you need to call emergencies, you need to get out of the car, you need to make sure no one is hurt, and that the kids have dinner on time).

It's the truth for Eddie, who picked up the phone on the first ring and was met with your bewilderment. It's the truth for Eddie, who has to calm you down (even though you're so out of it you're not even in panic) and who has to keep a cool head (he simply can't). It's the truth for Eddie, who has to call the actual emergency number to let them know you crashed your car.

What they don't tell you about car accidents is that they are unconvenient. That they force your ex-husband to ask for his younger friend's help babysitting your kids while trying not to cry in front of them. They don't tell you that you have to remove your ex-husband from your emergency contact list as soon as he has signed the divorce papers; way before it occurs to you the idea of crashing your car. Otherwise, he'll show up at the hospital, hands and knees shaking, and the nurse at the front desk will lead him to you.

The only thing you wish someone had warned you about this situation, though, is the relief that comes when you see your ex-husband stumbling into the emergency room. It would've been nice to prepare yourself for the way his hug makes your body go limp, finally safe enough to collapse and cry all the fear and pain out.

[sgtgarricks]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ i want your hands on me for all my life

simon riley x afab!reader cw: nsfw, angst, happy ending, mentions of simon's abusive past, talks about death, mentions of soap's death, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected piv sex, creampie!!, simon lets himself be happy yay

reblogs are immensely appreciated! <3

PREVIOUS PART: your gentle hands are enough

notes: this is the 2nd part for the people that want a happy ending :) this turned out sooo long LMFAO if you want to be sad just pretend this doesn't exist and read the other one! your feedback & comments help <3

Simon had always excelled at compartmentalizing his emotions ever since he was a child.

Growing up with an abusive father and an older brother who has hell-bent on scaring him had forced him to develop self-preservation tactics in order to survive their torment. Dissociating was a daily occurrence in his childhood years — it helped Simon escape the pain and torment that was being inflicted on his body.

Being in the military has not been that different.

He was still dissociating, but he was no longer on the receiving end of thrown punches and insults. He was now the perpetrator inflicting agony on his enemies for the good of the world. To rid the world of filth.

Simon Riley had become the ultimate soldier — lethal, swift, quiet, and was immune to the horrors of war, which was no surprise considering he had spent most of his childhood learning to lock away all the negative emotions. The ability had become innate, bleeding into his daily life and in turn, his relationships.

When Simon walked out the door, he had left all the hurt and sadness in the apartment with you. He trusted you'd keep a part of him safe until he came back and even if he didn't.

Simon had whole-heartedly accepted the risk that comes with the job, fully prepared to lay his life down if it meant a better world than yesterday. In fact, Simon knew death more intimately more than anyone. He'd knocked on death's door multiple times but always seemed to come out alive.

It was easy for him to not think of you. The anxious voice inside his head becomes static as he engrossed himself in the mission. The hard part comes when the dust has settled — when all that remain are cold corpses and bullet casings.

Sitting in the helicopter all bloodied accompanied by the sound of whirring blades wasn't usually bad. It would give him time to sit down and process his emotions. It let him feel the slight guilt that never goes away when taking a life — no matter how rotten.

But with each mission he went on after his abrupt departure, he finds himself constantly ruminating his entire reason for not wanting to get into a relationship with you.

Simon had wanted you to move on from him when he died, eventually. Forget the bruised and battered soldier and find someone whole, someone who could be there for you and love you without causing you anxiety every time their phone rang.

He thought himself selfless for trying to spare you, but his entire reason collapses with every mission he comes back alive.

What was his excuse now? What was he protecting you from?

The voices slink back into his mind the moment he gains a moment of peace. Whispers planting seeds of doubt in his mind, feeding on his insecurity and his fears. They're ruthless and persistent.

You don't deserve them. They're too good for you. You're going to leave them one day anyway, why bother?

He feels a tightness in his chest, as if a phantom hand was squeezing his heart that sends pulses of pain through him. His hand shakes slightly, fingers moving absent-mindedly trying to remember the feel of your skin.

"You alright, Lieutenant?" His captain's voice breaks him out of his trance. Simon is slightly startled but doesn't let it show. He merely grunts.

"'M alright."

Silence engulfs them once more. It goes one for one, two, maybe three minutes. It's suffocating. Simon can read people well enough by now that he knows there are questions lingering in the back of John Price's mind.

A part of Simon wishes he'd just spit it out, but the thought of having to explain seemed worse. Instead, Simon settles with a silent huff as the helicopter continues on its designated course.

The second the helicopter landed, Price simply nods at him, trusting him to get his shit together and walks off to his office. Simon does his usual routine, though instead of rushing through the motions, he's intentionally prolonging each action.

Whereas normally he couldn't get out of this place faster, now he almost dreaded the moment he would have to leave. Staying at the base meant monotonous, dull, predictable tasks. Leaving means he has to choose where to go — he has to actively force himself to not drive straight to your apartment despite the fact that every fiber in his being longs to be close to you.

He feels sick, a kind of illness spreading inside of him that only ever felt better when you were around him. A dull ache inside his body that only lights up when you touch him.

He runs a hand to his now damp hair, content with sitting on a sofa in the rec room. Normally, the place would be bustling with recruits goofing around with each other. But one glance at the broodier-than-normal look on the lieutenant's face had created a force field that pushed away everyone as to not get caught in its storm.

Simon doesn't know how long he sits there, half of him trying to convince himself to not come to you. That you don't deserve the broken man with a penchant for violence.

Chuckling lowly to himself, he shakes his head. What kind of demented higher power decided someone as kind as you be plucked and dropped into his sights?

Fifteen minutes went by as he pities himself in the rec room before a shadow in his peripheral vision causes him to look up.

"L.T.," Kyle nods towards him, leaning on the doorframe.

"Garrick." Simon grunts dismissively, not saying anything more. He hops the sergeant will take the hint on his own and leave the miserable bastard to his own devices.

Kyle worries for Simon. The brooding giant seems more miserable than usual — not more than after the incident, but still. Typically, he wouldn't even be able to catch a glimpse of his lieutenant after coming back from deployment. He'd usually opt to disappear from the base in record time.

The fact that he's here now, instead of wherever he usually hangs around, is slightly concerning.

"You alright, L.T.?"

Simon turns to him, slightly annoyed. "Why does everyone keep asking me that? Yes, I'm alright." He huffs. Kyle merely shrugs, unbothered by the icy gaze directed at him.

"Well, seeing as you haven't fucked off from the base yet and it's been," Kyle checks his phone for the time, "Around an hour? I'd wager something is wrong."

Sometimes Simon hated how observant Gaz was. Kyle's always been attentive, even more so now without Johnny's presence. It wasn't a secret that Johnny had been the lieutenant's shadow — always lingering near him, cracking jokes and pulling his leg.

His absence had naturally left a gaping void in Simon, oozing all the pain and hurt that comes with losing a comrade. Simon isn't naive, he knows death comes as a package with being in the battlefield. He's seen his fellow soldiers die, held them as they bled out. It was why he tended to keep to himself. After all, the less people you know, the less funerals you have to go to.

This worked most of the time, anyone who got close to Simon would get his arctic stare and cower off — most of the time anyway. Johnny was a different case. Johnny was a little bit of a nutcase to be honest. A talented, bright, pyromaniac, the youngest ever to pass SAS selection, with an arsenal of jokes in his pockets. The blue-eyed Scotsman got along quickly with Kyle, bantering with each other easily as if they had been long-lost friends.

While Johnny still had reservations about dicking around with the captain, he didn't seem to have the same problem with Simon. Seemingly happy to chatter off in his ear about anything, whether it was about shitty food, a lady he picked up from a bar, or jabs directed at Simon.

Johnny's bright disposition put Simon on edge. He wasn't used to seeing someone not be terrified of him. No matter how many glares he sent him, the bugger wouldn't leave him alone. Johnny would continue to go out of his way to talk to Simon, to sit next to him during lunch, and sometimes, Johnny would even manage to get Simon to open up just a little.

"What's on yer mind, L.T.?" Johnny nudged Simon with his elbow. The two men were both sat at the bar, the TV playing an old recording of a football match. It had taken Johnny ten minutes to convince Simon to go out for drinks and he planned on taking full advantage of it.

Johnny had been talking non-stop for around five minutes about his sister who had just gotten married, waiting for a reaction from Simon who seemed distracted. His eyes had strayed to the other side of the bar a few times, barely noticeable to the untrained eye, but Johnny was anything but.

"Nothin'." Simon had grunted, tearing his gaze away. A giant smirk plastered itself onto Johnny's face.

"Ah, been starin' at the sad one across the bar, aye?" Seeing Simon's eye widen a little had made Johnny even more gleeful. "Go on then. Ye have my full permission to ditch me tonight." He teased, winking at his lieutenant.

"Don't know what you're talking about, Johnny." Simon had denied instantly, taking a sip of his drink. A normal person would have left it at that, but Johnny wasn't your average person. He loved starting fires and Simon was a flame he wanted to see lit.

"Ach, come on L.T. what's the harm, eh? A little bit of flirting never hurt anyone." Simon didn't know this but Johnny wasn't going to let this go. It was the first time Johnny had ever seen Simon show interest in someone and he'd do anything to get Simon to at the very least, talk to them.

"They're a civvy, Johnny. Not gonna take any chances." Simon shook his head adamantly.

"That's bollocks! All we do is take risks anyway, at least on this one the worst that could happen is getting a drink thrown in yer face." Johnny chuckles, peering at the person across the bar who was clearly nursing a broken heart. Simon still made no move to get up from his chair.

Praying to whatever God was listening, Johnny hoped Simon wouldn't kill him after what he was going to do. Calling over the bartender, Johnny slid the man a fifty.

"Mate, give 'em a refill yeah? Tell 'em it's from the big bloke over here." Johnny signaled the bartender. Simon, who had finally processed what Johnny was doing, couldn't even get a word in. The bartender hastily took the money and went back to his station, ignoring Simon's call.

Simon could only watch in despair as the bartender presented the drink and pointed towards Simon. He received a shy smile, a mouthed 'thank you', and an expectant look.

"Now you've got to go there, mate. Otherwise you'll look like an arsehole!" Johnny threw his arms up, grinning triumphantly. The sergeant crossed his arms and wiggled his eyebrows.

Simon could've easily ignored Johnny and went back to his drink. But a part of him couldn't deny that he wanted to go over there and maybe talk to someone else that wasn't Scottish for a change. Against his usual logic, Simon decided to stand up from his chair.

"You're an arsehole." A glare was sent Johnny's way, although it had no weight behind them. As Simon began to walk away, he could hear Johnny laughing loudly.

"Yer welcome!"

Simon had never told Johnny you were the person who had been texting him during deployment, but he knew deep down that Johnny already knew. He'd asked multiple times, even tried sneaking a look.

He simply didn't want to admit that Johnny forcing him to talk to you that day had shifted Simon's world. He wished he told Johnny.

"We all miss him, L.T." Kyle's soft voice spoke again. He's closer now, dragging a chair from a table and sitting in front of Simon. Kyle knew he could never fill the giant void that Johnny left, but he felt a sense of responsibility to at least try. Price had become more closed off after his death whereas Simon had slowly been unraveling, little stitches coming loose a day at a time.

"All we can do is make sure it's not in vain." Simon sighs, hearing Kyle's words, knows he's right. That he can't go back to expecting the worst all the time, constantly on edge.

Johnny had breathed life into his ghostly presence, bringing Simon back into the realm of the living. The more Johnny got out of the lieutenant, the more people were able to see that Simon wasn't merely a visage, a ghost roaming the hallway. That he was a real person.

He was throwing away his chance at a second life. Perhaps it was also a twisted way of Simon punishing himself. If he couldn't save Johnny, couldn't save the man who managed to get him to talk to you, then he didn't deserve you. It was a round-about way of him trying to mend off the guilt eating away at him that had inadvertently claimed another victim.

"Thank you, sergeant." Simon stood up. Clapping his hand on Kyle's shoulder.

I see you.

"Don't mention it, sir."

The drive to your house takes around twenty minutes, which means that's all the time Simon has to try and figure out a way to atone for his sins.

They're too gracious to even hold a grudge against you. A small part of Simon tells him. While he hopes that's true, he still wants to apologize and acknowledge how unfair he's been to you. If not to make you feel better, at the very least it will ease his conscience.

He drums his finger on the steering wheel, the radio turned on but on low volume. For once, Simon wishes he had Johnny's ability to get out of problems with his alluring words and his kicked-puppy look.

Lost in his own thoughts, he hadn't even realized he's been sitting in his parked car for a few minutes. He clasps his hands when he realizes they're shaking. God, he was so terrified. Not of you, no. He was scared of having to see what he's done to you. Is terrified of really seeing the carnage Simon Riley had tore in you.

He lets out a bated breath and opens the car door. He knows you're home by now, probably cooking away while listening to some indie band. Resting his head on your door, he braces himself once more, and knocks.

He waits, the seconds feeling like hours. The door swings open and he sees your surprised face.

"Simon." You compose yourself immediately, not wanting to show any sort of weakness in front of him. Something twitches on the corners of his mouth hidden by the balaclava. As if realizing he's still wearing it, he takes it off.

"Can I come in?" He asks timidly, as if approaching a wounded animal. He had no idea how you'd react after him being gone for so long. Even during his three month deployments, he'd sometimes text you once every fortnight. But after the way he left things, he couldn't bring himself to message you at all. Couldn't even stomach the thought of you still pining over him after what he had done. It was easier for him to simply block your number. Photos of sunsets and coffee cups gathering dust in his photo album, unsent.

You didn't even think about it, your body unconsciously moving sideways to let him in. A part of you screams at yourself.

Idiot, show some dignity.

It had been so easy for you to let the man who had left you for six months without a word back into your apartment, into your life.

You felt like an addict. Constantly begging for your next fix and taking whatever scraps are thrown your way. It's pitiful, but you're too far gone, anyway. His dirty boots make contact with your hardwood floor, leaving small specks of mud on them. Simon notices the frown marring your face and begins to unlace his boots.

"Sorry." He apologizes, neatly tucking away his muddy boots at the side of your door. You close the door behind him, making your way towards your kitchen. The plate clatters loudly in the sink as you haphazardly put them away, clearly rattled.

Simon coughs slightly, words stuck in his throat. He'd prepared a small speech earlier yet all the words seem to escape him. All the courage he had mustered for his little speech all had but disappeared into thin air. He feels out of his depths, not used to being vulnerable.

"What are you doing here, Simon?" Your voice sounds so tired. He supposes he was to blame for that.

"Can we talk?" He sends you a pleading look, hoping you still felt a sliver of the love you used to harbor for him — the only thing stopping you from kicking him out.

"Oh, so after blocking me and radio silence for six months you've decided you want to talk?" The bitterness seeps into your words like venom. He can't even make himself physically recoil from the sharp edge of your tone. Simon can feel the thin rope right beneath his feet, one wrong step and he'd be falling off the edge.

He takes a deep breath. "I deserve that."

"Oh, you deserve more than that Simon Riley. I should kick you out right now." You were huffing now, going slightly red in the face. Had he not been so anxious he might've thought you look cute. But right now? He was downright terrified.

"Just-" Simon pinches his nose bridge, calming himself down. "Let me speak for a moment, yeah? After that if you want me to leave, I'll leave." He holds both his hands up.

You were livid, rightfully so. The man you love had essentially decided he didn't want to communicate with you anymore, breaking your heart. The first week you thought maybe something had happened to his phone, broken it maybe?

As the weeks turned into months, the realization dawned on you that he had purposefully blocked you, cut off all contact. At first there was only sadness. You spent your days crying into your blanket, some days barely functioning. The hurt and betrayal had emotionally drained you. Did all those years mean nothing to him?

You knew he had a hard time expressing his emotions, but never in your wildest dreams did you think he would throw you away just like that. Like you were nothing more to him than a good fuck. Despite your head telling you otherwise, the emotional baggage he had left you with didn't leave much option.

It was easier to hate him than to accept maybe he didn't love you at all.

You spent the first few months cursing into the wind hoping it'd somehow hurt him a fraction of how much he hurt you. Afterwards, the pain became a lingering , dull ache, but not debilitating anymore. It became a constant that you carry everyday.

Kicking him out the door was tempting, but you knew it wouldn't do you any good. If anything, the words left unsaid would become a leech — slowly draining away your curiosity until you eventually leave another voicemail.

You give him a pointed stare before sitting down on the couch. Simon slowly approached you, wanting nothing more than to sit next to you but choosing to sink into the other side of the couch. He sees you cross your arms, feeling more uncomfortable by the second.

"I jus' wanna say that I'm sorry." He stares into your eyes, slouched with elbows on his thighs. Seeing your mouth thin into a line, Simon knows he's going to have to do a lot better.

"When Johnny died..." Your eyes widen, arms slacking slightly. He'd talk about Johnny sometimes but sometime ago had entirely stopped mentioning his name altogether. You had suspected something terrible had happened but you didn't want to believe it.

"I was so angry. It's not fair. He was so young, had his whole future ahead of him. Told me he was gonna see his sister's newborn on his next leave." He breathes out, clenching his fists.

"All of that, gone. We haven't even caught the bastard yet." Simon runs an exasperated hand through his face. Your arms were no longer crossed, choosing to fiddle with the edge of your shirt. You wanted to comfort him so badly, wanted to take him into your arms and tell him everything's going to be okay. But he was still pouring his heart out and you wanted to greedily snatch every piece he was willing to give.

"I had constant nightmares for months. Sometimes, I still do. You're just a heavy sleeper, I suppose." He chuckles and catches the way the edge of your mouth turn up.

"It's never easy, losing someone. It changes you. I used to hear his nonsense almost everyday and now it's just not there. I'm terrified one day it'll be like he was never there at all." Simon looks away, blinking tears away.

"But he was there. I know that. I felt him. He was like the fucking sun, but instead of being 150 million kilometers away, he's next to my ear with his Scottish nonsense." Simon chuckles bitterly, reminiscing the times when Johnny had to translate his gibberish.

You stay quiet, letting him speak freely. You had a feeling where this was going and how Johnny's death had indirectly impacted your relationship.

"If I died tomorrow, would you be okay?" His question catches you off guard. It was a question you've pondered a thousand times before, and every time you only ever came up with one answer.

"No." You answer honestly, because you'd break either way. Whether it was tomorrow or a year from now. You can feel a part of Simon in your bloodstream that if he died, some part of you would die with him.

"I only ever wanted you to be okay." He straightens, testing the waters by moving closer to you. You let him.

"Would you prefer if I never loved you at all?" Your heart was thumping loudly in your chest you worried he could hear it.

"No." His answer was immediate, as if he'd never been as sure before. "Not selfless enough for that."

"Then are you selfless enough to accept that I would want it to hurt?" You put your hand on top of his, gently grasping them within yours. Simon feels the broken pieces of him mending together.

He's quiet, not sure how to respond. He didn't use to understand why people would put themselves on the line, but he's starting to.

"If you died, I'd want it to hurt. I'd want it to take my breath away. I'd want it to keep me awake at night. I'd want every single bone in my body to ache when you're gone, because that would mean I have loved you with all of me."

You don't realize you'd started crying. There was no distance anymore between you and Simon. His thigh pressed against yours as you clutch his hand to your chest.

"I want it to hurt so badly, because I want to love you deeply." Tears were streaming freely down your face you couldn't even stop them even if you wanted to.

"Simon, will you let me hurt for you?"

And he lets you.

"Okay." His hand go to engulf your frame, but you had thrown yourself at him before he managed to. Simon can feel his shirt getting wet, he'd never thought he'd be slightly happy over the fact that you were crying.

Everything's going to be okay.

Your head was now on his collarbone, his palm gently holding you there. You feel a kiss on the top of your head as he strokes it.

Neither of you know how long you simply cried on him, much less when you ended up on his lap. When he heard you stop — tired from the energy you exerted, he slowly rearranges his body so that you are able to lie fully on top of him. His sore back is the last thing on his mind as he sees your peacefully sleeping away.

A pounding headache eventually woke you. You weren't sure if last night really happened or if your mind had conjured a scenario where Simon came back for you. However, the sweltering heat you feel on your midsection proves otherwise.

He really was here.

His eyes were closed, seeming to be asleep. You test the waters, placing your palm on the left side of his face. A hand immediately darts towards your hand and keeps it there.

"Put some pills on your nightstand for the headache." He murmurs, eyes still closed. His face turns slightly, placing a kiss on your palm. Even after half a year away, he still knows you like the back of his hand.

Leaning in, you give him a peck on the cheek. As much as you want to drink in the sight of him, there were more pressing matters at hand. You need the reassurance. You need him to tell you he wasn't going to abandon you again.

"Simon, did you mean it?" You can't get the entire words out, can only hope it was enough to convey your tumultuous emotions. His heart aches that you don't believe him, but he understands.

"I love you, sweetheart." Soft lips descend upon your own, barely brushing.

"'M here to stay as long as you want me here." He sneaks a hand under you, pulling you closer to him. There isn't any part of you that's not connected to him in some way.

He was so warm, scorching you inside out. You wanted his flame to burn every inch of your skin. When he left, everything felt cold to the bone, your life turning into muted blues and grays.

Simon brought warmth into your life, with his little acts of service. With the little trinkets he brings back after deployment because it reminded him of you. With his gentle hands, gentle kisses — his gentle self.

"I love you, Si." You whisper, grabbing him by the neck and lowering your lips onto his. Brushing softly, you were going to pull away when Simon lets out a moan. Heat builds inside of you as you slip your tongue inside his open mouth. He grunts in surprise, holding you still for a second. But you're impatient.

"Need you." You whine, "Want you so much, Si."

"Yeah?" He mumbles against your lips, running his hands through your hair gently.

"Thought I'd be in the dog house much longer than that, love." He teases you. Simon yelps slightly when you retaliate by biting on his lower lip. He grips both your cheeks with his fingers, pushing you away from him.

"That wasn't very nice of you, hmm?" He gently shakes your head, grinning handsomely. "Think you need a little lesson in being nice, sweetheart. Lucky for you, I'm an excellent teacher." He leans in and kisses your puckered lips, working his way downwards.

His hands wander everywhere, working themselves underneath your shirt. You feel goosebumps rise where his fingertips lay, shivering under his hold.

"Missed you so much, Si. Please." Your moans echo throughout the room. He's holding your thighs together as he trails down your body as you writhe.

"Missed you too, love. Fuck, missed you so fucking much." He manages to say. He cups your ass as he mouths at your panty-covered mound. Your juices seep through the fabric, making Simon groan.

"Mmm.. Someone missed me too." He runs his tongue up and down your slit as you cross both your legs behind his neck. He felt you clench your thighs and he feels blood rushing downwards. Turning his head slightly to the right, he nips lightly at your inner thigh.

He'd barely touched you but here you are already begging for it. Simon Riley has you wrapped around his finger and it scares you a little how much of a hold he has on you. You had bared your neck so openly for him and he had bit down the first chance he got.

"Will you let me take care of you, love? Make you feel good." He hums, fingers trailing along your inner thigh waiting for permission. You nod fervently before realizing he can't see you.

"Yes, yes, yes. Need you to take care of me, Si." Your heart was beating fast out of anticipation.

"Yeah? I'll make you feel good, baby." He coos at you as his fingers slowly pull down your panties. Strings of your juices were sticking to the insides. He threw them aimlessly, eyes zeroed in on your wet pussy.

His finger runs through your folds, making squelching noises. "All this for me, hmm?" He tilts his head up, pinching when you don't reply immediately. The sudden sensation makes you whimper.

"All for you, Si. Just for you." You were panting heavily as Simon sucks your clit into his mouth and licks in a circular motion. You thread your fingers in his hair, not tugging harshly.

Simon laps at your pussy like a starved man, burying his entire face in your warmth. He moans between every few licks, the taste of you dazing him. Your eyes glaze over as you see the man you love pleasuring you with earnest. He continues for a while, alternating his focus between your bud and your folds.

When you tug at his shirt impatiently, Simon grunts. He gets up and throws his shirt over his head. Not one second after it's off, you begin to paw at him, desperate to feel every inch of him.

Simon thinks he's never seen such a beautiful sight. Your hair was messy from your movements, eyes hazy as he can feel goosebumps on his body where you stare. He grabs your face and kisses you desperately, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. His clothed bulge was grinding messily against your wet pussy as his boxers begin to darken from the wetness.

Simon's whimper fill the room when he feels you grinding upwards to rub yourself on his cock. He pulls from your lips with a string of saliva. Not waiting for him, you scramble to take off your shirt, baring your tits to him.

His eyes drink in the state of you greedily, one hand groping your tits as the other travels down to your pussy. You were beyond wet enough for his cock, but he's determined to make you cum on his fingers first.

Two fingers slip into you gently. The stretch catches you off guard, it's been a while since you've had his thick fingers probing inside you. His fingers were thrusting shallowly as you grind on his palm.

"Fuck, Simon. Feels so good." You babble, barely able to keep your eyes open, the pleasure overwhelming your senses.

"Yeah? Gonna make you feel even better." With that, his fingers thrust deeper into you, massaging your spot. Your back arches as Simon plants his face on your chest, sucking on your nipples.

He crooks his fingers slightly as he continues thrusting, his palm touching your clit with each time. You couldn't stay still anymore, moving your hips back to meet his thrusts.

The room was filled with wet, squelching noises and your combined moans. Your hands were gripping his bicep, feeling the large muscle flex under your fingertips.

His thick fingers continue his ministration as you begin to climb higher and higher. Your walls begin to pulse and constrict his fingers. Sweat drips down his forehead as he continues to drive into your pussy with his deft fingers.

"You gonna cum on my fingers, love?" He teases, placing kisses all over your damp face.

"Yes, oh fuck. Please, please let me cum."

Simon grins against your neck, placing sloppy kisses all over. His fingers begin to speed up even faster, hitting your sweet spot with every effort. You feel the familiar tingling sensation begin to build in your core.

Your legs begin to tremble as you struggle to get air inside of your lungs. Panting harshly, you close your eyes as your orgasm starts to reach its peak.

His hand leaves your tits as they begin to rub circles on your clit. The combined assault on your clit and your pussy brings you over the edge.

"Look at me when you cum." Your eyes open immediately as you find him staring directly into yours. Your legs tremble deliciously, hands gripping Simon even tighter as you feel your orgasm wash over you. Mouth agape, your back continues to arch as Simon doesn't stop, overstimulating you with a few shallow thrusts.

Simon's hand was covered in your juices as he slowly withdraws them. Your pussy clenches, feeling empty. He brings his fingers to your mouth and taps your lips. Obediently, you open your lips and let him slide his fingers inside your mouth.

Circling your tongue all finger, your eyes begin to close again. When you blink them open, you see Simon's bare body hovering above yours. His cock was standing proudly, shiny with precum. You feel the urge to take his cock into your mouth. When your hand tries to reach for him, it's stopped by his firm grip.

"Next time, yeah? Need to fuck your pretty pussy, baby." He slowly pulls his fingers out of your mouth, wiping them on his hip. He repositions his cock at your pussy, sliding the head up and down your folds.

Tilting your head down, you see Simon's hand grip his cock firmly as it slowly rubs his precum all over your pussy. He groans seeing your juices mix together. Moving your hips upwards, you try to push his head in and he hisses.

He grabs your hips and gently lowers them on the bed. "You just lay there and take it, yeah? Let me do all the work." You preen, more than happy to lay there and see him move above you.

"Put it in, Si. Missed your cock so much." You whimper, pressing delicate kisses on his neck. He nudges your nose with his, capturing your lips into a kiss. Your moan gets interrupted by your own grunt of surprise as the head of his cock slips in.

His cock was thicker than his two fingers, with veins running all over the shaft rubbing your walls deliciously. You link your legs behind his waist, helping him push deeper.

When he's inside you, it's like two pieces of puzzle fitting together. His cock fit so perfectly inside you, as if you were made for him and him for you. You knew Simon was it for you a long time ago, falling head over heels so easily for the grumpy soldier. You weren't happy at how long it took him to come to his senses, but you're glad either way.

He thrusts slowly, going deeper with each shift of his hips. His tongue tangles with yours as wet noises fill the room. You know when he's pushed in to the hilt when you feel him bump against your cervix slightly. Your pussy clenches at the tiny pain, causing Simon to moan out.

"Fuck, you're squeezing me so well, sweetheart." He stays there for a moment, grinding his cock inside. You only stop kissing when you pull away to beg him to start moving. Both his hands are placed firmly on your hips when he begins thrusting.

He moves back and forth slowly, the walls of your pussy feeling every drag of his big cock. You hiss against his mouth, the sensation lights up every nerve in your body. You beg him to go faster but he ignores you, continuing to sink slowly.

When you're about to wail at the pace again, he thrusts sharply — his cock sinking deep into your pussy. You gasp, clawing his back when he continues to move slowly but going deep with each thrust. You can hear the sound of his balls smacking against your ass.

Your combined juices were dripping out of your pussy, causing wet noises whenever he moves inside you. You don't know how long he continues his brutal motion, your eyes dazed and breath unsteady.

You've never felt this way before. It feels as if he's everywhere inside you, there isn't a part of you that doesn't feel touched by him. He thrusts as if he's trying to imprint himself in you, trying to permanently leave a mark.

"Such a pretty pussy. Doing so well f' me, sweetheart. You gonna let me cum in you? Gonna let me fill you up nicely?" He grunts, his composure starting to unravel. His cock begins to piston in you messily as he loses himself in your pussy.

"Yes, yes, yes. Fuck, love you so much, Si. Need your cum in me." You cry out desperately, tightening your legs and pulling him deeper inside you.

"So good to me, love. Letting me cum in your pretty pussy." His form begins to shake slightly from exertion. You know his hands were going to bruise your hips from how hard he was gripping them but you couldn't care less.

Your body moves up and down from the force of his thrust. His cock touching your cervix with each delicious thrust. Your pussy begins to pulse wildly on his cock as you feel another orgasm build inside you. When his cock begins to pulse, your eyes roll to the back of your head as it sends you over the edge. You moan out his name loudly, pulling him by the neck to your chest as his arms hug you to him.

You feel his desperation and love when he holds you. He hugs you so tight to him your ribs ache. You never want this feeling to go away.

"I love you so much, fuck." Your orgasm triggers his own, his cock pulsing as his creamy load fills up your pussy. He's so snug inside your pussy the excess cum begins to drip out. When he stops unloading inside you, he moves slowly, thrusting a few times shallowly. A part of him wants to look at the way his seed drips from your pussy but he didn't want to move away from you.

You both pant with eyes closed as your breathing begins to even out. Simon slowly pulls out and you hiss at the feel of his cock leaving you empty. You look down and see his cock covered in his cum and yours.

Your head falls back down to the pillow, eyes closing shut. Simon stares at the ceiling and huff, righting himself. You feel him plant a kiss to your forehead as the bed dips.

"'M gonna go clean us up, yeah? You stay there." You hear him step into the bathroom, going to wash himself and grab a clean towel to clean up your mess. By the time he came back, you had already passed out, judging by the sound of your low snores.

He begins to wipe your thighs and try to dry the surrounding areas as best he can. He'll change the sheets later when you're well-rested. Simon climbs into bed, hugging you to him. He runs his fingers through your hair, slowly unknotting them one by one.

He stares at your sleeping from and grins. Lowering his lips to yours, he keeps them there for a few seconds.

"I love you."

You can only mumble in response, too tired to properly articulate the words.

"I love you too, Simon."

[virginsexgod69]

❝ Bribery ❞

18+

pairings Shane and Rick x f!Reader

summary Rick and Shane catch you stealing and you do what it takes to convince them not to arrest you.

cw smut, unprotected p in v, oral (male and female receiving), power imbalance, slight age gap, tit fucking, spanking, pussy slapping, spit, degrading names, public sex, car sex

2.8k words

"I didn't even take anything!" you pleaded with the mall security guard. 

"I saw you shoving shit in your pockets in the security cameras, lady," he deadpanned. 

Well shit. You were caught. 

"You don't know what you saw! It was probably someone else who looked liked me an-" 

"Save it for the cops," he interrupted. 

"You called the fucking police over some lipgloss?!” you snapped. 

"Is that a confession?" the overweight security guard speculated. 

"Oh fuck this!"  

  With the stolen lip gloss tube secured in your back pocket, you made a run for the exit. The slow clomps of the security guard’s feet attempting to chase you faded behind you as you ran. Once you were out of the mall, you scoured the parking lot for your car -a white, beat up 2006 Honda Civic. As you fiddled around in your purse for your keys, you heard the familiar sound of a police siren. 

“Godammit!” You cursed, running away from the siren while still feeling for your keys. 

  Bright headlights obscured your vision before you felt the slow moving cop car knock you down into the asphalt. The bright lights went away and you heard the doors open and close. Two familiar figures approached and stood in front of you, but made no move to help you. 

“You again,” said an irritated Officer Walsh. 

“Me? I didn’t do anything I was just leav-“ 

  Before you could finish your sentence, he roughly gripped your upper arm and yanked you up from the ground, pulled your hands behind your back and forcefully slammed you over the hood of the car. 

“Rick,” he said to the other officer. 

You felt his large hand smooth over the curve of your ass before slipping into your back pocket and pulling out the tube of stolen lip gloss. 

“Office Grimes, is that y-“ 

“Shut it,” he ordered. Yup, it was him. 

  One of them -you couldn’t tell who- pulled you into standing up straight. The two men who you’ve become quite familiar with over some tome stood tall over you, staring you down with skepticism and disappointment apparent on their faces. 

“Shoplifting, again?” Rick questioned. 

You looked at them with an overdramatic offended look on your face. “I bought that, fair and square!” You lied. 

“Show me your receipt then,” Shane challenged, making it clear as day he didn’t believe you were innocent. 

FUCK FUCK FUCK

 You panicked as you pretended to search all of your pockets for a receipt you knew you didn't have.

"I-uh...must've...um...dropped it when uh...you hit me with your fucking car!" you said, trying to shift the blame on them. 

They shared a look then looked at you with expressions that told you they're not buying a damn thing you said. 

"If you were anyone else, we'd let you go. But Y/N, you have a track record, so we're gonna hafta take ya into the station," Rick said, strong arms crossed over his chest with your lipgloss still in his hand. You looked at him with large, sad, pleading eyes, then at Shane with the same look. Neither of them budged so you dropped the act. 

"Fuckin' pigs!" you shouted at them before running off to go knows where. The two men chased after you on foot, barking orders at you as they did. They weren't far behind, but there was still a good amount of space between you. You gave up on looking for your keys and just continued to run. When you couldn't hear their footsteps anymore you stopped and leaned against some car. You were about to relax but the sound of sirens got your heart racing again. In their car, they chased you out onto some empty road before you finally couldn't run anymore and collapsed into the grass on the side of the road. The car halted to a stop a few feet away from you before the men got out and ran over to you. 

 This time it was Rick who yanked you up from the ground. You were too out of breath to argue, or say anything for that matter. 

"No innocent person would run away like that," Rick hissed in your ear. He forced your arms behind you back and cuffed you then dragged you over to the car where Shane waited. He walked over to you, looking down at you the entire way. His large, rough hand grabbed you jaw and forced you to look up at him. 

"You wanna explain yourself 'fore we throw your ass in jail," he said venomously. 

 The severity of the situation finally hit you as your teary eyes stared into his cold brown ones. You couldn't go to jail, especially over some cheap lipgloss. You tried to swallow the lump in your throat as your brain worked to find something to say. 

"C'mon, Shane. We used to go to the same church, y'know this isn't really who I am," you pleaded as you choked back sobs. 

You could've sworn you saw Shane's resolve soften, but before he could say anything, Rick cut in. 

"Cut the bullshit, Y/N. You have a record. This is who you are and this is the shit you do." 

 Rick's cruel words caused a pang in your chest. Hearing such things from a man who once trusted you enough to babysit his kid hurt. You really didn't think a few misdemeanors here and there would cause two people you once looked up to to think so lowly of you. You tore your jaw from Shane's grip and turned to face Rick. 

"Rick, I-"

"Officer Grimes," he corrected. 

Ouch. 

"I-I promise I'll stop breaking the law, honest! I'll even make it up to you guys, just please don't take me to jail!" you begged.

"How do you plan on making it up to us, Peach?" Shane asked using an old nickname you haven't heard since high school.  

You knew exactly how you were gonna make it up to them. 

 You slowly lowered yourself onto your knees, ignoring the way the ground dug into them. You looked up at Rick with innocent doe eyes. 

"Take off your pants," you rasped. 

  You honestly weren't even sure if they'd give into your advances, at the very least you expected some kind of pushback. But both men eagerly undid their belts and pulled out their hard cocks. You shuffled your way over to Rick, not caring how the rough road scratched your bare knees. You licked at the pre-cum leaking out of Rick's pretty, red tip before pressing a chaste kiss to it. You stuck your tongue all the way out, licking up and down his length like it was the coldest, tastiest popsicle on the hottest summer day. His breathing shallowed as he did his best to keep his composure.After having enough of teasing him with your tongue, you took his entire length into your mouth, feeling his tip hit the back of your throat as you did your best not to gag. Rick couldn't take it anymore and grunted in pleasure. You looked up at him through your long lashes. He looked like he was in heaven. His head was thrown back in pleasure, giving you the perfect view of his Adam's apple moving with every pleasurable moan that escaped him. You bobbed your head up and down on his dick, moving at your own pace until he couldn't take it anymore and grabbed a fistful of your hair and began fucking your throat. You felt him twitch in your mouth as you choked on his large size. You were making him feel good and that made you feel good. You could feel yourself soaking your panties and wished you weren't cuffed so you can stimulate your aching clit. 

"Oh god, Y/N. You're taking me so good...good girl," Rick praised between pants. His praise alone was enough to make your cunt throb. Rick's rhythm became sloppy as he felt himself about to cum. You started into his eyes, nonverbally begging him to cum down your throat and whether or not he understood your silent pleas, that's exactly what he did. You swallowed every drop of him as he pulled his softening cock out of your mouth. 

"Damn Peach, when'd you become such a slut," Shane taunted with a smirk on his face and his dick in his hand. He took in the sight of you, already drunk on cock, mascara tears running down your cheeks and a streak of drool leaking down your chin. He stepped closer to you as he brought himself to his climax. 

"Say 'ahh'," he ordered. You eagerly opened your mouth as he came all over your pretty face shamelessly. You blinked his cum out of your eyes as you swallowed what got into your mouth. 

"Damn, look at 'er. She takes one cock and she's already all fucked out," Shane teased. 

"Pretty lil thang still hasn't cum yet," Rick commented, noticing the way you were shifting around in an attempt to stimulate your needy clit. 

"You think the lil felon deserves to cum?" 

"Maybe we gotta fuck a lesson into her. Oughta teach her to quit stealin'." 

"Alright," Shane agreed, "But I get 'er pussy first." 

Rick reluctantly agreed. Shane pulled you up from the ground and quickly had you bent over the hood of the car like he did earlier. He took a minute to admire how good your ass looked in those tiny shorts before he practically ripped them off, taking your panties with them. He roughly smacked your ass a few times before spreading your cheeks open with his big, rough hands. He spat on your already dripping cunt before slapping it too. You whimpered in pleasure and tried to close your legs, but he kicked your ankles apart. He lined his dick up with your desperate hole that was already clenching over nothing. 

"Jus' fuck me already, Shane," you slurred. 

 Teasingly, he rubbed his length up and down your slit, coating his already leaking tip with a mix of your slick and his spit. You wantonly whined in an attempt to get him to hurry up and put it in you already. And he finally did. Slammed himself all the way in, earning a scream from you as his rock hard dick hit all the right spots inside of you. He stayed still for a minute causing you to squirm. He leaned over you and whispered in your ear. 

"Be patient, or 'm not gonna let you cum." You stopped squirming and he finally pulled out before ramming himself back inside of you. Your warm walls hugged his cock perfectly as he plowed in and out of your perfect pussy. The sounds your bodies made were so filthy and sinful it only made you clench around his cock even harder. More tears streamed down your face as he fucked you so good you could only babble nonsensically, begging him to make you cum. 

"Ah, Shane, 'm gonnaa," you stupidly babbled. 

"S'alright, Peach, I'ma get you there," he said as he thrusted into you sloppily, his own climax reaching him once again. You screamed in pleasure as you were overcome by your orgasm. As you came, you clenched down on the officer so hard he almost came inside of you, but he resisted until you were through riding out your orgasm. He quickly pulled out and released himself all over your lower back. 

"Rick I need ya, please Rick I wanna feel you inside a' me," you begged. 

 You looked so fucked out laying on that car hood that the men wondered if you even knew what you were saying. Rick walked over to you and unlocked the handcuffs, finally freeing you. Before you could react, he roughly flipped you over onto your back. 

"If you even think about makin' a run for it, I won't hesitate to throw your pretty lil' ass in jail." 

"Yes, Officer Grimes," you whined. Hearing you call him 'Officer Grimes' made his cock twitch. He animalistically tore your tank top off before giving your bra the same treatment, leaving you completely naked and vulnerable to the two fully clothed men. 

"You've got such pretty tits," he complimented as he rubbed his hands up your body. You let out little whimpers and moans, just waiting for him to fill you up and split you open on his cock. His large, warm hands finally found their way to your neglected tits. He grabbed a handful of each one, roughly kneading them. You squirmed and moaned just wishing you had something to rub your clit against. It was all too much. His thumb and forefinger pinched and twisted at your sensitive, hardening buds, earning the most pathetic, wanton moans he's ever heard. Unable to handle it anymore, you reached your now free hand down to your clit and began rubbing circles on it. Rick grabbed your wrist and slammed it against the car's hood. 

"The hell you think you're doin'?" 

"Rick, please!" you sobbed. You desperate pleas and endless begging finally got to him. He lifted your legs, putting them over his shoulders before lining himself up with your abused, aching pussy and slowly sinking in. Your eyes rolled back in your head at the heavenly sensation. 

"What a pretty slut, takin' me so well," he praised once he was all the way in. Your cunt just loved the way Rick filled you up so good. "Jus' look at the way I fill you up," he admired as he pressed on his dick outline through your stomach. Shane watched the glorious way your tits bounced with each of Rick's thrusts. You looked like such a whore, spread out and completely nude, eyes rolling in the back of your head, mouth open, tits bouncing. It made him hard again. Rick rubbed rhythmic circles on your throbbing clit, making you see white and arching your back as another orgasm washed over your body. Rick kept pounding into you as he chased his own orgasm. When it finally came, he filled you up as your pussy milked him dry. His eyes rolled back as he threw his head back in ecstasy. 

"Bring her over here," Shane demanded from the backseat. He sat in the back, facing the open door with his pants down as he stroked his hard-again cock. 

"I'ma fuck those pretty tits." 

  Rick smirked as he forced you back down onto your knees. You stumbled a bit and fell into Shane's arms. He looked down at you and smirked to himself, proud of the mess he made on your face. One of his large hands kneaded one of your tits, whole he continued to stroke himself with the other. He spat on his hand, lubing up his cock before squishing your tits together with both hands. He groaned in pleasure as he stuck himself between your warm, soft mounds. The unexpected penetration of Rick’s tongue in your pussy had you moaning in unison with Shane. He was practically making out with your lower lips while Shane fucked your tits. The feeling of his warm mouth sucking on your overstimulated clit made your mind go blank as you screamed his name. His tongue redirected itself to your needy hole, tasting every bit of you and reaching places your fingers couldn’t. As the pleasure became too much, you gripped Shane’s muscular thighs, digging your nails into his flesh. His head was thrown back in pleasure as he tightened his grip on your tits. 

“You’re doin’ so good, Peach,” he praised. All you could do was moan in response. The friction of Shane’s veiny dick sliding between your tits combined with Rick’s skilled mouth eating you out put you in a state of euphoria. You screamed the mens’ names as you came for the third time today. Shortly after, Shane came all over your chest. Once you came down from your orgasm, you slumped over onto Shane due to your exhaustion. Rick got out from under you and picked your scattered clothes from off the ground, keeping your panties for himself. Shane helped you into the car and Rick tossed you your clothes. 

…

“We’ll let you off with a warnin’. But this is the last time, Y/N,” Rick said, sternly. 

“Yes, Officer Grimes,” you sleepily mumbled as you dressed yourself in the backseat. 

“We’re serious,” Shane affirmed as he drove. 

“I know, Officer Walsh.” 

 You slept the rest of the car ride, worn out from all the fucking you endured. Once they pulled into your driveway, you woke up and exited the car. 

“Don’t let us catch you stealin’ shit again,” Rick shouted from his rolled down window as you walked to your house. 

“Okay. Can I keep the lip gloss though?” 

masterlist

tbh, i don't even like shane, but this idea came to me in the shower a few days ago and i couldn't resist =p