#finally getting back into the swing of actually answering peoples asks :)

[ye4gerism]

𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊, 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍!- 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

word count 4.8k

content warning a little bit of spiciness, false positive pregnancy mention, black reader friendly

author’s note hi. i suffered through writer’s block these past three months but BOOM mouthwashing and fanart of this fine ass man popped up on my fyp. i’ve watched two playthroughs of this game, so i hope i captured the right image of curly. oh and he’s australian here. and my requests are open!

synopsis on a study abroad trip, you meet another (handsome) study abroad student who talks his way into your heart and ends up being a key part of your life

Winter in London was not up to your standards.

You were here on a study abroad trip for your master's program. You did the whole overseas thing during one quarter during your time as an undergrad - it was a little visit to South Africa which you thoroughly enjoyed. But “travel some more,” everyone said.

After a lot of thinking, you gave in and decided to travel to the U.K. as you wanted something that felt familiar. You were wrong in so many ways - the roads followed unnecessary loops, plugs were shaped unusually, and...oh, every drink there was some sort of 'diet' or 'zero sugar' crap.

But over time, this place began to feel like a routine. It wasn't home but you were okay. You liked the opportunity to grow in your program and you liked your classmates. Everything was balanced - school, eat, chat, sleep.

Except for one particular day after your classes, a few of your classmates insisted you go to a pub with them. Something about 'getting you more exposed to the London culture'. After much pestering, you indulged.

So you found yourself at this pub but not as excited as the people who invited you. Over time, they were engulfed in their own conversations and inside jokes and you were off to the side, whiskey in front of you, own your own. It's weird to drink when the people who are supposed to have your back don't.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Oh boy, were you about to have your first unwanted encounter in London?

You look over your shoulder and see this strikingly tall man, his head full of bright hair. His shy smile

is highlighted by his stubble. Your eyes soften for a moment and the tension in your shoulders fades.

But then it returns. "I'm enjoying myself. Thank you. I'm with my...my classmates." Your tone is sharp. You gesture to your classmates, who are still in their own world.

"You're American? Are you sure these people know you?" He asks. You pause, trying to find a witty answer of your own. Part of you wanted to point out his thick accent as it wasn't as posh as the Londoners. Maybe Australian. You think for a while but you're still stuck.

"Curly." He extends his hand to you. You shake it.

"Your name is Curly?" you ask curtly. "And I'm supposed to feel bad about my situation?"

He chuckles at your response, his face settling into a smirk. "My name is Grant. Everyone just calls me Curly."  He swirls his glass, eyeing the empty barstool next to you. "Do you mind if I sit with you?"

You look him over noticing his muscular build once more. "I don't mind." He swings his leg over the seat and rests his forearms on the counter. Curly takes you in for a moment. You take this time to take note of his eyes - a shade of deep blue. He's sort of cute, you think.

"So, why exactly is an American girl like you here in London?" And it all goes away. You find yourself a little annoyed with his question as it's yet another variation of the same question you've heard since you arrived here.

"You ask that like I'm not supposed to be here. It's not like the United Kingdom is some sort of war zone," you respond. He raises his right hand in defense. "I'm studying abroad for a quarter. I'm a grad student," you finally answer. "You don't sound like you're from here either. What's your deal?"

"Well, I'm here for school too." He downs the rest of his drink. "Masters too actually. I'm trying to go to space."

"Still doesn't explain the accent," you cut in.

"Well, my father's Aussie and my mother's from here. They separated years ago and I spent most of my life in Australia with my Pa and spent time with my mother when I wasn't in school. She moved to the States after the divorce. I decided I'd pursue my college education in America and have been there since."

"So you're here studying abroad as well," you state. He nods and then gestures to someone behind him. "That's Jimmy. I like to think we've been attached to the hip for the longest time."

This Jimmy he speaks of is on the opposite side of the bar, socializing. "I'm really happy we got to take this trip together. He made my breaks great. I was really bummed that the person I considered my best friend lived on the other side of the world but the great thing about adulthood is the lack of limitation."

You laugh at his comment and he gives you a confused look. "As an adult, I feel that there are so many limitations. Especially as we get older."

"Well, it's up to you if you let those limitations run your life. You have free will, you know, and...and you typically only live once." He places a hand on your arm and it slowly runs down to your elbow. Your eyes are locked now.

"My name is Y/N."

"I like that."

You like the weight of his hand and you like his eyes and you like his hair. He seems like a cute guy and he has such a cute name - Grant Curly. What a cute face.

"Hey Curly." The moment is broken by an unfamiliar voice but a familiar face. The Jimmy guy. "It's getting late and we have shit to do. You think you can stop flirting and leave now." He pauses and looks at you. "No offense."

You're taken aback and not sure of what to say but you respect him for keeping his friend in check...but maybe not with that tone. You look behind you and see that your classmates have left you. So much for adults.

"You're right. I lost track of time," Curly admits sheepishly. He looks at you first, then at Jimmy. "This is Y/N."

"Great. Nice to meet you, Y/N." You wait for a handshake or something. "Let's go now." Jimmy starts to walk away from where you're both sitting.

"Sorry about him. He's nice! I promise!" Curly rubs his neck nervously. "How are you getting home? Going back with your friends?"

"They left. I'll have to call a cab or something," you say. He looks over at Jimmy, who's exiting the pub, and then back at you. "I'll take you back home. What's your address?"

"It's okay. Your friend...he doesn't seem receptive. And besides, I can take care of myself," You answer. You start to rummage through your purse and pull out your wallet to pay for your drink. Curly gently holds your wrist. Your breath hitches at the electrifying feeling. "Let me pay for your drink and take you home," he starts, "I know you're definitely capable of taking care of yourself but it'd kill me if I left you alone."

You look away from him for a moment and think. This was your opportunity to get his number. "Okay...I'll pay for the drink and you can take me home," you offer. He shakes his head and gestures to the bartender. "Please put this lady's drink on my tab," he says. Curly pulls out his wallet, then his card, and slides it over to the bartender. You lightly slap his arm in protest. "Why would you do that?"

He just smirks at you before taking back his card and receipt. "Let's go." He offers his hand to you to help you off the barstool but you playfully swat it away before plopping off.

Curly leads you outside to the parking lot and clicks the unlock button on his keys. His friend is leaning against the car and you take note of the fact that he was rushing Curly when he didn't even own a car himself.

"What is she doing here?" He asks. "Jimmy, we're dropping her off. You think you could move to the back so the pretty lady can sit up front?" His friend asks.

Jimmy gets off of the car and mumbles something illegible under his breath. You feel bad so you say something, “He can sit-"

Curly cuts you off, "No, no, you sit down." He opens the passenger seat for you and you slide inside.

Something you noticed about the two friends was how opposite they were; Jimmy was clearly someone who didn't like too much change and you assumed that Curly lacked any anxiety. They seem to balance each other out...maybe?

As you conversed with Curly about your respective lives, you couldn't help but notice Jimmy's eyes piercing your image through the rear view mirror.

“Hi love." You feel so much relief when Curly's lips meet yours. You can't help but melt against him. It felt so good to have him in your home.

The two of you had decided to go long-distance months after you met in London. Curly was based in Colorado; his mother lived there, it was where he attended school and he loved it so much because of the snow. It seemed like whenever you called, he was on some sort of mountain or on his way there. While you were living in California, where there wasn't much of that, Curly claimed it reminded him so much of home - so he didn’t mind you living there.

After your first meeting, you regularly hung out and spoke over the phone. Sometimes you both were lucky to be alone; he'd take you out to lunch or take you to tourist sights in London. Sometimes you'd spend time in his flat and Jimmy would be there. The latter wouldn't say much but you always felt like he never really wanted you around. When he did speak to you, your conversations would start somewhat simple and then he'd say something to kill the mood.

One night as your school's study abroad program came to an end, Curly showed up at your flat without any notice. The Curly you saw that night wasn't the one you were getting to know all this time - he was much more bashful than ever. Not the type of bashful when Jimmy tries to embarrass him but bashful in the sense that he was well into his twenties, almost 30, and was struggling to find the words to confess to you. Luckily for him, he didn't need to completely contextualize as you felt the same way.

"How is work, baby?" You ask him. He came to California as it was his turn to take the flight to see you.

"Same old, same old." He started working for some space freighter company months before he met you; you only heard about it once you got back to the States. You weren't too sure about the whole thing but he was making money and getting practice for the career he really wanted.

You pull away from his chest and take his image in. "I missed you so so much." Curly pulls you closer to him so that he can kiss you again. This time it's a bit longer. He pulls away looks behind himself to find your couch and leads you to it without bumping into anything.

He sits first and invites you to crawl onto his lap. Once you're settled, he grabs your thighs and you take hold of his shoulders, kissing him again. His hands roam from your thighs to your back before finding themselves under your shirt. At the feel of your bra, he asks, "Oh, what's this?"

You feel your cheeks heating up at his playfulness. "Why don't you take my shirt off and find out?"

Taking this as permission, Curly unclasps your bra and moves his hands to your shirt; you raise your arm as he pulls the bottom of your shirt off. Once it's been discarded, your bra slightly falls off your chest and Curly does you the honor of taking it off of you.

He lets the back of his hand run lightly against your nipple and you can't help but mewl a bit. "Missed me?" He asks. You nod. "Every single day."

"I think about you a lot. At work, at home, when I'm outside. It's hard knowing that I have such a pretty darling on the other side of the country." He brings one of your breasts to his lips and wraps his lips around your nipple, where his tongue dances around. He pulls his lips away with a 'pop'. "Grant," you let out breathlessly.

"I think about doing you at my desk, on my bed, everywhere." He lowers you down on the couch and adjusts himself so that he's on top of your lower half. "I think I'll take you on this couch and maybe if you're up to it, on your island counter next, and then after-"

He's cut off by a vibration in his pocket. "Just a moment, it's probably work," he says, pulling out his phone. You notice a slight annoyance on his face when he reads the Caller ID.

"Jimmy, hi." Speak of the devil. At the sound of his name, you shuffle to sit up on the couch. Curly puts a hand out to stop you but you swat it away.

"No, Jimmy, I didn't eat your pickles. Have you tried looking around the fridge?"

You reach next to him to pull your shirt and bra out of the crevice of the couch.

"You found them- no, I landed here hours ago."

You clasp your bra and put your shirt back on.

"I'm sorry that - Jimmy!" You jump at the volume of Curly's voice. He sees this, places a hand on your knee and mouths an apology. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't call you. I just got here. I'm with my girlfriend- huh? Ok. I'll talk to you later. Bye Jimbo." He then hangs up. Curly sits back on his knees. He brushes his hair back with his hand and releases a sigh before placing both hands on his knees and looking at you. "Sorry. Just Jimmy."

"I don't like him." You give him a pointed look. You cross your arms, obviously disappointed that his idiot friend ruined your time with your man. You're aching for him but at the same time, you don't even want to fuck Curly anymore.

"I think he's a nice bloke," Curly says under his breath. You raise your eyebrows, practically asking him to speak up. "It's like you guys are the brother and sister that hate each other for fun. You'll both come around eventually."

Your face twists in disgust and you fake gag, which makes Curly laugh. "What brother is deeply in love with their sibling, you in this case?" you question, "He clearly wants me out of the way."

"No, he doesn't. He loves you!" You can see Curly's face melt into confusion. "Maybe not love you...but he likes you around?"

You scoff. "See, you don't even know yourself." You wiggle your legs from under Curly and get up off the couch. He reaches for your hand. "You don't know want to...?" He cocks his head toward the couch.

You purse your lips and shake your head no.

"So gorgeous!"

"How many karats?"

"The proposal! What was it like?"

One year and a few months after your meeting, Curly decided to propose. He took you to Australia to meet his paternal side. In truth, you were scared of those big-ass Australian spiders and whatever the hell else happened to live there but your love for Curly was stronger. The night before your flight back home, he planned a candlelight dinner for the both of you in his father's home and proposed to you - your answer obviously being 'yes!'.

Today you were at your wedding shower with all your friends - Jimmy too!

"How do you feel about getting married after just a year of knowing each other? I mean, Grant can't possibly know everything about you in a year!"

Curly's mother was a piece of work. You had met her a handful of times during your trips to Colorado and yet you couldn't seem to just get along. You were polite but she always had something to say. There was some attachment to her son but he was her only one so you let it slide.

"Well...you do know we're getting older. I fell in love with him and have been since I met him. I feel that Curly-"

"Grant. His name is Grant," she interrupts.

You take a deep breath and smile a forced one. "Grant. I feel that he and I can be mature adults and grow and learn about our marriage and what makes it work." Part of you wants to mention why her marriage didn't work out but one of had to be the bigger woman.

Mrs. Former Curly hums trying to find some witty response. "Is the Bride-to-be avoiding me?" You let out a sigh of relief and you never thought you'd do it to this particular voice.

"Jimmy! Nice to see you, hun!" Curly's mom moves past you to hug Jimmy and kiss him on the cheek. For once, Curly's friend looks cleaned up compared to the other times you've seen him.

When Curly's mom pulls away, he looks over at you. "I wanted to pull Y/N aside. Haven't gotten to properly congratulate her on the engagement. I can catch up with you before I head home," Jimmy tells her.

After the engagement, Curly decided to move in with you. It was a decision you were confused by; you were easily willing to pack up your bags and move to Colorado with him. You knew he loved the snow and his mom would probably lose his shit if he was so far but he insisted on moving in with you.

At first, he wouldn't tell you the truth, something about high housing prices and about wanting to explore more. Eventually, he told you he wanted to get away from Jimmy. He opened up to his friend about the idea of getting engaged - showed him the ring and everything. It turned into an argument about you being the right choice and Jimmy low-key insulting you. After he told you the truth, you let Curly move in before the wedding.

Over time, Jimmy apologized to Curly and even extended an apology to you and the two got closer again. Although they weren't best buddies, it didn't sit right with you how quickly Curly took Jimmy back as a friend. Maybe Mrs. Former Curly was on to something.

"How have you been, Jimmy? Has living alone served you well?" You ask. He makes a funny face at you. Were you making a dig at him?

"It's fine. I actually got a new roommate. He's pretty chill. Keeps to himself." Jimmy avoids eye contact for a second. "How's living with Curly? I know he's ecstatic but are you?"

Living with Curly was great, especially when Jimmy was briefly out of your lives; uninterrupted cuddles, uninterrupted dinner, uninterrupted sex. You were living the life!

Instead, you answer, "Living with Curly is great. He's lovely. He's the best roommate and fiancé I could ever ask for."

Jimmy's trying to keep a light demeanor but he truly couldn't. "You know, I hope you're really right about that. Hopefully, he doesn't drop you like a sack of potatoes...although, I hope he does. I really really hope he does. You don't deserve any of this."

Your face drops and for once he's left you silent. Jimmy smirks when he realizes he's really hurt you. "Congratulations again, princess," he says before walking off.

You feel your body buzzing and you just want to cry but everyone - your family, friends, Curly - are all gawking over you and you don't want to set any alarms off. You want to find Curly but you know at the sight of him, you'd burst into tears.

You eventually find the strength to walk out of the party - passing by with polite 'excuse me's and 'just a moment's. You take a moment to feel the breeze. It picks up and your breath struggles but once it slows down, an entire weight is off your shoulders.

You decide to sit in the car. A tired heavy sigh escaped you. You noticed your fiancé left his winter jacket in the car and used it as a blanket.

For a moment, you wanted to cry but you had all this makeup and didn't want others to realize that you were upset. But besides that, you didn’t have the urge. Why couldn’t you cry?

You chalked it up to space. You needed to be away from Curly's petty mom. You needed to be away from Jimmy and his weird attachment to your fiancé. You both needed space for this whole thing to work out.

A shadow hovers over the window and you turn your head to see Curly, who lifts his finger to knock on the window. You open the passenger seat door and before allowing him to speak, you start first.

"Sit."

He doesn't argue and walks around the car to sit in the driver's seat. "Babe, what's going-"

"I can't do this, Grant." You can see his eyes and panicking and his mouth trying to find the right words. He grabs your hands and lets out an incoherent version of "but I love you" and other things you couldn't catch on.

You shush him and it takes him a while to quiet. You place a hand on his cheek. "I don't want to say my vows in front of people who are wishing on our downfall. You know what Jimmy said to me tonight?"

His eyes go from saddened to worry and then a building. "I knew it. I shouldn't have - what did he say to you?!"

You place a finger on his lip, quieting him again. "Grant, baby, please. We'll deal with him later. I want to go to the courthouse and marry you. I want to say the vows I wrote for you there. And then after, I want to eat a burger or something...something greasy and salty as hell, and then after that I..." You move your finger from his lips down to his chest and then even lower.

"You want to...?" He's playing coy.

You move his finger away from his pants and slap his chest, which makes him release an "oof". "I want Jimmy and your mom to suck it and let us have our moment," you say. You watch his face as he starts to think (he has this cute thinking face that you can't help but melt for).

"Ok. Deal." Curly kisses the corner of your lip. "Can you come inside now? Everyone's worried." You kiss his cheek now and chuckle an 'ok'.

Back at the party, everything felt fine. You had your friends and family to cheer you on and your amazing fiancé who loved you more than life. It was toward the end of the night you felt a shift.

You were catching up with another friend when you observed Curly walking Jimmy outside. After a few moments, it was just Curly that returned.

"They want you to do what for how long?"

"It's just a year, baby." He was still with this Pony Express bullshit. "It's nothing we haven't done before. Think of the other times as practice.”

He was doing space deliveries in a span of a few days or even hours to the International Space Station....when he could be working up there.

A part of you felt bad for complaining but the money with good. With your income combined, you were able to buy your first home. You had the most spacious dining room and connected kitchen. It helped with family gatherings, dinners with friends, and hard conversations like these.

"Why can't you get like...I don't know...a real job at like NASA?"

He slams his hand on the table. "It is a real job like NASA!"

You're startled - you can't think of one time he has ever raised his voice at you. Your utensils clutter against the plate and you get up, pushing the chair back with your legs. “Y/N, babe, sorry-” he tries.

You ignore him and leave the dining room, your shared bedroom being your target. Curly’s pleadings and footsteps can be heard behind you.

You reach your bedroom and Curly places a hand on your shoulder. It stops you from walking away from him again. He counters you and now both hands are holding your shoulders. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. I know I never yell at you.” His right hand moves from your shoulder to your cheek. “I’m really really sorry. I shouldn’t have taken my frustrations out on you.”

You blink and your face scrunches up trying to stop yourself from crying, which you fail. Curly brings you in and holds you.

“Grant, I can’t do it. I can’t do a year,” you sob, “And with all the negative tests…I can’t do it. I need you here with me.”

The both of you were trying for a baby but haven’t been lucky. Just a lot of no’s and one false positive - that was the one that hurt the most. The excitement was immediately gone when your doctor told you there wasn’t anything to begin with.

So it was back to Square one and other options.

But this year's mission had thrown a wrench in your plans.

Curly leads you over to the bed and has you sit down. He kneels in front of you and takes your hand. “Listen, it’s some quick cash. A lot of money. When I get back, I’ll quit. I’ll find something else. And we can focus on ourselves and our family. I’ll make it happen. It’s a promise.”

There’s so much hope in his eyes. He sticks out his pinky finger, indicating that he is serious in his own lighthearted way. You hug him instead.

"So who's the lucky girl?"

Curly looks up and sees Swansea, who's pointing at the gold ring on his left hand.

"Oh!" He turns red at the thought of you. "My wife is back home. I didn't realize how hard it would be - being this far from her. We actually dated long distance for the longest time but yet, I can't shake the unusual feeling in me."

“Your wife…” The older man thinks for a moment. “Oh! The one that pulled you to the side to give you an earful!” He lets out this belly laugh and it goes on for quite a long time. Curly takes a deep sigh, letting his shoulders drop. Swansea slaps his left shoulder, perking him up again. “Yeah, I miss that too.”

Curly was about a month into this delivery trip. He stopped counting the days because it made him miss you more. He just wanted to blink and be home so that he could hold you in his arms and apologize a hundred times over.

You both got into an argument when you found out that Jimmy once again found a way to be in Curly’s space.

One night, Curly got back-to-back calls that he kept ignoring. “Just pick up please so we can sleep,” you tiredly snapped. He chuckled at your annoyance and kissed your forehead before complying.

You didn’t find out until you saw Curly off at work before the start of the mission.

“Are you kidding me? Don’t tell me he was the one calling!” You exclaimed. Curly looks back at his crew who are feet away saying bye to their own families or prepping the ship. “Can you please-”

“No! No, no, no, no,” you hold a finger in front of his face. “Why is he there? I tell you all the time - I don’t like him and I don’t like the influence he had, or I guess has in this case, on you-”

“He needed a job! He needed some help. Things aren’t good on his end. He’s a damn good pilot. He just…he just needs the right push.” His blue eyes hold so much sympathy. You loved your husband’s compassion for others but when it came to Jimmy - after all the times he made it clear you weren’t welcomed - you just wished Curly had a little bit of backbone.

There’s still so much anger and disappointment in you but you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.

“I hope it all works out and that your boy succeeds. Good luck, Captain.”

You raise both hands in defeat and start to walk away from Curly. This is your last image of him before you fully turn around. He says your name once but doesn’t follow you.

[noosayog]

002 get him back!

✧ wc: 4k

✧ warnings/content: miya osamu x fem!reader, sfw, fake dating au, angst to fluff,

✧ GUTS masterlist, regular masterlist

divider from @/cafekitsune

It all started when Miya Atsumu said that you would never be able to find anyone who could put up with you. And you would have taken that with a grain of salt, if Miya Atsumu wasn't your ex who also happened to be a thorough asshole.

“Well you dated me didn’t you?!” 

“And we broke up, duh.” he says flippantly. 

You clam up at that. You know he’s just saying things. He doesn’t mean it and he’s a complete moron. But it’s been almost a year since the break-up and not a single man has even offered to buy you a drink. Are you going to have to resort to making a Hinge profile? 

–

“I don’t know why ya let him get to ya. He’s just a moron,” Osamu says. 

“You have to say that, he’s your brother,” you grumble. 

“True. But he is an idiot.” 

You plop your face heavily into the elbow resting on the counter and blow raspberries in one big exhale. 

“Don’t get yer spit all over where my customers eat.” 

You grunt, turning over to watch Osamu work behind the counter. 

“Do you think I’m unlovable?” you ask.

“Huh?” 

“There must be a reason no one’s asked me out on a date in the past 8 months, right?” 

Osamu sighs, dropping off a plate of food in front of you. “I’m not gonna answer that.” Then he turns with his back facing you to fiddle with something on the other side of the kitchen. 

“Why not?” 

He exhales through his nose, quiet, but you hear it. 

He doesn’t get the chance to answer because the door swings open to reveal Osamu’s twin. You jolt up, fixing your posture, self-conscious about letting Atsumu think his words are getting to you. 

And rightfully so because Atsumu acts like a shark that smells blood. His lips curl up into what he thinks is a smirk, but resembles much more of a snarl. 

“What’s up with ya,” he asks oh-so-innocently. 

You have no good response and feel your face heating up in embarrassment when Osamu swoops in. 

“Are ya gonna sit down or just block my door? ‘Cause I got people that actually pay to eat here.” 

Atsumu starts yelling something at Osamu but simmers down into the seat next to you and mumbles something to himself, no doubt some choice words for his brother. It gives you momentary reprieve from Atsumu’s provocation which is the last thing you need right now with your self-esteem in the dumps. 

The break is temporary though, because like a true creature with short-term memory and a propensity for being a prick, Atsumu circles back to the topic when he’s done eating. 

“So, found a guy to take you out?” 

“What makes you think I’d answer that question,” you bite back. Weak, but it’s all you have. 

“Hah,” he scoffs. “I knew it. Ya can’t find anyone.” 

You feel the irritation boiling like a witch’s cauldron inside of you, brewing a mix of resentment, mortification, and the tiniest streak of competitiveness. Atsumu not shutting up for the rest of the night is the final ingredient that makes your red hot concoction boil over. It goes a bit like this: 

“Tell me if ya want me to set ya up with someone from the team. Might be the only chance ya get at this rate,” he teases. 

“No thanks,” you hiss. “I’ll have you know that I’m dating Osamu, widely known as the better Miya.” You point smugly at Osamu whose back is currently to you both. 

“What!” Atsumu yells. “Osamu? And you?” 

With Osamu’s back to you, you can’t see his face, but all your fingers and toes are crossed that he’ll play along so that you don’t burn up in a gas of complete humiliation. 

When Osamu turns around, his eyes go to you first. They search yours for something – what, you don’t know. He apparently finds it because he blinks away and tells his brother to mind his own business, neither denying nor validating your claim. 

It might as well be confirmation though, because Atsumu squawks in indignation, sputtering his disbelief. Osamu continues to bicker with his brother, keeping him occupied enough to not realize that he was slowly being backed out of the restaurant. 

When Osamu slams the door on Atsumu and twists the lock in a dramaticized show of finality, Atsumu finally gives up, yelling a muffled “I’ll be back.” through the windows. You could laugh at the duo if Osamu didn’t turn around and fix you with a look, similar to that of a responsible older brother scolding a child. 

“Now yer turn. What was that about?”

“Osamu! You heard the way he was talking to me. I just can’t stand it!” 

“Have ya thought this through? How’s this supposed to end, huh? We break up and Atsumu goes back to making fun of ya?”

You open your mouth to beg, because it’s always worked with Osamu. He always gives in. But he’s not done, apparently. 

“‘Least ya could’ve done is ask me out, not use me to get through yer petty grudge with ‘Tsumu.” 

That shuts you up. When you look at Osamu, he’s not looking at you. His eyes are downcast, distracting himself by wiping up the counter. It’s so brief that you convince yourself that you imagined the hurt in his voice. 

“‘Samu…” 

“Forget it. I’ll do it, but ya better have it thought out because I’m not helping ya anymore than this.” 

It should be a win and any other time, you would wrap him up in a bear hug and shower him with thanks, but the defeated way Osamu concedes makes you solemnly finish your meal. It feels unfitting to say thank you. 

–

Your first stint as Osamu’s girlfriend comes in the form of a friend’s dinner party. Since the night you forced Osamu to be your boyfriend, you have been back at Onigiri Miya to hang out, but have painfully tiptoed around the topic. The thought has occurred to you that you and Osamu should agree upon a backstory, but you haven’t had the courage to breach the topic after the way Osamu reacted. 

He had just nodded when you asked him to attend this dinner party with you. And with that, he had dutifully picked you up at your apartment, perfectly on time. You had expected a stone-faced Osamu all night, but he had surprised you with a sweet smile, one that you’re used to being on the receiving end of. But it somehow feels different tonight. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s supposed to be smiling at you as your lover tonight. It was easy, the way he had held out his arm for you, no awkwardness in sight. 

At dinner, Osamu makes no move to let go of your hand, going as far as to intertwine your fingers under the table. When any one asks how the two of you began dating, he squeezes to tell you he’ll handle this. You’re grateful and you feel undeservingly spoiled as you watch him. He looks around the room, drifts his gaze back to you where his lips flicker upwards for the tiniest second, then looks back at the crowd to flash a mysterious, close-lipped smile. You can barely hear the dinner table go wild with jeers and Atsumu squawking as you gawk at Osamu’s act.

And it goes on. 

As you eat, he keeps your fingers clasped between his, laid on his lap. Atsumu gives you two the stink-eye, questioning why Osamu was eating with his left hand. You’re pretty sure your eyes are bulging out of your head at this point, because Osamu flushes. Osamu is blushing as he reluctantly lets go of your hand, making a show out of placing your hand back on your own lap and mumbling a heavily-accented apology at no one in particular. 

–

When dinner finally ends, the party migrates to the living room. Osamu doesn’t need to ask, perfectly picking your favorite after-dinner drink of choice as he chooses a beer for himself. He has once again claimed your hand in his. His grip is tight and when you try to slip your hand out to get some space, he holds tighter. 

You lean up to whisper in his ear, “Osamu, my hands are sweaty.” 

He leans down to hear you better, but stands back up when he registers your comment. He ignores you, only squeezing twice, as if telling you to behave for him. Your head spins; you’ve never dated like this before. 

Being with Atsumu was like living in a comically unrealistic sit-com, like you were constantly finding yourself in situations and having conversations that belong in a Tom and Jerry episode. He argued with you about everything, had an ego, and a temper. A particularly memorable moment was when he was still courting you, trying to convince you to date him by saying, “I’m six foot two.” 

“Dude, nice try,” you had said. 

But somehow, right now, with Osamu standing by your side and towering over you, you think that if this younger twin used that line on you right now, you’d fold in half for him. As if you wouldn’t with all the sweet nothings he’s lavished on you in this one night. 

He only lets you get away when you embarrassingly whisper to him that you need a bathroom break. 

“I’ll walk with ya.” 

“No!” you exclaim. You lower your voice when he stares at you. “It’s okay, ‘Samu. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

He backs off and you finally get away from his orbit. 

Finally alone, you barely pull yourself together. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, slapping your cheeks lightly to pry the strange daze from your eyes. You can’t get carried away here. Osamu is doing you a favor, one he isn’t fond of. You can’t get used to Osamu treating you like this. It’s borrowed time. 

You splash water onto your face, waiting until the chill seeps into your cheeks that have been painfully hot since Osamu picked you up tonight. 

As you exit the bathroom, Atsumu is there waiting for you in the hallway. 

“I’m onto ya,” he starts. 

You scoff, immediately putting your facade back on. It’s easy with Atsumu. “Oh please, Atsumu. You’re just jealous.” 

It doesn't phase Atsumu the way you hope. “Such a weak comeback. Sounds like something you’d say to disguise the fact that yer playin’ my brother.” Your brother is the one playing me.

“Whatever, Atsumu,” you say, walking away, taking Osamu’s advice to not let Atsumu get to you. 

“I bet ya forced my brother to pretend to be yer boyfriend. I know my brother and I know you. Just admit it.” He smirks. “It’s okay that no one wants to date ya. Nothin’ to be ashamed of.” 

The fact that even Atsumu, even all of his stupidity, sees right through you makes you feel hot. You’re grateful that you’ve already turned away from him because you could not take much more damage tonight. Nothing would end you in a worse way than Atsumu seeing that he could make you cry.  

Or maybe it’s the fact that Atsumu doesn’t, for one second, believe that someone like his brother could fall for someone like you. Maybe no one does. Maybe everyone here just thinks that you’re making this up and they’re playing along to help you save face. 

It takes everything in you to keep your steps and breathing even as you take the walk back to Osamu to compose yourself. 

It’s useless apparently because Osamu seems right through you. He immediately offers to take you to the balcony, explaining to everyone that you need some fresh air to cut through the alcohol you’ve had. 

His silent understanding makes it worse because it makes it clear that you’re an open book. The act you put on is completely pointless because no one believes you anyway. 

Osamu guides you to the balcony and shuts the door behind him, leaving the two of you alone. 

He joins you at the railing, draping his jacket over you. You know he knows that you want to avoid looking into his eyes, just as much as he knows you want to avoid having this conversation altogether. He sighs. 

“Why do ya let him get to you like that?” 

You look back at him, eyes widening at the tone he rarely takes with you. His eyes are fixed forward, arms still dutifully wrapped around you, ever the dedicated boyfriend. But as his gaze flickers to you momentarily, you catch the weight of his question in his eyes. 

“Who?” you mumble. 

But Osamu’s not in the mood. He stays silent, letting the question hang in the air. 

“I don’t know… I just…” 

“Are ya still in love with my brother?” 

“No,” you answer honestly. 

Osamu raises his brows. 

“No, but I’ve known him for so long now.” You feel the need to explain. “He just gets under my skin. You of all people should understand – he’s your brother! You guys fight all day long.” 

“He’s my brother. We shared a womb. We were born to fight.” Osamu sighs. “You, though... Why can’t ya just let it go?” 

“I don’t know! I just…” you trail off. 

He continues to stare at you, not even knowing the effect he has on you. His earnest gaze pulls the truth out from under your skin. 

“I wanna get him back,” you admit. 

Osamu’s eyes go dark at that statement. His expression shutters.

“Not like that!” you quickly amend. “Not like I want to get back with him, I mean like, his face just pisses me off!” 

“Huh?” 

“I just wanna punch him in the face but I don’t think anything would give me more satisfaction than proving him wrong you know. And honestly, Osamu, you-” 

“Ya think that I’m the perfect person to piss him off for ya. ‘Cause I’m his brother and there’s no one else who would get under his skin more than if I replaced him.” 

You hear the disappointment heavy in his intonation. 

“Osamu…” 

“Am I wrong?” 

He’s not wrong, but you feel an urge to tell him how he made you tingle at dinner. It was in the way he catered to your whims, covered for you, and held your hand in secret. It was in the way he, as your not-boyfriend, made you feel loved and desired much more so than any other boyfriend you’ve ever had before. 

But when you look at his side profile, face now turned away from you and hidden by the shadows of the night, it doesn’t feel right to say any of that. Even in your mind, it sounds like an excuse. Because the bottom line is that he’s right. Your original intentions had been to use Osamu. And the fact that you might have developed a slight crush on him in the process doesn’t make you feel any less shitty and certainly doesn’t make Osamu feel any less used. 

His question goes unanswered. 

– 

The rest of the week goes by uneventfully. Actually, it goes by too uneventfully because Osamu doesn’t call or text once. Not that you’ve made an effort, but after how that last conversation with Osamu ended, you can’t find the courage to face Osamu. 

It doesn’t make you miss him any less. 

You can’t recall if you used to miss Osamu like this, think about him and wish he’d reach out even if it’s only been a couple of days since you’ve last met. You only know that right now, you wish he’d make the first move because you can’t muster up the nerve to see him, even if it’s all you wanted. It also makes you realize that Osamu has been spoiling you long before that night and long before he agreed to be your fake boyfriend. The reason you never had to miss him is because he is always the one who makes the effort to call, text, bring you lunch, pick you up from work, drive you around. 

The realization only made you feel worse about yourself.

And after days of mulling over realization after realization, each making you guiltier and guiltier, you made your decision. 

That’s how you end up running to Osamu’s apartment, late on a Thursday evening. Without pausing to compose yourself, afraid you’ll lose your momentum, you knock. 

The door swings open to reveal a very tired-looking, very handsome Osamu. He has his cap off, but his hair is unruly, as if his fingers have just recently run through it. His eyes are slightly bloodshot and his t-shirt is wrinkled. The urge to rub your thumb over his eyelids and smooth your other hand over this shirt is a sudden one you shove down because Osamu’s opening his mouth. 

“Hey, what’cha doing here so late?” 

There’s a momentary disappointment that strikes your gut. He asks you so normally, as if he isn’t plagued with thoughts of avoiding you. As if the couple of days that have gone by without any interaction between the two of you isn’t even a thought that occupies headspace.

“Uh,” you stutter. 

“Actually,” he sighs and glances behind him. “Now’s not a good time. Can ya-” 

“I don’t care about Atsumu,” you cut him off. It sounds like he’s preparing a rejection. Or he just doesn’t want to talk. Neither of which are favorable outcomes, so you barrel through to say what you need to say. 

“I don’t care about what he thinks. Not anymore and definitely not that night. I was actually thinking about you the entire time and Atsumu, well, he’s just-”

“Just wait a minute, okay-” 

“He just gets under my nerves because of the shit he says and I know he’s just saying stuff to rile me up and I’m a hothead, okay? He gets me because we’re like the same person sometimes, but I’m not doing this to get back at him anymore. It’s actually your fault because-”

“I knew it!” a voice yells from behind Osamu. 

You crane your neck to see around Osamu and curse Osamu’s big frame for taking up the entire doorway and blocking your view of the apartment because there is the older twin, grinning widely and walking up to where you’re both standing.

You instantly feel the panic rise in your system. 

“Atsumu,” Osamu begins in a warning tone. 

Ignoring his brother, Atsumu continues on. “I knew it. I knew the two of ya couldn’t be dating just like that.” 

Your nervous system goes into overdrive. Even you know how this looks. 

You barged into Osamu’s place randomly at night and picked the time when Atsumu coincidentally is here as well.

Your wide eyes meet Osamu, willing him to believe that you didn’t come to make a scene for Atsumu’s viewing. You didn’t come to confess that you might have a crush on him with this exact timing so that Atsumu would fall for the act. 

When Osamu refuses to meet your eyes, it brings your attention back to Atsumu, who continues to gloat about his victory. 

Your face burns in mortification as you take slow steps away from the twins, making room for your getaway. As Atsumu gets closer and Osamu continues to avoid your gaze, your courage wanes and the last bit of pride you’re holding onto propels you to turn away instead of retorting as you always do. 

“Aww, really let my words get to ya, didn’t ya? I knew all along-” 

Before you can start running, Osamu grabs your arm and pulls you into the apartment, the other arm shoving Atsumu out. 

“Hey, ‘Samu!” 

“Shut the fuck up, ‘Tsumu. Now that my girlfriend’s here to spend the night, get out.” Osamu shuts the door in his face. 

Atsumu’s protests fall on deaf ears, the sound of Osamu referring to you as his girlfriend echoing in your mind. He had taken your side, chosen to take the course of action that would embarrass you to least despite not having confirmed what your intentions were. The thought fills you with hope. 

He pulls you further into the apartment, sitting you on the barstool. After situating you on the chair, he makes to step out of your personal space, but you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him close. Your eyes start to sting in frustration that Osamu could somehow believe that this was all just another incident you had orchestrated to get back at his brother. This has all gotten so hopelessly messy. 

“Osamu,” you sniffle into his neck. “I didn’t come over here and say all that because I knew Atsumu was listening. I just-” missed you. 

He rubs soothing circles into your back, gently enough to make you want to cry more because you don’t deserve this but want it so badly. 

“You just…?” he prompts. 

The words won’t come out and your tears soak into his shirt. You want to tell him so badly that you’re not crying to garner his sympathy; you’re crying because you’re so angry with yourself. 

Osamu patiently strokes your back, letting you cry before quietly telling you, “Oh, baby. How long do ya think we’ve known each other? I know yer not the type to set up this whole complicated scenario just to show up my stupid brother. I believe ya.” 

His other arm is now holding your head to his neck, fingers running lightly across your scalp. “So can ya finish what you were about to say for me?” 

His words and his actions do what they always do to you. They fill you with so much hope that there’s no room to mistaken his intentions. They fill you with the courage to tell him. 

“Missed you,” you whisper. 

Finally, both of his arms wrap around your back to push you tight into his chest. He squeezes, gentle enough to keep you safe but firm enough to tell you he wants you there. It pulls the confession out of you. 

“And I like you so much, Osamu.” 

He chuckles lightly into your ear. You can feel the vibrations echo in his chest. When you squeeze back, he trails his arms down to your legs to guide them around his waist. He carries you with ease to the couch and sits you down to cry in his lap. 

You don’t know how long the two of you sit like that for, but when you finally calm down, you keep your arms wrapped around him and quietly ask, “why did you do all this for someone like me?” 

He stops stroking your hair. 

“What, ya don’t like it?” 

You pull away to protest, already too comfortable with him spoiling you again, only to find the corner of his lips quirked up in a smirk. 

He’s teasing, you realize.

You smack his face weakly and wind your arms back around him. 

You snuggle back into his neck but he’s the one who pulls you back this time. 

“Hey, seriously though,” he says. “Is this okay?” 

You nod shyly. 

“I need to hear it, sweetheart.” 

“I want it.” 

“Alright. C’mere then.” 

You oblige. 

“Can I tell ya a secret?” he murmurs into your neck. 

You nod. 

“There isn’t a man out there who’d do all that for someone he doesn’t love, ya know that?” 

It makes you flustered, but much of what Osamu does does that to you. His tenderness makes you want to try harder to meet him in the middle. 

“Can I do something?” you ask, taking a leap. Your face is incredibly hot and your heart is beating embarrassingly loudly against his. “Is it okay if I kiss you?” 

It’s easy when he responds, “You can do anything ya want to me.” 

You intend for it to be an innocent peck, your form of an apology. But he holds the back of your neck, the other arm wrapped almost all the way around your torso and doesn’t let go until you’re panting against his open mouth. 

He’s nonchalant when he shrugs. 

“You can do anything ya want but I’ll be doing the same from now on.”

[itneverendshere]

rafe finding out you’re back to not taking care of yourself, especially when he’s coming back from rehab. you’re going back to full swing less than bare minimum to take care of yourself

thank you for the request!!🩷 hope you enjoy!!

the way you hold me is actually what's holy - r.c

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

Rafe had this whole plan in his head.

He was finally back in town after spending the better part of six months at that damn rehab center. Finally clean, head clear, body feeling... normal, or at least as normal as it got after kicking all the shit he put himself through. The whole time he was there, he thought about you. How you visited him every week no matter how exhausted you were from your shifts now that you’d been promoted. How you took extra days off work for him, even when you couldn’t afford to miss them. How you always brought him a home-cooked meal because you knew he hated everything they gave him at that place.

And he promised himself that when he came back, things were gonna change. He was gonna change—for you.

It was all worked out. He’d show up at your sister’s place a day before he was supposed to leave, surprise you, maybe bring some flowers. Then he’d ask you to move in with him. He thought about it day and night. He was tired of that house. Of having his dad constantly hovering over his shoulder, even when he was miles away. He was gonna get a new place, not one of those temporary rentals where he barely unpacked his bags. A real place, a clean slate.

A new start. For the both of you.

But when Monica opened the door, his plans went out the window.

“Rafe?” Her eyes widened for a second before her face broke into the widest smile he’d seen in months. And before he could even get a word out, she threw her arms around him, hugging the living hell out of him like it had been years instead of just months. "Oh my God, you’re back! You look... you look amazing."

The way Monica squeezed him, how genuinely happy she was to see him—it hit him harder than he expected. Rehab was tough. Really tough. And he didn’t expect people to be waiting for him on the other side, not like this.

"I’m back," he muttered, hugging her tightly as he let himself breathe for the first time since stepping out of that damn place. Monica had been there for him too, just like you had. She’d kept you company sometimes when you went on those long drives to visit him. He didn’t deserve people like you two in his life, but he wasn’t going to take it for granted.

Monica pulled back but kept her hands on his shoulders, her eyes sparkling with this genuine pride. "You look healthy. I mean, really healthy. It’s good to see you like this."

Rafe smiled, a little bashful. "Yeah. Feels good to be back. I’ve been, you know, working on shit."

She smiled back, her eyes glinting with emotion. "I’m so proud of you, Rafe."

His throat tightened at that. He wasn’t used to hearing those words, you were the only one constantly reminding him of it. Everyone else said it with some hidden judgment or expectation behind them, like they were waiting for him to screw up again. But Monica meant it. She always did. She was your sister, after all.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, feeling more awkward than he should’ve, but he couldn’t help it. “I’m trying, you know?”

She squeezed his shoulder before stepping back, "You here to see her?"

"Yeah. I, uh... wanted to surprise her.”

The smile on Monica’s face dropped just a little, and Rafe’s stomach sank instantly. He knew that look. It was the same one you got when you didn’t want to tell him something that might hurt him. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, even though he already had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer.

Monica sighed, rubbing a hand over her face before she leaned back against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. "She’s at work right now."

“At this hour? I thought she—”

“She’s been working extra shifts. A lot of them.”

Rafe frowned. You already worked so much as it was. Extra shifts? Why? He thought things had been better for you since he left, that you had more time to focus on yourself, maybe even catch up on the sleep you’d missed while dealing with his mess. “Why? She didn’t tell me she was working more.”

Monica sighed again—something that made Rafe know he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear, “She didn’t want you to worry. She didn’t want anyone to worry, actually.”

“Monica, what’s going on?” The anxiety clawed at his chest. He hated not knowing. Hated being in the dark, especially when it came to you.

Her eyes softened, and she took a step closer, like she could feel the panic building inside him. “Listen... she’s not taking care of herself. She’s been putting everyone first—Milo, her job, you—but she’s not eating enough, she’s not sleeping enough. She’s been burning herself out.”

Rafe’s heart sank. You hadn’t said a word about it to him. Not during any of his calls or visits. You were always smiling, always saying things were fine. But they weren’t.

He should’ve known. Should’ve seen the signs.

“She didn’t tell me.”

“She didn’t tell anyone. That’s the thing. You know she doesn’t ask for help. She just... takes it all on, even when it’s too much. And with you gone... I think she felt like she had to be strong for you, like she couldn’t let herself fall apart because you were going through so much.”

You had been falling apart, and he didn’t even see it. He’d been so focused on getting himself together that he didn’t notice you slipping. And now he didn’t know how to fix it.

“I should’ve done something.”

“No.” Her voice was firm, and she reached out to touch his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “This isn’t on you. You were getting better, doing what you had to do. She loves you, okay? She wasn’t going to let you worry about her while you were in rehab. She’s always been like this. Always putting herself last. It’s not about you. It’s about her not knowing how to let people take care of her.”

Rafe’s chest tightened, his mind flashing through all the times you’d pushed aside your own needs in the past, all the times you’d taken care of him instead of yourself. He thought that was never going to happen again. He’d been so blind to it, thinking you were the strong one. But you were just as fragile as he was, maybe more, because you didn’t let anyone see it.

"She’s working until midnight tonight. You should go talk to her. But... don’t be mad, okay? She’s doing the best she can."

Rafe nodded, his throat tight. He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t angry at you. He was angry at himself for not seeing it sooner. For letting you drown under the weight of everything while he was too busy figuring out his own shit. “I’ll go see her.”

Your sister gave him a small smile, a little sad but understanding. “She needs you. Just... be there for her, okay? And don’t guilt-trip her about this. She already feels like she’s failing everyone.”

“I won’t,” he promised, even though the guilt was eating him alive inside. He had to be strong for you now, the way you’d been strong for him all this time. He just hoped it wasn’t too late to fix this.

With that, he left, heading to his truck, his mind spinning the whole way to The Country Club. He didn’t know how he was going to make this right, but he knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t going to let you keep doing this. He wasn’t going to let you fall apart, not when he was here now, ready to carry some of the weight for you.

The country club was quieter than usual when he pulled into the parking lot, but the bar inside was still buzzing with its usual evening crowd. He walked in, scanning the room, his eyes instantly finding you behind the bar.

You were moving like a pro, handing off drinks, shaking up cocktails, giving out that charming smile you always had for the customers. But now that he knew what was going on, it was easy to see how tired you looked. The dark circles under your eyes, the way your shoulders slumped just a little between orders. You were running on empty, and it broke his heart.

Before he could even think of what he was going to say to you, your eyes found his across the room. For a second, everything seemed to stop. Your eyes widened in surprise, and your breath hitched, like you couldn’t believe he was actually there. He felt his heart skip a beat, and then—

“Rafe?” you breathed out, your voice soft and disbelieving. Without another thought, you bolted from behind the bar, not even bothering to tell anyone to cover your shift.

He barely had time to react before you practically jumped into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as your arms circled his neck. You clung to him like a koala bear, and Rafe caught you, holding you tight against him, his heart racing as he buried his face in your neck.

“Holy shit, you’re really here,” you mumbled into his neck, your voice strained with emotion. You clutched him tighter, like if you let go, he’d disappear. “I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” He explained, his voice muffled against your skin, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips, even with all the heavy stuff on his mind. Just having you in his arms again felt like a weight lifting off his chest.

You leaned back just enough to look at him, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears as you cupped his face in your hands. “God, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too baby.” He pressed his forehead to yours, his hands gripping your waist. “I’m back, okay? I’m here.”

A small laugh bubbled out of you, even though there were tears running down your cheeks now. “I can’t believe I’m crying at work. I never cry at work.”

Rafe grinned, brushing your tears away with his thumb. “I’ll let it slide this time.”

You laughed again, but then you seemed to remember where you were. You glanced over your shoulder at the bar, where a few customers were still waiting for their drinks. “Shit, I— I’m working."

He set you down gently, his hands still resting on your waist as you adjusted your shirt and ran a hand through your hair, clearly flustered but trying to get back into work mode. “I should get back to it.”

“Take a break,” He pleaded, his hand moving to grab yours. “Please.”

You blinked up at him, the tiredness you’d been hiding for months finally showing through. For once, you didn’t argue. You just nodded, squeezing his hand before leading him to quieter corner of the bar where you could talk without interruption. Once you sat down across from him, you took a deep breath, like you already knew something was coming.

“What did Monica say?”

Rafe paused, his fingers absentmindedly drumming on the table as he tried to figure out how to start. “She told me you’ve been overworking yourself. Taking extra shifts, not sleeping, not eating enough.”

You sighed heavily, leaning back in your seat and rubbing a hand over your face. “She wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you?” Rafe asked. He wasn’t trying to make you feel bad, but he needed to understand. “You’ve been doing all this, and you didn’t say a word to me.”

You looked down at your hands, your fingers twisting together in your lap. “You were in rehab, baby. You were going through so much, and I didn’t want to add to your stress. I didn’t want you to feel guilty about me.”

“You don’t have to carry everything on your own,” Rafe said softly, his chest tightening. “I know I was a mess before, but I’m better now. I want to be there for you the way you were there for me. The way we used to be before.”

You shook your head, “I just... I didn’t know how to stop. You needed me, Monica needed me... work needed me. And I thought, if I just kept going, I could handle it.”

He reached across the table, grabbing your hands and holding them tight. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore. I’m here now, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

Tears filled your eyes again, but this time you didn’t try to hide them. You let them fall, your grip tightening on his hands like you were afraid to let go. “I don’t know how to let go again.”

“Let me help,” Rafe whispered, leaning closer. “You’ve always been there for me, and now it’s my turn to take care of you. You don’t have to keep doing this by yourself.”

You nodded slowly, wiping at your tears with a shaky hand. “I just... I didn’t want to be a burden.”

The conversation gave him a sense of Deja Vu. You two had been here before.

“You’re not a burden,” Rafe said firmly, “You’ve never been a burden. You’re everything to me. And I don’t want you burning yourself out like this. Not for me, not for anyone.”

You took a deep, shaky breath, your eyes meeting his again. “I just missed you so much. And I didn’t know how to handle everything without you.”

Rafe’s heart clenched at the honesty in your voice, and he reached out, pulling you into his arms again. “I’m here now. We’ll figure this out together, okay? You don’t have to keep doing this alone.”

You clung to him, your face buried in his chest as you finally let yourself relax in his arms. And he held you determined to make things right. He was going to be there for you, the way you had always been there for him.

It felt so good to be in his arms, to finally let yourself feel vulnerable after holding everything together for so long. You closed your eyes, breathing in his familiar scent. You pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. You could see how much he cared, and it made you feel safe, but also exposed, it’s like you’d momentarily forgotten how good it felt to be so close to him.

As if reading your mind, he brushed a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb, “I don’t want to see you like this anymore,” he said quietly. “You deserve more.” You opened your mouth to retort, but the words stuck in your throat as he continued, “I’ve been thinking a lot about the future while I was gone, and I know things have been tough for both of us, but I want to make them better. I want to be better. I want you to be better.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, your heart pounding as you searched his eyes for answers.

He took a deep breath, his expression serious but tender. “I want you to move in with me.”

All you could do was blink in surprise.

“Rafe...” Move in? After everything? After months of barely surviving and keeping your head above water, now he was asking you to dive into something that felt... big. Scary even. You blinked again, and the look on his face was so serious, like he’d thought about this a hundred times over. Maybe he had. But you hadn’t. You’d been too wrapped up in keeping things from crashing to even imagine a future like that, let alone moving in with him. “Are you serious?” 

Rafe’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, “Yeah. I’ve thought about it a lot. I don’t want to be apart anymore. I don’t want you running yourself into the ground, and I sure as hell don’t want you dealing with everything alone. I’m here now. I want us to have a fresh start, together.”

Your heart clenched. This was the Rafe you’d always believed in, the one you saw past all the shit he went through. And it was everything you wanted—more than you’d let yourself hope for. But then the doubt crept in. What if it was too much, too soon? What if things went wrong?

You dropped your gaze, focusing on the way your fingers tangled together, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t even know if I’m ready. I mean, everything’s been so... I don’t know, chaotic lately. I can barely keep my own life together.”

He let out a soft sigh, leaning closer. “I get that. I do. But that’s why I’m asking. We don’t have to do it all at once. We can take it slow. I just... I don’t want you to feel like you’re in this alone anymore. I need you with me, and I think you need me too.”

You did need him.

You’d missed him so much it ached, but you were terrified of leaning on him again, of letting yourself fall into something that might not last. But then again, wasn’t that what love was about? Taking chances, even when everything felt uncertain?

You swallowed hard, lifting your eyes to meet his. “Okay. I’ll think about it. But we take it slow, alright? I don’t want to mess this up.”

Rafe smiled, that slow, crooked grin that always made you fall deeper in love. “Slow is good. As long as we’re doing it together.” He tilted his head, watching you closely. He always seemed to know when you were lost in thought. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” His voice was soft, patient, like he wasn’t in a rush for an answer.

You gave a half-smile, shaking your head slightly. “I just... it’s a lot, you know? If I start freaking out, you have to promise not to take it personally.”

He chuckled, the sound so familiar it almost made you cry all over again, “Deal. And if I start freaking out, you’ve gotta do the same.”

You smiled, finally feeling the tightness in your chest ease. Maybe this could work. Maybe the two of you could find your way back to each other. You believed him wholeheartedly. It wasn’t just the words; it was the way he looked at you, like he wasn’t just making promises he couldn’t keep anymore. He was standing in front of you, offering something real, something he was willing to put in the work for.

Rafe’s gaze softened, his lips quirking into a small smile as he cupped your cheek. "I know we say this all the time, but I love you," he said, like it was second nature, like he was reminding you of something you both already knew, something solid and familiar. There wasn’t any grand declaration because it didn’t need to be—it was the quiet kind of love that had been there all along.

You leaned into his touch. “I love you too.” The words came so easily, as natural as breathing, because they were always there, hanging between the two of you, even on the worst days.

His thumb stroked your skin his eyes never leaving yours. "We’ll figure it out," he whispered like he wasn’t just saying it for you, but for himself too. "We always do."

You nodded, the corners of your mouth lifting in a small, tired smile. “Yeah, we do.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

He’s not sure why he even comes to these parties anymore. He used to sell at the frat houses, made his rounds until he was out of product, made more money than any minimum wage job he could find near campus.

But he hasn’t in a while. Months, at this point.

It’s just that every time he came to one of these idiotic showing of riches and popularity, the most beautiful man he’d ever seen was sitting in the corner of the kitchen watching with a faraway look in his eyes. Sometimes he stood in a group of people in the living room, but never contributed to the conversation. Once, Eddie saw him swinging his feet back and forth in the water of the hot tub on the back patio with three different couples making out inside it, completely zoned out.

Eddie needs to keep an eye on him. Hence, he attends the stupid parties.

And it’s stupid, to go through so much trouble for a guy he doesn’t even know, who probably doesn’t even notice him back. It’s stupid, but Eddie’s never claimed to be very bright.

Which is probably why he walks up to the guy when he’s about two seconds from punching Tommy Hagan, grabs his wrists, and tugs.

“The fuck are you?” He asks Eddie, reasonably confused and angry at being interrupted by a stranger.

Eddie could feel his pulse against his fingers, swore he could feel a spark of electricity flow between them.

“Eddie. Just leave him. Whatever he did isn’t worth it,” he said through clenched teeth.

His fingers tightened around Steve’s wrists as he considered trying to pick him up, throw him over his shoulder, and walk out of this party entirely.

“How the hell do you know?” Steve wasn’t trying to pull away.

Eddie didn’t let himself think about that too much.

“I just know nothing Hagan does is ever worth trouble for you. C’mon,” Eddie tugged on his wrists again, and this time, it seemed to catch the guy off guard.

“Didn’t know you were into freaks, Harrington,” Tommy said as they took a few steps away from him. “If you’re gonna be gay, you could at least have taste.”

Eddie froze.

The guy, Harrington, tried to pull his wrists loose, but Eddie didn’t let him.

He turned to Tommy, the guy who almost got him arrested for selling at his party only a few months ago, and smirked.

If he was gonna out someone to a stranger, Eddie had no problem doing the same right now.

“And you just sucked my dick because you wanted to add it to your résumé?” Eddie grinned at Tommy, who quickly looked around to make sure no one else heard.

“As if I would-“ he tried to say, but Harrington cut him off.

“You forget you say shit when you’re high. You told me about it already. I think your exact words were, ‘he had the best dick I’ve ever seen, Steve.’ Or am I mixing that up with another dick?” Steve pulled one arm loose from Eddie’s grip, brushed hair from his face, and let it relax at his side.

Eddie could let go now, he was sure if anyone would start something at this point it would be Tommy. But Steve wasn’t trying to pull his other wrist loose and Eddie liked the warmth of him in his hand.

“Whatever man, just go. You don’t even wanna be here,” Tommy turned and left before Steve could respond.

Eddie finally let go, but he didn’t like the immediate sense of loss that filled his chest.

“You always interrupt strangers before they fight?” Steve asked him, hands shoved into his pockets.

Eddie really looked at him, inspected him. He only ever saw him at these parties, so the lighting was shit, but he’d noticed the dark shadows under his eyes a while ago. He noticed that he held himself in a way that showed he was always ready for a fight. Steve’s hair had gone flat over the last month or so, not nearly as voluminous or shiny as it had been at the start of the year.

“Are you okay?” He asked instead of answering the question.

“I’m fine, dude.”

Eddie shook his head. “You don’t seem okay.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Just seems like something is bothering you,” Eddie wouldn’t push more, not if Steve was actually gonna get mad. But something told him that nobody pushed Steve to talk enough.

Eddie had Wayne back home, and his friends in his band here, and a couple coworkers at the bar he worked at twice a week now that he could joke around with. Steve didn’t even seem to have the people he hung around with.

“Why does it matter to you if something is bothering me?”

That’s a fair question. Why does it matter to him?

“Maybe because I just wanted to help. That’s what people do, right?”

“Not for me, usually.”

Eddie stepped closer, barely leaving space between them. “Well, I am.”

Steve stared back at him, shoulders dropping and eyes losing that angry fire.

“Why?”

Eddie was an idiot sometimes, but he was able to read people pretty well. It’s what kept him safe for most of middle and high school, and made him friends in college.

He knew what it looked like to be lonely and depressed, and Steve had check marks next to both of those.

“You wanna get out of here?” Eddie asked, once again avoiding his question.

“And go where?”

“I’ll show you my favorite getting high spot.”

“I don’t really smoke with strangers,” Steve seemed nervous.

“You don’t have to smoke. I’m just gonna show you the place.”

He watched Steve think about it, noting the way his brows scrunched together, how he bit his bottom lip, how he looked at the ground instead of at Eddie.

“Fine. But if you murder me in the woods, my mom will have you hanged,” Steve finally said.

“Hanged? Do they even do that anymore?”

Steve giggled. “Probably not. But she’d find a way.”

“Well, I’ve got no interest in murdering you, big boy.”

The blush that filled Steve’s cheeks was stunning. A perfect pink dusting his skin, giving him a healthier glow than what he’d had for a while.

“What do you have interest in?”

Eddie could say any number of things to flirt, make his true intentions clear, maybe even go straight back to his single dorm instead of showing Steve anywhere.

But Eddie figured that’s all Steve was used to, or maybe he was always the one who had to put an effort into things.

Maybe he wasn’t used to getting treated like a human being.

“I’d like to get to know you. Parties like this aren’t really a good place to learn about someone’s favorite song or what they snack on when they wake up in the middle of the night.”

Steve seemed shocked by this answer, but his features quickly melted into a soft smile, one Eddie would want to see every single day.

“Fine. But it’s not a date,” Steve held out his hand, ready to be led.

Instead of lacing his fingers with Steve’s, or even just grabbing his hand in his palm, he wrapped his fingers around Steve’s wrist again.

“We’ll see.”

———

On graduation day, Steve and Eddie found their way back to their spot, one they’d probably never visit again.

Eddie’s fingers were curled around Steve’s wrist as they stood facing each other, close enough to feel each other’s breaths against their lips.

Nearly two years together, nearly 300 trips to this spot, and more than 500 dates that they never called dates.

And it was just the beginning.

Eddie leaned in to press his lips to Steve’s gently, keeping it soft so they wouldn’t get carried away.

They had to meet Wayne at the Italian restaurant in less than an hour and then Steve’s mom expected them back at Steve’s apartment for a wine and dessert celebration.

They wouldn’t be properly alone like this again for at least a couple days, but they didn’t have time to do much about it right now.

“I love you,” Eddie whispered as he rested his forehead against Steve’s.

“I love you, too,” Steve said back.

He didn’t have dark shadows under his eyes anymore, spending more nights sleeping in bed with Eddie than awake at parties he didn’t want to be at. His hair had most of its shine back. He’d put on a few pounds after joining the gym again, using it as an outlet for stress instead of hiding in corners at parties where he would drink just enough to get buzzed four times a week.

He made friends with Eddie’s friends, plus some of his own when he got a part time job at the coffee shop on campus.

Steve never spoke to Tommy again, at least as far as Eddie knew. He didn’t seem interested in being his friend again, and once he told Eddie more about their “friendship”, he couldn’t really blame him.

“You ready to go see Wayne?” Steve asked him, probably more excited than even Eddie was.

Wayne and Steve bonded quickly and they’d probably spend most of the lunch talking about sports and where they would go fishing this summer.

Eddie nodded, but he pulled something from his pocket before Steve could pull away and start walking back to the car they now shared.

“What’s that?” Steve asked, pointing towards the envelope in Eddie’s hand.

“It’s a gift from me to you. Well, I guess both of us, but I really got it for you.”

He handed it to Steve, who opened it quickly.

He pulled out the paper inside and Eddie watched his eyes fly across the words written there.

“Eddie.”

“Stevie.”

“You got us a trip to Italy? How the fuck did you get us a trip to Italy?” Steve was looking at him, eyes wet with tears.

“Doesn’t matter how. Wayne gave us some money for it, so did your mom. I’ve been saving for a year. Want us to have something special before we have to start working.” Eddie kissed his forehead. “Plus I want any excuse to see you in some of those see-through linen shorts.”

Steve’s lips were on his, his arms wrapped around Eddie’s neck. Eddie wrapped his arms around his waist to hold him there.

“I’ll wear them every day,” he gasped as he leaned in for another kiss.

Eddie laughed. “You won’t hear any complaints from me, sugar.”

“I can’t believe you did this. All I got you was a t-shirt.”

“You know I love t-shirts. I know you love Italy. It’s a win-win for both of us.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but kissed him again.

His eyes widened. “Oh my god. Are you gonna propose in Italy?”

Eddie snorted. “Why would I answer that question?”

“Because! I have to know!”

“Why?”

“So I can make sure I have a nice outfit for pictures, dumbass.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see. You look good in everything,” Eddie kissed the top of his head before he wrapped his fingers around Steve’s wrist and tugged on it once. “Let’s get to Wayne before he sends a search party.”

Eddie smiled to himself as they walked to the car, Steve’s rambling about what he wanted to do in Italy keeping his mind from wandering too far. He couldn’t help thinking about the ring he had stashed away in his guitar case, though.

Italy was the perfect place to propose.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The hollowness remains. It feels like there’s stones rattling around in your chest. You don’t think you ever truly understood the word frazzled until that moment. 

And each time you glance over and see Rogers’ bloody knuckles, it adds to the frenetic energy trapped inside you. Your mind flashes with the sight of him on top of that man, fists raining down, blood on the asphalt. Each time, a tide of dizziness threatens to sweep you away. 

He finally pulls up to a grey brick building. You look at your watch. It’s been barely half an hour since you left the firm but it feels like a lifetime. 

He gets out without a word. You follow suit, or try to. You push the door open, only to be trapped by the seat belt still strapped across you. You grunt and unclick it. You grab your briefcase and lean heavily on the door as you set your feet on the ground. 

You stand and teeter in your short heels. Where are you? Scratch that. You don’t want to know. You know that it’s best to know nothing and not ask any questions. 

“Hurry up,” Rogers hand curls around the top of the car door. You step away and he swings it shut. He points tersely to the building, “in.” 

You obey, gripping tight the leather handles of your bag, and scurry ahead of him. You feel like a mouse with a cat slowly stalking you from behind. 

There are two men standing outside the doors of the building. You look between them with wide eyes. They don’t seem to see you but are quick to nod to the man at your tail. 

“Rogers,” one intones and gets as much answer as you have so far. 

The blond henchman opens the door and you flit inside. This is like a cartoon. It’s absurd. You don’t know much about these type of people, you were never into those movies. Kind of boring in your opinion and besides, this is real life. 

“Hey, you’re going the wrong way,” Rogers calls as you turn left without thinking. “Up.” 

He points upstairs and you turn back and nod. You show your teeth and push your shoulders up, “sorry.” 

He waits and walks up at your side. Your eyes trail again to his hand. His long fingers twiddle in agitation. Would he do the same to you if you step out of line? 

You trip over the top step and he catches your arm before you can topple. You suck in air, terrified, and right yourself. 

“Sorry, er, thanks,” you utter. 

He lets you go with a sigh and points to his right. You’re going to mess this up. God, why did Brenner send you? You’re a new accountant, you aren’t prepared for any of this. Well, they didn’t exactly offer a class on the underworld, did they? 

“You’re breathing loudly,” Rogers says as he stops at a door. 

You blanch and hold your breath. You look at him and blink. His brows arch. 

“You can breathe, just... quietly,” he shakes his head. 

He taps on the left door in the double set before you. He drops his hand to the curled candle and pushes inward. You stare at his knuckles again. He nudges you ahead of him. 

You walk into the room as you wring the handles of your briefcase. There’s a man inside. Is he the big bad? Then what does that make Rogers? 

You look between them and sway. Your head is spinning. You haven’t had breakfast yet. 

“Buck,” Rogers says dully.  

“That them?” The man behind the desk asks. His dark hair is swept back as his thick beard defines his already square jaw. He wears a silver tie and a black suit. These men might be criminals but they dress well. 

“She can count,” Rogers says. 

“Great,” the other man replies flatly. “And she understands?”  

“She does.” Rogers assures. 

Your eyes skitter back and forth. What are they talking about? What do you understand?

The man he calls Buck exhales. His eyes lower and you follow them. Once more you’re looking at the bloody knuckles. 

“You been scrapping?” The man behind the desk accuses. 

“Keeping order,” Rogers crosses his arms. 

The other man tuts and looks at you, “what did he do?” 

Your eyes round and your head swirls. You tilt your head one way then the other. You can feel Rogers watching you. You don’t know much about being bad, you’re a good girl, but you know you don’t snitch. 

Again the scene plays like a reel in your head. That man’s face smeared across the pavement, the horrible sound of his ribs cracking against leather shoes. 

“I... He did...” you wisp and lock your knees, “he did what needs to be done. You know... he...” 

Your eyes roll back and you tip backwards. You don’t feel the crash. You sink into the black cushion of your subconscious, content to escape into the void. 

You wake in a leather chair. The two men stand before you, looking down at you as your head lolls. You grumble and flutter your lashes. 

“She okay?” The dark-haired man asks. 

“She does that,” Rogers puts his hands on his hips. “She’s awake.” 

“I can see.” The other man sneers and reaches under his jacket. You follow his hand as he rests it on his holster. You gulp at the silver butt of the handgun there. “Time for the talk,” he reaches his other arm above you and leans in. “You hear me?” 

You nod as you stare at the gun. 

“Look at me,” the man demands. Rogers grunts, a warning. You look into the man’s bold blue eyes. “Anyone asks you anything about me, or him, or anything that happens inside these walls, you keep your mouth shut.” 

You slump as your head throbs. You feel the blackness creeping up. He snaps his fingers in front of your face. 

“Stay with me here,” he says. “Look, we aren’t gonna hurt you. Not unless you give us a reason. So, you keep those lips zipped and do your work, you’re good as gold. You understand me?” 

You show your teeth and nod. 

“And as long as you’re working for me, you’re under my protection. Got it? Rogers will take care of you.” He pushes himself straight and turns to face the other man, “get her some water before she passes out again.” 

[sxxythingz]

Mine

Neteyam Sully (22) x Omatikaya female (22)

Warnings: smut, cursing, p n v, dom Neteyam, aged up characters, creampie (😏), Neteyam low key being jealous

WC: 2.2K

🛑MDNI🛑

“So what do forest people even do for fun?” Ao’nung asks you, his attention completely turned towards you as you smile brightly at him. “Well, we typically ride our ikrans, go hunting, run through the forest. But me personally, I enjoy just laying in the middle of the forest and enjoying the peaceful sounds around me.” Your tail sways from side to side at the thought of your home and how much you miss it.

You and the Sully family have been in the Metkayina Reefs for about 7 months now, you didn’t have to leave but you are the girlfriend of Neteyam Sully, the oldest son of Toruk Makto Jake Sully. You decided to leave your home to be with Neteyam because the truth is, home to you is wherever he is and he felt the exact same way about you.

“So do you like, swing through trees or something?” He chuckles lightly after his question, making you giggle as well before clearing your throat. “Well I mean yeah actually. I do enjoy swinging from trees, you guys would love it, it’s so much fun.” You respond back to Ao’nung, a smirk crossing his lips as he looks you up and down. “I know what you can swing from.” He reaches his hand out to you, caressing your arm and making you feel uncomfortable as your smile drops.

“Hey!” Before you can get another word out, both your heads turn towards the deep voice that’s approaching you and your heart drops. Neteyam quickly walks towards both of you, his eyes glaring into Ao’nung’s as he approaches him, pushing him back with one hand away from you and getting in front of you.

“Back. Off. She’s mine, fish boy.” You can only see the back of Neteyam’s head, but you could feel the anger beaming from his body. Ao’nung’s arrogant smirk grows wider as he puts both hands up, slowly back away and chuckling. “Smart choice. And stay away from her, I don’t ever want to see you talking to her again.” Neteyam gives him one last glare before turning around to face you, firmly grabbing your arm and walking off with you.

“Neteyam I-“ “I don’t want to hear it, Y/n.” Neteyam cuts you off mid sentence as he continues to walk with your arm in his grip, almost like a child until you reach the mauri that both of you share. Once you enter the mauri, he lets go of your arm and huffs loudly. “How many times do I have to tell you not to speak to him, Y/n? What part of that do you not get, hm?” He doesn’t even bother looking at you while he speaks, but instead his eyes stay averted towards the ceiling of the mauri, as if he doesn’t even want to see you.

“But Neteyam, you haven’t given me the chance to explain anything.” You attempt to protest, finally turning Neteyam’s attention towards you as he scoffs. “What fucking excuse do you have for talking to him? Even after I told you that I don’t feel comfortable with you saying anything to him.” He folds his arms over his chest waiting for your response. You can see the anger in his eyes, making you nervous. You had never seen Neteyam so angry before.

“He was just asking me questions about home and I was answering. I don’t see the problem, unless you’re just jealous of me talking to him.” You mimic his action, folding your arms at him. Before you can even blink, he quickly steps towards you, wrapping his large hand around your throat and pulling you chest to chest with him. No, you’ve never seen Neteyam this angry at you, but yet you secretly loved this side of him. The angrier he got, the more it turned you on.

“Y/n. Don’t fucking play with me right now. I’m not jealous of shit, you’re mine and not his. And you need to act more like it.” Your eyes bat at him, the tiniest crack in the corners of your mouth at his jealousy that he’s trying so hard to hide, but failing miserably. “And if I don’t act like yours, then what Ma Teyam?” You knew that testing him would just make him angrier, but you couldn’t help but to push those buttons.

“I’ll make you scream my name so loud that everyone knows who you belong to.” He smirks down at you, turning you on even more. “So do it my love.” Those were the only words that he needed to hear before you feel his lips crash into yours. His kisses are usually so soft and filled with love and passion, but this time his kiss is filled with need, want, desire.

He kisses you at a pace that you can’t keep up with, his hand still tightly wrapped around your throat but not tight enough to choke you. His tongue always prods at your lips, almost as if he’s asking for permission, but this time he pushes his tongue past your lips, forcing your mouth open. His hand unravels itself around your throat and he immediately brings his hand down to your loincloth, pushing past the cloth to feel the slick that’s covering it.

“You like it when I get mad at you, don’t you?” He chuckles as he pulls your loincloth to the side, his fingers collecting your slick and bringing them back to your clit to rub circles around the nub. “Neteyam..” You softly moan his name, closing your eyes as you move your hips to the rhythm of his fingers. Neteyam was your first, he knows your body like the back of his hand and you guys would always do this when you were back at home, but since you’ve been here you can count on one hand the number of times you two have had sex. And that would be about four times.

Maybe it’s because of the time frame, but his touches set your skin on fire. It feels new, almost like it’s your first time all over again, even with such a small thing it’s almost too blissful. Neteyam pulls his fingers away from you, bringing them back up to his lips to lick your taste off of his fingers. “Mm, I forgot how good you taste yawne. Here, taste.” He brings his fingers to your lips, your mouth automatically opening and he slips his fingers into your mouth for you to suck on them while you stare into his eyes, earning moans from both of you.

“Go stand against the wall.” He sternly commands from you, your eyes squint at him in confusion as he’s never told you to do this but you quickly oblige and go stand against the wall, facing him. “No yawne, turn around and face the wall.” His finger spins in a circle as he watches you turn around and face the wall. “Good girl, now put your hands on the wall.” You oblige yet again, placing your hands on the wall. You feel him come behind you, ripping your loincloth off of you, earning a gasp from you as you feel the cool breeze hit your most sensitive spots.

“Spread your legs for me princess.” He caresses your back, massaging the middle as you spread your legs. There were no words to describe how you felt, how turned on you were. This was something new, his demanding nature never came out towards you, but today that’s all that it is. The command coating his throat just makes you want him even more.

“Since you want me to fuck you like I’m jealous, I will.” You gulp hard as you hear him quickly coming out of his own loincloth and tossing it to the side. He lines himself up with your entrance, collecting your slick on the tip of his dick with one hand firmly holding your hip.

“And you better not fucking run.”

All that’s heard is the sound of your scream as he rams himself into you, his hips completely flat against your ass as he bottoms out into you. “Fuck! Neteyam!” You yell out, reaching your hand back in an attempt to push him back, but he quickly takes both of your hands into his own and places them against the wall. “Don’t fucking touch me. Take it, princess. You asked for it, so take it.” He doesn’t give you any time to adjust before he pulls himself out of you and rams his hips back into you.

“This is what you wanted, hm? You want me to be rough with you? Is that why you talked to him even when I told you not to?” His hips continue to slap against yours, his thrusts getting harder with every question that he asks you. “N-Neteyam, please.. I-I’m sorry!” You try to apologize but you hear him chuckle behind you at your weak attempt to get him to slow down. “No, fuck that. I’m giving you what you wanted. Every time that you talk to him, I want you to think about me fucking you.”

He lets go of one of your hands, bringing his hand down to rub circles around your clit as you feel your stomach beginning to feel like it’s in knots. “Nete… I-I think about to cum!” You feel your eyes rolling to the back of you head until you feel a hard slap against your ass with Neteyam’s hand. “You better not fucking cum until I tell you to.” You huff in response, he’s never denied you of an orgasm before and you don’t know if you can hold it in.

He runs his hand up your back until he reaches your soft braids, entangling his hand through them and pulling roughly to pull your head back. “What’s my name?” His voice trembles, letting you know that he’s not too far himself. “N-Neteyam..” You softly coo out, but that’s not good enough. He slams his hips into you, making you yell out in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“What is my name?” He asks you yet again, your eyes not even being able to focus anymore as he continues to hit the perfect spot. “Neteyam!” You manage to scream out through your groans, making him chuckle. “Louder, princess. I can’t hear you.” He slams his hips into you once again, your nails digging into the walls of your mauri.

“Neteyam! Fuck, I-I can’t hold it anymore!” A deep growl of satisfaction grumbles through Neteyam’s throat. “Do you promise to never talk to him again?” His words slur as his thrusts lose their rhythm, bringing sloppy. “I-I promise Ma Teyam, I’ll never talk to him again. Just p-please let me cum.” You pant out as you feel Neteyam’s grip on your hips get tighter.

“Cum on my dick, princess.” That was all it took before your body finally let go, releasing the tension pinned in the pit of your stomach on him. Your moans and groans of satisfaction can be heard from halfway across the beach, but you don’t care and that was exactly what Neteyam wanted from you. Deep down, he was jealous of you even looking Ao’nung’s way but his pride wouldn’t let him tell you that.

“Shit, I’m cumming!” You feel Neteyam’s warm liquid fill you up as you grind your hips on him, a mixture of both of your groans filling the room as he slows down his pace. After a few minutes of you both catching your breath, Neteyam pulls out of you but your knees are so weak that you almost fall to the ground before he catches you.

He carries you bridal style to the mat that you guys share, carefully laying you down and going to grab a cloth to clean you off. One thing about Neteyam that you absolutely loved was the after care that he always gives you after you guys are done, how gentle and loving he is with you. He leans down and kisses your forehead, your nose and then your lips, making you smile.

“I love you, Y/n.” He places his forehead on yours and closes his eyes. “I love you, Ma Teyam.” Your heart flutters just at the sound of his name coming out of your mouth. You could never choose anyone over him and deep down, he knows that. He finishes cleaning you up and helping you get dressed, then gets dressed himself. You both get ready to step out of your mauri hand in hand, sure that nobody could hear you or even knew that you guys had disappeared.

“So will you just admit that you were jealous?” You look up at Neteyam, watching him roll his eyes at you. “I was not jealous. I was just reminding you that you’re mine.” He gives a smack to your ass, making you laugh as you step out of your mauri. Your laugh quickly comes to a stop as you look and see Ao’nung and his friends staring at you and Neteyam. His friends clearly trying not to laugh and Ao’nung staring in disbelief of what just happened.

You feel Neteyam wrap his arm around your waist, pulling your body into his with a smirk on his face. “And I will admit… I might’ve been reminding them too.” You hit him in his chest, embarrassment clouding your face before finally laughing it off. You lay your head on Neteyam’s shoulder, walking past the boys as Ao’nung gives you a dirty looks.

If that was Neteyam’s reaction to you simply talking to Ao’nung, maybe you should do it more often… 😏

A/N: Hehehehe that ending is kind of toxic, I know 😂 but y’all… it took me forever and a day to get another fic out and I have a reason! That reason being I literally hate my job and it put me in a state of depression to the point where I couldn’t do anything buttttt I quit so there’s that 😂🥳 anyways, I hope you guys like this one and I now have more time post more for you guys! Enjoy 💕

[notsunnyowo]

The love of my life

Word count: 833

Summary: You can't live in a world without Satoru, but if he's forced to live in a world without you, you hope that he can still live his best life.

Content: Death, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Slight canon divergence, Satoru Gojo x Female! Reader (AFAB)

If you die. I die.

You looked at your classmate, a look of pure admiration etched on your face as a delicate smile danced along your features. The sound of your laughter filled the classroom as you chuckled at some funny joke Satoru had said just now.

The four of you were layzing around in your classroom, waiting for Yaga-sensei to come and tell you about your respective missions for the day. And Gojo being Gojo decided the best way to pass the time was to goof around a bit. Cracking dumb jokes, one after the other, face lighting up each time he heard your melodic laugh.

But if I die.

Satoru stood in front of your lifeless body, his face as pale as a ghost and his pristine eyes filled with unshed tears. He didn't want to stare at the horrid sight of your blood covered body, yet he couldn't bring himself to look away either.

No.. This wasn't real.. It couldn't be..

He felt a lump forming in his throat as he stood there, completely motionless.

This was just some sick joke right..? Yeah..! Any moment now, you were going to get up and chuckle at his stupidity for believing that you had actually died..

Right..?

Get enough sleep.

Satoru laid in his expensive armchair. His blindfold loosely covering his eyes as he slept, his arms folded neatly in front of his broad chest that rose and fell with each and every slow breath he took.

His breathing wavered for a moment, as the large man shifted in his seat, before slowly sitting up. His head turned to the side of his chair as his back hunched slightly and he leaned down to the side to grab something.

A small paper bag he had set down on the floor.

Eat properly.

Satoru picked the bag up into his large hands and set it down on his lap before opening it and taking out a small box filled with his favorite flavor of mochi.

Taking out a single piece, he opened his mouth and took a bite of it, his jaw moving in a circular motion as he chewed the sweet treat. It's sweet and savory essence filling his mouth and coating his taste buds.

Meet new people.

Satoru's ears perked up as he glanced in the general direction of the door in his office, just in time to see it swing open and his students barge in. Happy smiles etched on all their faces.

"Gojo-sensei!" Yuuji called out, raising a hand to his teacher and giving him a big, cheerful grin.

"Why is it that you've called all of us here for?" Megumi grumbled, looking at the blindfolded man with a slight look of annoyance.

"Are we going on another mission?" Kugisaki asked, as she spun her hammer around in-between her fingers.

Live a happy life.

Satoru smiled as he looked at his students, before finally speaking up. "Just wanted to share some mochi with my precious students." He said, his voice low, yet gentle.

The offer caused a set of confused glances to be thrown his way from his students.

"You really called us here, just so we could eat some mochi?" Megumi inquired, raising a brow.

"Seems about right." Kugisaki took the liberty of answering the dark haired boy.

"Why are you saying that like it's a bad thing?" Yuuji looked at the two of them, clearly not bothered by the fact that they all rushed to their sensei's call, just for it to turn out to be him wanting some company. "It's free food! And delicious food at that!" The boy grinned, eagerly taking a mochi for himself.

And when you think of me occasionally.

"Hey, Gojo-sensei.." Satoru let out a low hum, in response to Itadori's question. "Who's this girl with you in the photo?" He asked, pointing a curious finger to the small picture frame set on his teacher's desk.

Satoru looked over to the frame and smiled gently. "She was my classmate back in high school." He said, his voice filled with melancholy.

With gentle motions, he reached for the picture frame and took it in his hands, looking at it as if it were the most precious item he owned.

Remember that..

"She was also the first girl I ever fell in love with." He added, although barely loud enough for his students to hear. "The only person I ever fell in love with." He smiled fondly at the photo, his thumb gently brushing over the girl's face in the picture.

"How come you've never mentioned her before?" Megumi found himself asking, his interest now peaked. He walked over to the Yuuji and glanced down at the photo.

"Whoa, she's so pretty..!" Nobara interrupted, stepping in-between her two classmates to get a better look at the photo.

I will love you.

"Yeah, she is, isn't she?" Satoru spoke, looking at the photo with a gentle adoration. "The prettiest girl I've ever seen.."

For eternity.

Author Note:

I'm back and totally NOT dead! (Just lazy) But I wanna get back to writing again and good lord do I have a lot of requests!

Thank you all sooo much for sending so many requests, I really hope I'll be able to give y'all what you're looking for!

Requested to be tagged: @21aurora

[riordanness]

i wish you would — [p.jackson]

pairing: percy jackson x reader

wordcount: 0.9K

warnings: nightmare mention

requested: no

I hesitate for a second before I knock on his door. I don’t want to wake him, but I’ve come this far already, and I know deep down he won’t mind.

I knock, and there’s a clattering sound inside the Poseidon cabin, like Percy has tripped over a chair or something on his way to the door.

The door swings open, and there he stands, in flannel pyjama pants and a navy blue hoodie. His dark hair is messed up, and he looks both alert and half asleep.

“Y/n, hey,” he says. “It’s the middle of the night. What happened?”

I shrug one shoulder, suddenly nervous. Which is ridiculous. Percy is my best friend. Why am I nervous to talk to him?

“I’m sorry,” I apologise. “I had a really bad nightmare and—“

I don’t get the time to finish. Percy immediately pulls me inside and closes his door, and then envelopes me in a hug. I melt instantly into his familiar embrace, burying my face in his hoodie. He smells like sea salt and oreos.

“Hey, trouble?” he asks softly.

I pull my head away from the hug, leaning back just enough to look into his eyes. “Yeah?” I kind of whisper in response.

“What was your nightmare about?”

I take a second to answer. “You. Being in pain. I don’t really know why or what was happening to you but I knew you weren’t okay at all and it was somehow my fault. And…” My voice doesn’t have the strength to continue.

Percy’s sea green eyes are so full of differing emotions I can’t even tell them all apart. “Y/n,” he says quietly, and the sadness in his voice makes my heart break. “You don’t need to worry about me, you know.”

“I know,” I try to protest weakly, “but—“

“No buts,” he shushes me, his index finger on my mouth. “Just hush, trouble.” He unravels his arms from the hug, takes my hand by the fingers, and leads me to his bunk. “Sleep in here tonight, okay?”

“With you?” I mean to think it, but I’m sleepy enough that my brain sends the words through my mouth instead.

Percy kind of coughs and kind of laughs at the same time. “Yeah, with me. If that’s, like, okay with you and everything. I just figured it would help.”

“Yes. Yes yes, it would help,” I say quickly, smiling finally.

“Okay.” Percy grins.

Once I’m comfortably in his arms and under his navy blue sheets, my head on his chest and my fingers intertwined with the strings on his hoodie, I finally relax. I’m warm all through, and I don’t know if it’s because of Percy… or because of Percy.

“Hey, Perce?” I whisper into the darkness.

“Yeah?” he whispers back, just as quiet.

“You know how sometimes people fall in love, and they don’t even know it at all?”

“Like Silena and Beckendorf?”

“Yeah,” I laugh. “Like them. And like—“

“If you’re gonna say Katie and Travis, I’ve already bet twenty bucks on them getting together by the end of this summer.”

“Percy, shush, I’m trying to say something important,” I whack him gently on the chest. “But yeah, they’re totally and a hundred percent in love. Like, the rivals-to-lovers thing they’ve got going on is so cute.”

“Personally I like best-friends-to-lovers a lot more,” Percy admits softly, and I go quiet.

“Me too.”

Even though it’s pitch dark in his cabin right now, I can feel his smile.

“Hey, trouble?”

“Why do you call me that?” I ask, instead of answering.

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer,” I protest.

“That is totally an answer. You asked a question and I answered it. That makes it an answer.”

I roll my eyes, then remember he can’t see me. “Well, I want an actual answer.”

“Okay.” He reaches up and ruffles my hair, and instead of shoving his hand away like I usually would, I let him. “I call you trouble because no matter how much you try to be good and perfect and sweet all the time, trouble always finds you, and that’s adorably funny.”

I roll my eyes again. “Oh really,” I say flatly.

“Yep.”

“Okay.”

There’s silence for long enough for me to wonder if Percy has fallen asleep, and then he speaks again.

“So, trouble,” he says.

“Mhm?”

“You know I’m like, in love with you.”

I take a moment to even process that. “Huh?”

“I’m in love with you, trouble.” The arm that’s around me is suddenly a little tense. “Have been for a while. Uh, hopefully you don’t find that weird. Sorry.”

“Percy,” I half laugh. “I’m in love with you too, idiot.”

“Oh. Wait. Really? You are?”

“Of course.” Even though it’s dark, I know his face better than anyone’s, and I sit up just enough to kiss him. If it’s even possible, I get even more warm. “And just for the record, I like best-friends-to-lovers best too.”

[viceroywrites]

liquor on your lips (1/2)

you met stan pines on your first day working at the dead end motel.

in just a week, you were addicted to him.

mullet stan x gn!reader

part two here

inspired by you can be the boss by lana del rey - contributing to the mullet stan obsession - second part will include smut 👀

.

It was your first day on the job when you met Stan Pines.

The owner of the motel, Tony, walked you through your daily duties at the Dead End Motel. 

Checking guests in and out, answering the phones, collecting money from anyone staying for more than one night at the motel.

It was a fairly simple job it seemed like.

“If anyone gives you a hard time when I’m not here, call me - I live just a block away and can swing by to straighten them out. There’s also a bat underneath the counter - I’m giving you full permission to slug anyone. We’ll just erase it from the camera footage if we need to.” Tony explains, pulling the bat out.

Well, maybe not.   

You blink, digesting the thought that you might actually have to use it but nod in understanding.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be in the back doing some paperwork, holler if you need me.” Tony disappears into his back office, leaving you at the front desk.

The next few hours are pretty uneventful. You check-out some people and have one check-in. Right at 5, Tony dips out for the day, reminding you to give him a call if anything happens and to clock-out before you head out when the night shift person takes your place.

You spend the next few hours leaning back in the office chair and doodling, hoping to past the time and reminding yourself to bring a book or crosswords to work on during these slower hours.

The jingle of the bell signaled the arrival of someone as the front door swung open. You quickly put the piece of paper down, straightening your posture as you had your feet propped up on the counter.

In walked a man in his 30s, the messy mop of brown atop his head grown out into a mullet, the stubble across his square jawline apparent. He wore a white t-shirt, a pair of pants that had a few stains littered across the material and a red hoodie that looked like it had seen better days.

The scent of tobacco and a woodsy, cheap cologne hit you immediately as he approached the desk, his hands in his pockets.

“Hey.. uh.. I need a room for the night.” His deep, gruff voice echoed through the small, empty lobby. Your feet push against the tile floor, wheeling over to the opposite end of the counter and glancing over at the list of the available rooms.

“Room for one or two?” You ask, eyebrow raised as you look back over to him. 

Stan looks around the empty lobby before replying in response, “Well, there’s no one else here but me, toots.”

Your cheeks can’t help but flush in embarrassment. You get up from your seat before muttering out an explanation, “Figured I’d just ask. This place is a hot spot for late night hook-ups so I didn’t know if you had a date waiting for you in the car.”

Stan lets out a husky chuckle, leaning against the counter, “Not sure if I should be offended or flattered that you think I would be coming here for a hook-up.” His eyes follow your figure as you face away from him, searching for a particular room key. 

He had to admit after all the seedy motels he’s stayed at, he wasn’t expecting to see someone as stunning as you. You stood out in the tiny motel lobby, a fresh face in a dreary environment, somehow looking radiant underneath the yellow, fluorescent lights that hang above.

You grab a key off the hooks on the wall, the keychain with the number 12 dangling from it. “The rate for one night will be $20.” You slide the key onto the counter.

Stan fishes into his deep hoodie pocket, pulling out a beat-up leather wallet. Rifling through the crumpled up business cards of all his short-lived business ventures and his numerous fake IDs, he finally fishes out a few dollar bills. Thumbing through them, he curses underneath his breath.

He’s short by only 3 bucks.

His brown eyes glance up at you with a sense of unease, clearing his throat, “Mind if I go back to my car and scrounge up some change?”

It slowly dawns on you the predicament that he’s in, nodding in understanding. You watch as he disappears back outside and you can’t help but follow behind him. Through the glass door, you watch as he unlocks his car, tossing miscellaneous objects aside while he digs in the back seat for spare change he might have dropped.

Sympathy washes over you as you see his crest-fallen expression when he comes out from the car with only a dollar and a few cents of change in the palm of his hand. You scurry back behind the desk before he makes his way back, ready to tell you that he’ll have to find another place to stay for the night.

“Hey, toots, turns out I don’t have enough. Sorry to waste your time.” Stan says, rubbing the back of his neck as he stares at the ground in shame. He’s about to reach for the bills that he threw on the counter, ready to take his leave. 

“It’s on me.” You quickly say, fishing out the remaining three dollars needed and grabbing the stack of bills on the counter to put in the cash box underneath the desk. 

As you come back up, you see Stan staring back at you in astonishment.

In all the years that Stan had been running from state to state, no one had shown him the kindness that you showed him today. No one had extended out a hand, offering support… at least not without a price. 

“Why are you helping me?” Stan asks in his state of shock.

You pause at his question. You’re not sure what compelled you to help this total stranger out but you knew if you were struggling, you would want someone to lend you a helping hand. 

“Why not?” You answer back simply, “It doesn’t cost me anything to be kind.” 

“Well, it did cost you a couple bucks.” Stan can’t help but point out.

“Eh, I’ll make those couple bucks back in no time at my first job.” You shrug with a smile, “I work as a bartender at the bar across town, this is just my second job to make a couple extra bucks.” 

“So you’re a bit of a workhorse, huh? I can respect that, sweetheart.” Stan says with a grin, finally taking the keys off the counter.

“Toots, sweetheart? You sure are laying it on thick, you don’t have to flatter me just because I helped you out.” You can’t help but chuckle, trying to downplay how those pet names were starting to cause butterflies in your stomach and a flush to spread across your cheeks.

Stan stammers, flustered by you calling him out on his playboy schtick and you giggle, “Hey, I didn’t say that I didn’t like it.” You admit with a playful grin.

It’s his turn for his cheeks to glow and Stan can’t help the huge smile that spreads across his features, “Well, just so you know, I’m not just calling you those because you helped me out. I mean look at ya, you’re like a painting in a museum, begging to be admired.”

He can’t remember the last time he cracked a genuine smile.

“Well, I would like to at least know the name of the person showering me with all these compliments.” You chuckle, introducing yourself.

Stan hesitates as he is used to utilizing one of his many aliases, but somehow his real name rolls off his tongue for the first time in decades, “Stanley Pines.”

Just after his introduction, your co-worker comes to take over for the night shift.

“Well, Stanley, my shift is almost over. Smoking is allowed but please use the ashtray in the room. The ice machine is near the staircase to the second floor.” You say, slipping on your own jacket before making your way around the counter with your bag over your shoulder.

Stan had to admit it felt nice to finally be called by his actual name in years, a warm sensation filling his chest. 

Comfort.

He follows you out the door, room key in his hand, “Mind if I walk you to your car? It’s the least I could do for you helping me out.”

You smile and nod, “I would like that a lot.”

Bad to the bone, sick as a dog.

You know that I like, like you a lot.

Don’t let it stop.

Stan and you fell into a routine after your first meeting.

Like clockwork, Stan would visit you, keeping you company at the end of your shift after Tony had left for the day. 

Sometimes he would run a new sales pitch by you, workshopping it with you as you gave him honest but supportive feedback.

Sometimes he would just listen, leaning against the counter as you vent about a customer that was giving you a hard time at your other job.

Belly aching laughter would echo through the motel lobby, Stan’s quick wit matching yours. 

A dangerous dance of banter and flirtation grew bolder and bolder with each evening.

Somehow, the chemistry you had with this man that you still knew little about was more electric than anything you had ever experienced.

At the end of each night, Stan would walk out with you, opening your car door as you slid into the driver’s seat, leaving you with a good night and a wish for you to get home safely.

Tonight was the first time you fell out of the carefree routine.

Your fingers drummed against the counter, your palm cradling your chin as you stared at the clock with a pit in your stomach. An hour had rolled by since Tony had left for the day and yet there was no sign of Stan.

What if he had checked out last night after you had left your shift?

What if he was onto the next town without even saying goodbye?

What if something happened to him?

Your leg bounced up and down, trying to distract yourself with the book you had brought but to no avail.

One hour turned to two.

Two turned to three.

Losing hope at hour four, your eyes begin to flutter, resting your arms on the counter and deciding it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick nap. The bell up front would wake you up anyways.

Instead, you were woken to a warm hand shaking your shoulder. Your eyes shoot open and are greeted to the sight of a pair of battered, bloody knuckles on your shoulder.

Instinct kicks in, your hands grabbing the bat that rested against your left leg underneath the desk and standing up with it raised over your shoulder. 

“Whoa, whoa, toots! Put the bat down, it’s just me!” Stan explained, putting his hands up as he took a cautious step back.

You blink, seeing Stanley standing in front of you, his knuckles looking roughed up and a pretty gnarly cut near his eyebrow. He looks disheveled, wearing just a thin white t-shirt that has splotches of dried blood dotted across it and a pair of dark jeans.

You put the bat down immediately, your worst fears confirmed as you quickly step around the counter, “Stanley, what the hell happened to you?” You say, voice full of concern. Your hand reaches out to cup his jaw to assess the damage, and he almost melts against your warm touch.

God, is this what an angel looks like? He wonders, admiring your features up close despite the furrow in your eyebrow.

“Got in a bit of trouble but I got myself out of it. I’m okay, sweetheart.” Stan attempts to reassure you, trying to play it cool though he had to admit this last run-in with Rico and his goons was a bit too close for comfort.

“Stanley, you’re hurt… take a seat, I’m gonna go grab a first aid kit.” You sigh, your lips in a tight line. Stan doesn’t argue, taking a seat in the leather chair. His thumbs twidle together, feeling like he was a kid again, waiting in the principal’s office to get lectured.

You come back with a tiny first aid kid and take a seat on the table in front of him, cracking it open. You start first on the swollen cut near Stan’s eyebrow, tearing the packaging off the alcohol wipe and leaning forward. “It’s gonna sting…” You warn him.

“Oh please, I just took a beating, I’m sure a little wipe isn’t gonna - Ow! Motherfucker!” Stan curses loudly, wincing as the pad hits his fresh wound. You pull back, your eyebrow raised in amusement, “You were saying?”

“Alright, fine… just be quick with it.” Stan mutters, his arms crossed over his chest in defeat. He winces as you carefully dab across the wound, making sure to clean up the dried blood on the edges that had clung to his eyebrow. While you were cleaning up his wound, your eyes couldn’t help but drift down to his toned forearms that were littered with hair up to his biceps that were accentuated by the tight fabric of his tee.

Your eyes meet Stan’s, an amused grin across his face despite the pain. “Enjoying the view, toots?” You huff in annoyance, trying to ignore how your cheeks burn in embarrassment as you press the alcohol wipe more firmly against his wound as payback.

“Ow!”

The harsh lecture he was anticipating never comes. 

Instead, as you finish bandaging up his knuckles, you gaze up at him with a sad look in your eyes, “I’m just glad you’re okay… please be more careful.” 

Stan nods, “Sorry to worry you, toots.”

He had a cigarette with his number on it,

He gave it over to me, “Do you want it?”

I knew it was wrong but I palmed it.

After your shift is over, you step outside, wishing your co-worker a good night and rolling your eyes in good-nature as they give you a knowing grin when commenting that Stan was outside waiting for you.

The cool evening air hits your face the moment you step out the door and the scent of cigarettes catches your attention. You turn to see Stan leaning against the wall, a freshly lit cigarette between his fingers as he takes a drag from it.

“You didn’t have to wait for me, you should be resting.” You say, approaching him.

Stan turns his head in the other direction, blowing a plume of smoke out from his chapped lips before turning back to face you, “I can rest all day tomorrow. Gotta walk you to your car, don’t know what kinda sleazebags are lurking around at this time.” 

“Aren’t you cold?” You pointed out, noting that Stan was still wearing his white t-shirt despite you sending him out to get a hoodie or sweater from his hotel room.

Not that you were complaining about the eye-candy.

Stan gives a casual shrug, “Not really, the cold out here is nothing compared to winters in Jersey.”

“New Jersey, huh? Didn’t realize you came all the way from the other coast.” You chuckle, leaning against the wall yourself as you watch Stan take another drag.

He almost chokes on the smoke as he inhales, realizing he shared another piece of himself that he had never shared with anyone in his years on the run.

Living life as a drifter, he tried to keep his interactions surface-level, knowing that he may have to pick up and run the next morning.

Yet somehow, you were breaking the walls he had crafted for years down.

Stan exhales the smoke before glancing over at you, “You know I still owe you for covering my room this past week? Is there any way I can make it up to you, sweetheart? Heck, I’ll even do chores around your apartment while you’re at work.”

You pause, mulling over the offer. You had never expected Stan to pay you back, wanting to help him while he was still trying to get back on his feet. 

“Honestly, Stan, you don’t have to pay me back. It’s fine.” You insisted but Stan’s stubbornness began to show through.

“At least let me take you out to dinner or buy you a drink. I’ll give you tonight to mull it over and l expect an answer tomorrow.” Stan says with a sense of finality.

You can’t help but chuckle at his stubbornness, “Alright, alright… but you know I won’t be here tomorrow. I’m covering a day shift for one of the other bartenders.”

Stan pauses before reaching into his pocket to fish out his pack of cigarettes. Your eyebrow raises in confusion and he looks up at you, “You got a pen?”

You open your bag, digging through its contents before retrieving a pen and handing it over to him. He messily scrawls something on the tiny stick before passing it and the pen back to you, his fingertips lingering as they brush against yours.

You look down at the cigarette, seeing a clumsy string of numbers written on it.

“That’s the direct dial to my room.” Stan explains, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Give it a call when you get off tomorrow and let me know.”

You slip the cigarette into your purse, “I will.”

[halfmoth-halfman]

our little secret

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Medic!Reader Synopsis: Soap finally gets all of his answers- and then some. Word Count: 7.4k Warnings: injury mention, pet death mention, child mention Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. part one. part two. part three.

Soap has been in his fair share of safe houses.

He knows what to expect when he hears the words: a sparsely furnished studio stocked with the bare essentials. It’s not a problem for him. Safe houses aren’t meant to feel like houses; they’re there to do their job– to keep their inhabitants safe.

So his confusion is valid when Ghost mumbles something about a “safe house” nearby, only to lead him through the dense woods of the mountains they’re stuck in to the coziest-looking cottage Soap has ever seen.

Soap’s frozen, unable to stop staring at the two-story stone house with dark ivy creeping up the grey stonework and an actual babbling brook winding around the right side of the house where it runs into a small pond in the front yard. He doesn’t know where Ghost, of all people, found the one safe house to come straight out of a fairytale.

“Fuckin’ hell Johnny, stop staring like you’ve never seen a house before.” Ghost’s hand harshly shoves into Soap’s shoulder, and Soap stumbles forward, turning back swiftly to glare at Ghost.

The Lieutenant had been particularly testy for this mission, seeming almost reluctant to take part in any aspect of it; regret had oozed out of every inch of Ghost from the moment he and Soap had touched down here, and Soap can’t figure out, for the life of him, why. It wasn’t like they were forced to be here; Soap was in the room when Price asked for volunteers for this mission. He remembers with exceptional clarity how Ghost perked up– as much a man like him could– and how the masked man was on his feet the second Price asked for volunteers.

If he was so eager for this mission, why did he seem so resistant to everything about it?

Tired and impatient with Soap’s lack of action, Ghost starts up the dirt path toward the cottage. It’s not hard to notice how he drags his steps, leaving small trails behind his boots. Soap follows hesitantly, keeping his head on a swivel as they approach the front door. Ghost tries the doorknob only to find it locked; his eyes slide shut, hand tightening around the doorknob before he lets his hand slide from the brass.

“Maybe we can–” Soap doesn’t get to finish as Ghost steps back to turn his gaze to the black iron sconce hanging next to the door. He pops one of the glass panes out with practiced ease, reaching in where Soap’s only now noticing there’s no lightbulb to grab a small golden key. He pops the glass back into place, sliding the key into the lock and turning.

The door swings open, allowing them into the pitch black of the house. For such a quaint-looking home, the endless void that greets Soap when he walks in is something lifted from a horror movie. Ghost shuts the door behind him, leaving Soap standing in the entryway that’s illuminated only by the misty grey of what little of the sun’s setting light is able to reach through the thick cover of the towering pines and low, looming clouds outside to shine through the small squares of glass on the front door.

“Take your shoes off,” Ghost mutters behind him.

“What?” Soap turns around– ready to ask why he should bother with etiquette for a safe house– but finds Ghost already hunched over, one hand on the wall beside him for balance as he unlaces his boots.

Soap copies him, unsure and so so confused. Ghost is as unbothered as ever, disappearing into the darkness of the house while Soap toes out of his boots. He places them next to Ghost’s, standing up right as the house illuminates in a soft amber glow.

It’s just as cozy inside as it is outside, and Soap is stupefied. His mind can’t comprehend the shadowy figure of death and destruction that is his Lieutenant among the picturesque interior of wooden countertops and decorative plants.

Ghost is none the wiser to Soap’s internal crisis, heading to a large armoire composed of deep brown wood that stands against the cream-colored wall next to the entryway. He pauses, leaning back to look at Soap over the edge of the lacquered door. “Weapons go in here.”

Soap joins him as Ghost unloads his weapons into the cabinet. The outside is unassuming— a normal, if a little taller than usual, armoire— which is why the interior catches Soap so off guard. A second set of doors— grated black metal with a keypad in the center— hang open to give them access to an impressive weapons rack that’s already half-stocked. Soap can’t help but gawk as Ghost works on hanging his knives— arranging them by handle color, then length. It’s done so casually, so routine, as if Ghost has done this a million times.

He wants to ask, but he doesn’t know where to start. What the hell’s up with this “safe house”? How did Ghost find it? Did he set it up? It was hard enough picturing the masked giant in everyday civilian life, let alone browsing for the perfect rustic armoire or a faux fur rug fluffier than a cloud.

Ghost walks away, heading towards the kitchen with an unusual hesitance to his steps– like he’s trying to lighten his footsteps against the hardwood floor. Soap quickly stores his weapons, trailing behind Ghost with less caution. 

The kitchen is just as immaculately decorated as the rest of the house– all creams and beiges, a large window above the sink with a collection of herbs growing on its sill, and little pops of color from the neatly organized pots, pans, and baskets sitting on the shelves.

Ghost rifles through the pantry with his back to Soap, and Soap can’t help himself.

“What’s-”

“Keep your voice down,” Ghost snaps, hushed and threatening.

“Why?” Soap huffs, gesturing to the empty space around them. “It’s not like there’s anyone else here!”

Ghost turns to face Soap with a swiftness that surprises the Sergeant, his shadowed eyes narrowed into a glare so fierce it sends an immediate shock of fight or flight through Soap. 

“Simon?”

Your voice is soft and raspy and startles Soap so badly he swears his heart skips a beat. He whirls around to see you standing across the living room, one foot on the bottom step of the staircase. Dressed only in a hoodie that’s obviously too big for you— and the perfect size for a certain Lieutenant— and a set of fluffy pajama shorts, you rub your eye with the heel of your hand, clearly having just woken up.

Ghost groans behind him, and everything in Soap’s head suddenly clicks together: Ghost’s reason for volunteering for this mission so quickly, his expectation of working on it alone, why he dragged his feet to bring Soap here. All of the puzzle pieces floating around in his mind slide into place as he watches you stumble into the living room, still half-asleep.

After your rescue, you’d been confined to the infirmary for weeks. The team had come to see you, sometimes lucky to catch you for the few minutes you could stay conscious long enough to entertain small conversations. You were put on immediate leave once you were well enough, and in the three months since then, no one has heard from you. 

Soap’s glad to see you despite his mild guilt for disturbing you.

You look much better than when you left— less like you’d been repeatedly hit by a bus— and well on your way to recovery. There’s still gauze wrapped around your right thigh, and a few of the worst bruises are still present on your skin, in the process of fading. The only lasting injury Soap can see is the deep scar that trails along the left edge of your jaw from your chin to your ear; you’d had trouble talking while in the infirmary, pain buzzing through your jaw anytime you moved your mouth, but now you’re yawning widely without a single care.

You make it halfway to the kitchen when your eyes land on Soap; you freeze, brows knitting together in confusion.

“Soap?” 

“Doc.”

“What’re you….” You trail off, spotting Ghost behind him. Soap watches how you take in their clothes, the dirt and dried blood stained into the fabric, and how your eyes glance over to the open weapons cabinet near the front door. The shift to Doctor Mode is instant; you straighten up, already looking them over for any possible injuries as you hasten your way to the kitchen.

“I’m fine, Doc,” Soap smiles, seeing some of the tension ease from your shoulders. “Lt. got a little roughed up, though.” Your head snaps to Ghost, and Soap steps aside, setting a gentle hand on your back to guide you and your concern toward Ghost. The Lieutenant glares at him over your head, but this time Soap smiles back, a knowing grin plastered on his face as you fret.

“You shouldn’t be up,” Ghost sighs, pulling his angry gaze away from Soap to stare down at you. He’s trying to seem stern, frustrated that you’re up and about, but you pay him no mind. It’s almost sweet, the way his gaze softens the moment he looks at you; he’s concerned for you as much as you are for him.

“‘m fine,” you mumble stubbornly. Ghost rolls his eyes as he lets you look over him. His eyes briefly flick up from your face to Soap before back down to you. Soap’s known Ghost for a long time; he’s learned how to read the subtle changes in those dark eyes, and he can see the way Ghost fights with himself before letting his eyes slide shut in resigned conclusion.

“You need to rest,” he sighs again, faint and gentle, as he lightly grabs your wandering hands and eases them off him. He glances up at Soap again, but Soap avoids his gaze, finding interest in the earthy green toaster and not even trying to hide his grin.

“I will, I will,” you huff. You step back from Ghost, pulling your hands from his to cross your arms over your chest. “Mission go okay?”

You’re talking to him now; Soap realizes when Ghost doesn’t answer. He turns to you with an easy, if a little cocky, smile and a half-shrug.

“Thought they could try and ambush us, but they were no match for us. Right, Lt.?” There’s a quiet, exasperated fuckin’ hell from Ghost, but you’re laughing— your smile not as wide on your left side— and Soap realizes how much he’s missed you.

“We needed a place to lie low for the night-” Ghost starts.

“And this was close by, I get it.” You maintain your smile, nudging Ghost’s arm with your elbow. “Surprised you got here before the storm started.”

“What? That poor excuse for cloud coverage outside? Hardly call that a storm,” Soap scoffs. You shrug, meandering to the cabinet that holds the cups and mugs. 

“If that’s what you want to think,” you tease, but Soap is too busy watching Ghost as he watches you. “All I’m saying is-” The moment you reach up to grab a glass, there’s a hand on your waist and a sturdy body pressed against your back. “-Simon, I can reach just fine-”

He doesn’t listen, grabbing a glass and setting it in your hands while you pout up at him. You roll your eyes, stepping out from in front of him and smiling at Soap like nothing happened.

“All I’m saying is, I’ve lived here for a while; I think I can tell the difference between a little fog and a soon-to-be torrential downpour.” You fill your glass with water as you talk, batting Ghost away when he tries to take the full glass from you the minute you’ve filled it up.

“And since someone-” you send Ghost a pointed glare “-is in such a helpful mood, he can set you up in the guest room for tonight while I go back to sleep.” You saunter past Soap— as well as one can while healing— glass of water in hand.

“Good to see you again, Doc,” Soap laughs as you pass him. You send him a sly wink, playfully bumping his shoulder before heading upstairs. 

A tense quiet looms over the kitchen as Soap and Ghost are left alone. Ghost is staring at him, and he’s staring back, neither one knowing how to break the awkward silence that surrounds them.

Until—

“So,” Soap starts, smug grin crawling across his face and vindication thrumming through his veins. “You and the Doc, eh?”

“Don’t fuckin’ start.”

With that, Ghost marches past him, heading for the stairs and, Soap decides this is going to be one of the top three missions of his life.

-

It’s 5:03 in the morning when Soap is awoken by the loudest clap of thunder he’s heard in his life.

It shocks him awake, shooting straight up from the bed, heart hammering and mind alert. It takes him a minute to realize there’s no immediate danger and that his biggest threat is the blue duvet tangled around his legs. Soap pauses, staring down at the soft blue blanket in confusion.

Why is he-

Oh. 

Right.

Soap takes in the room— cozy just like the rest of the house— taking this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see if he can spot any clues, any slight hints that’ll give him insight on you and Ghost. The two of you are frustratingly thorough, as the only unusual thing he finds is the heavy blanket of rain pouring down the window.

Thunder rumbles above.

A door opens and shuts somewhere in the house.

Soap is of a curious mind— perhaps too curious for his own good— but that same intense inquisitiveness is what gave him enough of a glimpse to discover his Lieutenant’s secret marriage, so who is he to fight it?

He gets out of bed, ignoring the instant chill that comes with leaving the warm covers, and changes into the spare shirt and sweatpants you had Ghost give to him. As quietly as he can, he leaves the room, heading straight down the hall and toward the stairs.

The roll of thunder echoes above once more.

Something metal clatters downstairs.

Soap tiptoes down the steps, peering into the living room when he reaches the bottom step. The lights are off, save for the kitchen, where you sit at the small circular table, and Ghost stands at the counter near the sink, pouring boiling water from an old kettle into a black mug. 

You’re still in your suspiciously oversized hoodie but have changed out of your fluffy shorts, trading them in for long pajama pants decorated with those colorful ghosts from pac-man. Ghost is dressed down significantly, only wearing a thin black t-shirt and matching sweatpants.

Soap should be surprised to see the balaclava still on, but he isn’t.

Ghost sets the mug on the table in front of you before he slides a chair over and sits down next to you. You sit up— almost dragging yourself into an upright position— looking far more exhausted than you had yesterday.

He watches you— attentive and alert in an almost too-intense way— shifting slightly with your every move. You either don’t notice or don’t care, messing with the tea bag and sipping from your cup. You wince when you swallow, and Ghost is leaning toward you, gloveless hand coming to rest just under your jaw. His thumb gently trails along the scar on your jawline, quiet murmurs exchanged and lost on Soap’s ears. 

He should go back upstairs; it’s still early, and this seems like a moment he shouldn’t intrude on.

Soap takes one step backward, the woods beneath his foot whining under his weight and settling with a pop. 

Your attention turns to the stairs, and Soap makes a snap decision. He stands up straight, heading down the stairs and into the living room, doing his best to seem casual and not like he was just spying on you.

Ghost pulls away from you, sitting back in his chair as you smile tiredly at Soap. Your voice is rough, more so than the tired rasp of someone who’s just woken up. “Mornin’, Soap.”

“Mornin’.”

“The storm wake you up?” you ask, setting your elbow on the table to set your chin in your hand. Soap shrugs, taking a seat across from you. 

“I was already up,” he lies. You raise a brow, an amused smile that says you don’t believe him, but you don’t say anything. You lean back, grasping your mug with both hands and letting the warmth soak into your fingers.

He notices the mug first, streaks of the cartoon ghost with a crooked smile peering at him through your fingers. Then his gaze moves to your fingers, where he spots a solid black ring sitting comfortably on your left hand.

“You gonna ask about it?” you ask, grinning at him over the steam as you sip your tea. Soap coughs, rubbing his neck with enough sense to look sheepish. He chances a glance at Ghost, but the man’s eyes stay firmly on you. “It’s fine, Soap. I’m sure you have questions.”

He’ll probably never get this chance again.

Fuck it.

“I have a list,” Soap says, a little too eager, leaning forward on his elbows. 

“You get three.” Ghost’s voice is flat and unamused– a stark contrast to your welcoming demeanor.

“Only three?”

“That’s one. You got two left.”

You scoff, reaching over to pinch Ghost’s arm. He grunts– more in annoyance than pain– giving you a half-hearted glare. It’s not ideal, but Soap will take what he can get. Sorting through the mental list of questions he’s been compiling since he first took notice of this little relationship, Soap tries to pick out the most important ones.

The group sits in silence while he thinks; you slowly work your way through your tea, grimacing around every swallow as the storm looms overhead. Thick raindrops assault the kitchen window, a steady waterfall pouring down the glass. Thunder booms overhead, less severe than before but startling all the same.

“Does Price know about…this?” he asks, gesturing to your ring.

“That’s your question?” Ghost scoffs.

It’s a question that’s confused him for months, so yes it is.

“He does,” you answer honestly. “So does my old Captain. They helped get all the legal stuff sorted out.”

“Legal stuff?” 

“‘s a little difficult getting a marriage license for a dead man. Some strings had to be pulled.” You speak so casually as if that’s a normal thing to say. They’re around each other so often, Soap sometimes forgets that Ghost’s callsign is more than just a nickname; he’s a literal dead man walking, the living phantom of Simon Riley.

“Does anyone else know? Your old team? Laswell?” A cold chill shoots up his spine, “Did Shepherd know?”

“No,” Ghost sighs.

“My maiden name’s on all the paperwork. Price and Owens were thorough,” you explain. “No one knows but them…and now you, of course.”

Soap nods, fully understanding the weight of this secret he now bears, but he has to wonder-

“Would you've said anything? Eventually?”

You and Ghost share a look before you shrug, staring down into your half-empty mug.

“We talked about it.”

“After Las Almas,” Ghost adds. “Got too used to keepin’ it a secret and ended up never bringing it up.”

“Old habits,” you laugh softly. There’s a swell in Soap’s chest at the thought of you two trusting him enough to tell him about your marriage, even if it never actually happened. There were times when he wasn’t sure if Ghost even liked him, but after Mexico…there was a bond there that he’s realized wasn’t as one-sided as he may have assumed.

Your laugh dissolves into a hoarse cough, and Ghost is instantly on his feet.

“Back to bed, let’s go,” he orders, no room for negotiation. You roll your eyes, standing up slowly and favoring your right side.

“Make yourself at home, Soap,” you say in your gravelly voice, glancing out to the endless rain. “It looks like you might be stuck here a while.”

-

The storm doesn’t lessen for the rest of the morning and only worsens the following day; it’s clear he and Ghost will be here longer than initially intended. 

Soap doesn’t mind, though.

He’s been given almost completely free rein of the house, presented with the rare opportunity to snoop without worrying about getting caught. 

He notices the pictures on the third day as he’s coming down the stairs. There’s a tall, thin bookshelf on the wall opposite the bottom step filled to the brim with a vast collection of novels and a few picture frames.

He checks the top picture first, carefully pulling it from the top shelf of the bookcase. It’s a picture of Ghost standing in full gear, sunglasses on over his balaclava, holding a fully grown German Shephard over his right shoulder. The dog is looking to the side where you’re standing in matching gear, hands scratching behind its ears as you make a silly face with your lips pursed. 

“Aw, I miss that dog.”

Soap jumps, nearly dropping the picture frame as you appear next to him, looking over his shoulder at the photo. 

“Christ, you need a bell or something,” he mutters, setting the frame back on the shelf.

“Maybe you shouldn’t let yourself get so distracted,” you tease. You turn to the bookcase, a fond sigh as you look over the various photos. You let yourself sit in nostalgia for only a minute before glancing at Soap with a slight grin.

“You wanna see more?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more.”

You gather the pictures in your arms, leading Soap to the living room. You set the photos down on the coffee table and gesture for Soap to make himself comfortable on the sofa while you disappear into the hallway next to the kitchen. Soap sorts through the pictures. There’s one of Ghost sitting uncomfortably rigid in the back of a helicopter as you and Trip sleep on either side of him with your heads resting on Ghost’s shoulders. Another shows you with your old team, everyone dressed in civvies and sat around a bar table covered in empty glasses. The third is a duplicate of the one Soap had found in your desk in pristine condition. 

“I have this if you want to look through it,” you say as you return a large black book in your hands. You hand it to Soap, and he flips it open while you make yourself comfortable next to him.

It’s a photo album.

An entire photo album of you and Ghost– and sometimes the dog and your old team, but that’s not important.

Soap flips through it in wonder and awe. “Who took all these?”

“My old Captain, mostly. Some were me or one of the others. I think there’s a couple Simon took in there, too.”

“What did I take?” Ghost wanders down the steps, stopping when he sees the album in Soap’s hands. “For fuck’s sake, why does he have that?”

“Don’t mind him,” you huff. You lean over a peer into the photo album, pointing at one in the bottom left corner. “That’s one of my favorites!”

It’s a picture of Ghost passed out on a tattered sofa, exhausted, with the German Shephard curled around his head as he uses it for a pillow.

“Riley was such a good dog,” you sigh wistfully. Soap snorts, glancing over to Ghost. 

“Riley?”

“Wasn't my idea,” Ghost grumbles, looking directly at you. 

“Didn’t think you worked on a team before, Lt.,” Soap says, handing the album over to you so you can flip through the pictures, pulling out ones you want to show Soap.

“It happened on occasion,” Ghost shrugs, thick arms folded across his chest. “Worked with Owens once before, and she was impressed enough to ask for me on certain missions.”

“And because he had a crush on the doctor,” you mumble, laughing to yourself as you slide another picture out. Ghost seems less than amused, but he doesn’t deny it.

“You were a doctor back then?” Soap questions. That doesn’t sound right. He’s seen you in the field with the 141, your uniform completely different from what you’re wearing in those pictures.

You hesitate, pausing in your picture collecting to knit your fingers together and pick at your nails.

“Of sorts.” Is all you say.

“It was a specialized position,” Ghost cuts in, walking around the back of the sofa to set his hands on your shoulders. “Interrogation Specialist.”

“So, you questioned people?”

“I tortured people.” You look up from the photos, meeting Soap’s eyes with a distant gaze he’s seen many times on Ghost. 

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Is that why they called you Hornet?” Is what comes out of his mouth. It’s absurd enough to shock you out of whatever memory you were stuck in, tilting your head in confusion.

“No? Who told you that?”

“Grizzly. He said something about you being like a hornet in a beehive.” 

You have to bite into your cheek to keep from laughing, and even then, a few giggles escape you. You relax into the couch, craning your head up to look at Ghost, “I mean, I guess that works.”

“If that’s not it, then why-”

“We didn't have a medic, so I had to stitch everyone up a lot. And most of the time, we didn’t have any kind of anesthesia, and I didn’t give any warning before I started poking with the sewing needle. Grizzly complained that I was like an aggressive bee, Trip told him those were called hornets, and that was that. Not as cool, right?” Soap wants to reassure you, but your attention is back to the book in your lap.

You gasp, pulling out a photo to hold it up to Ghost, “Remember this?”

Ghost’s answer is immediate, “Don’t show him that.”

Well, now Soap has to know.

You laugh, sliding the picture back into its place, but briefly look over to Soap, mouthing later with a wink.

-

Over the next few days, Soap learns more about your relationship with Ghost. 

He learns that you met during a black-ops mission, where Ghost was meant to help escort your team– and more specifically, you– to a remote base to question some high-profile prisoner.

He learns that the two of you worked so well together for that first mission that Captain Owens made Ghost her go-to for any outside help if the team ever needed it.

He learns you spent years working together before the thought of becoming a couple even entered your minds.

And he learns that after that first time together, you and Ghost developed a specific set of rules for your relationship that’s only grown since.

You’ve told him a couple: no obvious affection in public, don’t compromise a mission for the other’s safety, respect each other’s space and the occasional need to spend time apart, no letters or phone calls unless it’s an absolute emergency.

Most were proposed by Ghost, but you agreed that it was for the safety of both of you.

He puts together clues about some of the other– possibly unspoken– rules when he watches the two of you interact. Ghost takes your health very seriously, and sometimes his tone borders on commanding when he tries to get you to rest or take medicine or drink tea without anything added to it. You sass him and roll your eyes, but do whatever he says every time. It’s the same when you ask him to get you something or try to get him to be a little nicer to Soap when he asks about some aspect of your marriage: Ghost will groan or roll his eyes but always bends to your will.

You don’t ask about each other’s missions, either. Soap watches you reorganize the weapon cabinet one day, noticing the blood on a few of Ghost’s knives. You ask if it’s his or Soap’s and if either of them needs to be looked at, but when they assure you they’re fine, you drop the subject. 

The biggest question for him, though: the rings.

Ghost’s has found its way onto his finger– the first time Soap has seen it there, while you switch between wearing yours on your finger and on that thin chain around your neck.

It’s on your finger this morning, and Soap is fixated on watching you twirl it around your finger absentmindedly while you stare over the back of the couch at Ghost’s back as he makes breakfast.

(That’s another thing– Ghost has done most, if not all, of the cooking since they got here.)

“It’s weird to see him with a ring on,” Soap quietly laughs. You turn to him, pulled out of your husband-watching trance. 

“Yeah, it’s not often we get to actually wear them.”

“One of his rules?”

“One of mine,” you sigh, gaze drifting back to Ghost. You fidget with your ring again, picking at its smooth, rounded edges with your nails.

“No wearing them where anyone can see ‘em, if one of us leaves for a mission then whoever’s staying behind keeps both of them, and if we both have to leave, the rings go in a small safe in my office.”

“That sounds-” Exhausting. “-thorough.”

“You’d be surprised how many captives forget about jewelry. It’s a whole lot easier to get information out of someone the minute you realize they might have someone they want to protect from you.”

There’s an edge to your voice, some kind of mix of nostalgia and resentment and regret.

But Ghost finishes breakfast and Soap decides it’s better not to ask.

-

Day six of waiting out this seemingly never-ending storm and the three of you are sitting in the living room cleaning your array of guns. 

You’re wearing your own clothes for once, a dark cotton tank top and black sweatpants that lets Soap see the full extent of bruising and bandages around your arms. A long bruise stretches across your neck, still purple and blue, and Soap suddenly understands the uneven hoarseness of your voice.

Your hair is up, pulled out of your face so you can focus on your work. Soap can see the scar from the humvee on the side of your head as it disappears behind your ear.

The ear that hides your tattoo.

It’s a quiet afternoon; it’d be a shame to break the peace. 

“When did you get the tattoo?” he asks anyway. You don’t answer until you look up and find him staring back at you.

“What tattoo?” you ask in genuine confusion.

“The little ghost behind your ear.”

Ghost freezes, head slowly turning to look at you. “What ghost?”

“Oh, that. I got it after Russia,” you shrug. “Whole mission was a total shitshow, but it reminded me how easily you can lose someone, so, after, I found the nearest shop and got it done.”

You return to your guns, but Ghost’s eyes are trained on you. Soap can see the gears in his head turning, and he briefly worries that maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.

“Thought we agreed: no marks, symbols, or tattoos.”

A sharp laugh escapes your mouth, eyes flicking up to Ghost in disbelief. “So if I check out that chaotic sleeve of yours, you’re telling me I won’t find a little hornet hidden somewhere in there?”

A beat of silence.

Ghost grunts and returns to his guns and you grin victoriously at Soap.

-

The power goes out on day nine. 

Ghost is messing around with the fuse box. At the same time, you and Soap have decided to follow “sleepover law”, lighting the house up with candles, moving the sofa and coffee table to build a nest of pillows and blankets in front of the lit fireplace, and piling a collection of snacks nearby.

He can hear the two of you laughing in the living room, you exchanging old mission tales for stories about Soap’s nieces and nephews. Ghost sighs, his fourth and last idea to get the power back on failing miserably. He’s frustrated and annoyed and can feel that itch just under his skin that tells him to isolate. 

To do that, he’d have to go upstairs.

And to get upstairs, he’d have to go through the living room and pass by-

Your laugh echoes down the hallway, and Ghost can feel some of the tension ease from his bones. The itch is still there– the immediate need to run and hide to deal with any sort of negative emotion by himself– but it lessens when he remembers you’re nearby.

He shuts the fuse box, deciding he’s not going to get anything fixed right now. Instead, he wanders down the hall, stopping just before he reaches the living room to lean against the wall and listen to you and Soap.

“I have to ask-” Soap starts, mischief laced in his voice, “-the mask. Does he ever take it off?”

“If he wants to,” you reply through gentle laughter. 

“Really? So what if he doesn’t want to? Does he sleep with it on?”

“Sometimes.”

“What about when you two…”

There’s a brief pause before you snort and answer in a quiet purr, “Sometimes.”

“Nah, yer bum’s oot the windae!”

“...I don’t know what that means, but you asked!”

“You’re not serious!”

“Totally am! I mean…I wouldn’t’ve married him if I wasn’t into it.”

Ghost loves you more than anything in the world, but there’s nothing more he wants right now than for a hole to open up in the ground and swallow him whole.

-

It’s late, almost reaching into the early morning hours, and Soap cannot sleep. He doesn’t know what’s keeping him awake; he just knows that no matter what he tries, he can’t fall asleep.

After the third hour of tossing and turning and grumbling, he gets out of bed and heads to the kitchen. He does his best to keep quiet, all his stealth training kicking in.

He’s halfway across the living room when–

“Watch your step.”

It takes everything in him not to scream as your voice travels up from the floor. Soap looks down to find you lying on your back on the fluffy brown rug, your legs outstretched and resting atop the coffee table.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus! What the hell are you doing on the floor?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Came down here for some floor time.”

“Floor time?”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” You raise your brows at him, reaching out to pat the empty spot next to you.

He stares down at you, but you meet his gaze, eyes wide and unblinking to the point it almost freaks him out. Soap relents, bending down to lay next to you. You clap your hands in victory, scooting over to give him more room.

Soap gets himself comfortable, crossing his feet on top of the coffee table next to yours. You two lay in silence, staring up at the ceiling in the quiet dark. 

It is kind of calming, he has to admit.

“I used to do this with Riley,” you speak softly, barely above a whisper. “I’d lay down, and then he’d lay on me. At first, I thought he just wanted to use me as a pillow, but I think it was more of a grounding thing…he was a smart one, that dog.”

“What…happened to him?”

“He got old. K9 unit retired him, and Simon and I took care of him until…Simon was devastated when we had him put down. He refused to come back here for months after. Said the house was ‘too quiet’.”

“Could always have a kid or two,” Soap jokes. “House wouldn’t be quiet for a long while.”

“No,” you snap.

He sits up, propping himself on his elbows so he can face you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s not…you’re fine, Soap.” You release a long sigh, pulling your feet off the coffee table and sitting up straight. You stretch, back popping painfully from too much time on the ground.

“We’ve talked about kids,” you mumble, fingers moving to fidget with your ring. You look back at him– grey moonlight reflecting off your watery eyes. “Maybe in another life.”

Soap pushes himself to sit up completely, reaching out to settle a comforting hand on your shoulder. You flinch at the contact– relaxing when you realize you’re alright– and Soap pulls his hand away with an apologetic smile.

“Another dog, then? Or a cat? Ghost seems like a cat person.”

You make a sound, some sort of half-scoff, half-laugh that’s muddled by the knot in your throat.

“How 'bout a fish?” 

“A fish it is, then.” Soap hears your watery laugh as you wipe your eyes with your sleeve. You scoot back to sit next to him, leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder.

“I’ll name him Soap, just for you.”

"Thanks, Doc."

-

It’s a whole two weeks later from the day they arrived when the water has eased enough outside for Ghost and Soap to go out and check the roads. 

You sit on the porch, tucked into a dry chair and another one of Ghost’s hoodies with a hot mug of tea warming your hands. Initially, you wanted to go with them, but Ghost refused swiftly and sternly. You argued that you needed the fresh air, and the compromise was made that you could settle on the porch and keep an eye out while they walked down the road.

Everything looked good, no mudslides, no floods, no fallen trees, so he and Ghost decided to head back and get ready to leave. 

Soap spots you as they near the house, staring off towards the brook near the house. You look so calm, so serene that he almost hates to disturb you. But Ghost has no qualms about interrupting your peace as he marches straight up to the house. You don’t seem to mind, judging by the way your face lights up at the sight of him.

He’s had almost every question answered, Soap realizes as he watches Ghost offer you a hand to help you out of your chair, and you use the momentum to pull yourself up and kiss him on the cheek. 

There’s only question left-

“Hey, Ghost?” he asks, once the three of you are back inside. 

Ghost pauses his cooking, looking back at him over his right shoulder.

“How did you propose?”

“What?”

Soap expected that, but he hadn’t expected you to start snickering from where you’re perched on the counter next to Ghost with your head resting on his left shoulder.

“It’s just…I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And there’s no engagement pictures in that photo album so-”

“I didn’t.”

“You…what?”

“I didn’t propose,” Ghost sighs.

Oh…

Oh!

Soap turns to you and your triumphant– if a bit smug– grin. “I beat him to it.”

“By two days,” Ghost huffs, turning back to the food on the stove. “Patience is a virtue, but not one of yours.” You giggle, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder over his shirt. Ghost nudges you away with a grunt. You lean back for a few seconds before setting your chin on his shoulder so you can stare lovingly at the side of his face. Ghost sighs, letting it happen and turning briefly to lightly tap his head against yours.

“How did you know?” 

The question spills from Soap’s lips the moment he catches that little interaction.

“Know what?” you ask, turning to lay your head down, smushing your cheek on Ghost’s shoulder.

“That you wanted to propose. How’d you know you were the ones for each other?”

You sit up, eyes never leaving Ghost, who’s gone unusually still. An uncomfortable tension fills the air, swelling like a balloon ready to burst.

“It was after Sweden,” Ghost mumbles minutes later. He puts the stove on low heat and turns to you, your eyes meeting as he steadily holds your gaze. “We were clearing out that abandoned building, and you found this kid, couldn’t have been more than five…maybe six? They were so scared, but you managed to get them to calm down and come with us. We cleared the place but got ambushed as we were leaving. You gave me the kid and shoved me out of the back exit and-”

“Took a bullet meant for you,” you finish softly. Your hand comes up to graze just below your stomach, absentmindedly clenching the fabric over the spot.

The face you made when he’d brought up children flashes through Soap’s mind.

Maybe in another life.

“Didn’t realize how scared I was of losing you until that moment. You always seemed so sure, so indestructible, like there wasn’t anything that could kill you, like you’d always be there. And then you weren’t, and I thought that was the end until you finally got out of surgery. Wasn’t gonna let you get away after that.”

Tears well up in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks. You try your best to wipe them away, a smile of a million different emotions directed at Ghost. Ghost reaches out, sets a hand on your knee, and you meet his eyes before glancing over and realizing Soap is still there– grinning like an idiot.

“Well, I knew the day we met,” you laugh through your tears. Ghost scoffs, playfully squeezing your knee before returning his attention to the food. “It’s true; you can ask Firefly. Moment you started training with us and flipped Grizzly on his ass, I told her, ‘I’m gonna marry that man’.”

“Fuck off.”

-

They’re packed and ready to leave the next morning.

Soap’s tugging on his boots while Ghost locks up the weapons cabinet, and you stand off to the side, watching. You haven’t said a word all morning, just leaning against the wall with your eyes fixated on Ghost. 

Ghost shuts the cabinet with a sigh as Soap finishes lacing up his boots. Ghost glances at him, different this time– a silent ask for a moment alone with his wife.

Soap gets the message, loud and clear.

“Don’t worry, Doc. You’ll be back in your infirmary treating our stab wounds soon enough.” You huff in amusement, giving him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I’ll see you soon, Soap.” He nods at you and turns to head out the door.

He leans against the wall just outside the front door, staring at the clear brook water that washes over smooth stones until he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. He looks over and realizes he can see straight through the glass of the door where you and Ghost stand, feet apart from each other.

He should look away, get a head start down the road.

But when has he ever done that?

Instead, he watches Ghost slide the mask from his face, giving you a single nod before you launch forward and attach yourself to him. He holds you close like he’s trying to absorb you into his body, keeping you as close as physically possible. You pull back from him– only slightly– and Ghost wipes away the tears falling down your face. He reaches behind your neck, messing with the clasp of your necklace before his ring slides down the silver metal to meet yours at the bottom.

Your hands wind their way around the collar of his jacket, pulling him forward into a kiss he eagerly accepts. There’s no such thing as a goodbye kiss in the Riley household; goodbyes imply never seeing each other again, and that is a future neither you will accept. Instead, it’s a promise. 

A promise to stay alive, to come back. 

A promise either of you has yet to break.

You pull away, murmuring something against his lips. Soap’s never been a great lip reader, but it’s not hard to tell what you’re saying.

You better come back to me, Simon Riley.

Always.

Another kiss, and the mask is back on, slid into place by your steady hands. Ghost sets his forehead against yours, one last moment together before the inevitable separation. 

Soap turns away when Ghost steps back from you, focusing his gaze on a small leaf on the ground until Ghost walks out of the house, shutting the door behind him.

“Let’s go, Sergeant.”

[wisteriaiswriting]

Could you do the spiderverse characters reaction to meeting Male Reader who's banned from the spider society but keeps breaking in and his also a combination of Spider-Man and Deadpool

Caught Breaking and Entering , Again

Words: 821

Due to his current… situation, he doesn’t have the chance to see what you’re doing.

When he first met you though, he was so surprised and honestly kind of appalled when he was first told about you.

He wishes that he was brave enough to keep going against Miguel like you do and keep returning, but will leave that to you.

***

“So uh, what’s up with him?”

“Who are you talking about?”

Without answering Miles pointed up, Gwen followed his finger to find someone had pulled off a panel, and was now putting it back while sticking onto the ceiling.

“Not again…”

“He’s done this before?”

“Yeah, keeps getting kicked out but comes back.”

“Why?”

“That’s not something you need to know Miles.”

She really tries not to get involved with you whenever you break in.

Will distract you by any means, mainly has you two leave and head to her dimension.

Tries her best to keep you away from the other spider people, especially Miguel.

***

“Y/N!”

She only had seconds to hide you somewhere, shoving you behind some boxes laying around. Sweating when she saw Miguel stalking down the hallway, pausing right in front of her.

“Gwen, I saw him and you wi–”

“MIGUEL!”

Cringing away from LY.L.A who popped up right beside him, momentarily stealing his attention.

“Oh, you’re busy?”

“Yes…”

“Well too bad, there's a loose villain running around somewhere.” Typing away at her screen before pulling up the camera, “There he is.”

“Fine,” Now turning back to Gwen, “But I better not see him around here again.”

When he left you finally walked out from the boxes.

“Well, that was close.”

“You idiot.”

He is in love at first sight. (Which was Miguel yelling at you and trying to get you to leave, which he was failing at.)

Whenever he asks what you did you give him a different answer each time, and no one else dares to say anything.

If you can’t ever get in or just need his help just call, is 100% down every time.

***

“So what did you actually do? Take his mask? Break something?”

“Again? You didn’t believe me last time?”

“Mate, you told me that you were too good and he felt threatened, does that sound believable?”

“Yes! Except for the last part, Miguel would never admit that.”

Tries her best to control your habit of breaking in, it’s only decreased slightly.

She’s stern enough to have you not get in any more trouble.

Manages to keep Miguel away from you most times, but from time to time let’s you two sort it out on your own.

***

“Y/N.”

She watched as you entered the building, the spot which was luckily out of the view of any cameras. Pausing when you heard, then saw her waiting.

“Oh, Jess, hey!”

Fixing the entry point quickly before dropping down, causing her to panic. Rushing over when you landed safely.

“Don’t you do that again!”

She enables you to a certain degree.

Will (playfully) blackmail you, and how she could reveal your entry spots.

Although she is very adamant on not destroying anything. (If it’s unimportant and no one will notice then sure.)

***

“C’mon Y/N!”

“Absolutely not, do you really think I’d go that low?”

“Well, only if there was something at stake~”

Watching your mask move, so she could only assume that you were glaring at her.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would.”

Huffing at her words.

“Fine then.”

Absolutely despises you.

Hes now on constant surveillance due to the fact you keep breaking in [still unsure how you keep doing it]

He’s so close to strangling you at this point, he’s so done with you.

***

He was so focused on his work, Miguel managed to miss the sound of someone entering and swinging up to the platform.

“Ay, Miggy!”

In an instant, he had turned around, launched himself at you but missed due to you hanging off by your web.

“Calm down bud, I’m just here to talk!”

But he didn’t. This is the fourth time today that you’ve returned, and he’s just done with you.

He would really like for you to stop doing this. (So touched if you ever did it to see him, but still.)

Would prefer to not have to fix and bandage your wounds after Miguel had to throw you out again, injuring you once again.

If you have nowhere to go or would like to stay with him, he’ll let you.

***

“प्यार, what have you done this time?” Letting you sit while he searched for anything that could help, quickly returning once he did. “Did you bother Miguel again?”

“NO! How could you ever think that lowly of me!”

He laughs at your antics, slapping a hand over your mouth to shut you up. When you finally did he started tending to your wounds.

[augustvandyne]

Lucy Chen x reader

Staff outing and they end up going home together and rushing to work the next day and people start asking questions and Angela and Tim end up figuring it out when reader and Lucy leave work together at the end of the day

nothing

When the alarm clock woke both of you up this morning, your eyes burnt from lack of sleep and your neck was aching from the position you slept in last night.

Last night was a last second outing that John of all people suggested, but it was a much needed break.

So much so that even Tim accepted the invitation.

Everyone had a good time and at the end of the night, Lucy offered to ‘drive you home’ because you’d left your car at the station, riding over to the bar with her.

But the truth was you and Lucy had been dating for some time and hadn’t spent the night together yet. Lucy suggested the two of you should spend the night together. Nothing sexual, but she wanted to sleep in the same bed as you, because as stupid as it sounded, she just wanted to hold you after the week you’ve all had.

She reaches over you to shut the alarm off, settling herself on top of you.

“Hi,” Lucy looks down nervously, an anxious smile on her lips.

“Hi,” You reach up and twirl a few strands of her hair between your fingers. “You’re cute when you wake up.”

“Stop,” Lucy shakes her head and falls back into her spot in bed.

“Come back,” You chuckle and roll over so you’re on top of her.

She looks into your eyes and leans up to put a soft kiss on your lips.

You make a face when her lips leave yours and she puts her hand over her mouth.

“Oh,” She speaks through her fingers. “I have really bad morning breath. I’m so sorry.”

She begins to laugh and you shake your head, removing her hand from her lips to you can get another kiss.

“I don’t care,” You say as you kiss her again. “I just wanted another kiss.”

“That can be arranged,” Lucy moves her hand to snake around your neck to pull you closer when her second alarm goes off.

She groans softly and reaches over to turn the alarm off again.

“Just.. just five more minutes,” Lucy moves back over and pulls your face back to hers.

“Lucy Chen, are you asking for a five minute make out like teenagers?”

“Maybe,” She shrugged, the newfound confidence glowing on her skin.

“I’m down,” You smile and give a soft nip at her lip.

“I cannot believe we are late,” Lucy throws her head back angrily as she swings the door open to the station.

“Luce,” You say in a soft voice, pulling her aside in the lobby. “It’s okay, alright?”

“Well— wha—“

“Shh,” You press a finger to her lips. “We will figure it out, okay? I promise.”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, “Okay.”

Lucy opens her eyes and smiles nervously. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

“What? You didn’t get enough this morning?” You wink and walk through to the main section of the station, making your way towards the locker room.

“Boot!” You suddenly stop at Angela’s words. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting.”

“Um..” You look around and move your bag up on your arm to buy time. “Well Lucy drove me to the bar last night and then home and my car was still here. And you see—“

“I didn’t ask for your whole life story. Just say you left your car and Lucy had to go out of her way to get you,” Angela puts her hand up. “Get changed and hurry. We’re running a high stakes operation today, and you should’ve been in an hour ago.”

“Yes ma’am,” You hurry off and only then does she notice that you’re wearing the same shirt from last night.

You’re all but finished changing when Lucy finally comes through the doors.

“What took you so long?” You ask, taking extra time to pull your shoes on.

“Tim,” She shakes her head, opening her locker and pulling clothes on. “He chewed me out in front of the whole station? Can you believe it? Actually, don’t answer that because we both believe it. I’ve never been late the whole time I’ve worked here — unless it was life threatening — and the one time I accidentally do he has something to say. God, I can’t believe we were late. And they are out there gossiping, and just—“

“Lucy, baby,” You stand and pull her in by her open uniform top, placing another kiss on her lips. “I promise you, it’s going to be okay.”

“Okay,” She nods and presses her lips onto yours again. “We’ll be okay.”

“Chen! L/n! Let’s go!” Angela’s voice booms from the door and you finish putting your shoe on.

“I’ll see you out there my love,” You place a rushed kiss onto her cheek and are out the door in a second.

“Took you long enough,” Angela says, lurking by the door.

She squints at you and you put a hand on your chest from her scaring you.

“Oh my— don’t do that,” You furrow your brows together. “What is that face for?”

“Nothing,” She tilts her lips down and shakes her head.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” It’s your turn to squint now.

Lucy stumbles out of the locker room, still buttoning up her shirt.

“What are you guys standing out here for?”

“Nothing,” Angela continues shaking her head, looking between the two of you. She leaves the two of you standing with a chuckle.

She walks back over to Tim and the two of them turn away to talk while you and Lucy share a look.

“Let’s go,” Tim turns around after a second. “Not you, Chen. I want L/n with me today.”

“Good job today, boot,” Tim says as the two of you exit the shop.

“Thank you, Officer Bradford,” You nod, eager to be praised from another officer other than your TO.

“You know, with being late and everything.”

You roll your eyes once he turns away from you and you walk behind him to return the war bags.

“The paperwork will be waiting on your desk,” Tim stands beside you awkwardly, his lips resting in a straight line as you return the bags and put your body cam back.

“Do you need something?” You ask with a confused face.

“Nope.”

“Okay so what’s wrong?” You move to walk towards the locker room.

“Nothing,” He shakes his head with the same expression Angela had earlier.

“Okay, what is wrong with you guys?” You raise your voice slightly. “You and Lopez. You keep making that face. Am I not allowed to ask Lucy for a ride to work?”

His eyes change at the use of first name and not last name like you normally would.

You huff and walk off, “Leave the paperwork on my desk.”

“Already planned on it.”

You make your way to your locker, and most of the women were also changing at the same time, so you couldn’t get a fix of the craving you wanted. (Kissing Lucy).

You settled on a few secretive looks in her direction, which very much did not go unnoticed by Angela.

You and Lucy finished at the same time, her going a little slower once you came into the locker room make sure you were done at the same time.

Lucy keeps a hold of your bag strap as the two of you exit the station, Angela following close behind.

Tim is standing at the exit — in a darker area, where Lucy and you can’t see him — waiting for Angela.

They both stand together, watching for the two of you to make any moves that indicate you are more than friends.

You hop in the passenger side of Lucy’s car and the two of them share a look.

“They are so together,” Angela stands with her arms crossed over her chest, sticking one hand out.

“Yeah, I hate to admit, but you’re right,” He slaps a twenty in her palm.

[lcriedlastnight]

Hello Beautiful!! I wanted to make a request for a fluffy lando one-shot with this audio:

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSYHshk8e/

I saw it on TikTok and I just thought like what if the reader nickname/middle name is ‘aurora’ like after the princess and lando likes to call her that and people pick up on it and ask him about it,(I don’t know what I was think about at that moment but I just had to make a request😭)

thank uu

anon love you are the best ever wtf. aurora was my favourite disney princess growing up this is so healing!

tw: fem!reader, swears maybe, me loving this idea but knot know what exactly to write (yes that is a warning)

w/c: 977

the first time lando had met your family he was utterly confused. you were all having a dinner for your family to meet lando and as soon as you walked in with lando, hand in hand, your grandma greeted you with a shout of "oh hello aurora! how are you sweetie?" she is walking over with open arms.

lando stands back to let you greet your grandma, now desperate to ask you about the name. your grandma loved lando just like the rest of your family. it seemed like your entire family called you by the name of the familiar disney princess. once he got over his confusion he did find it cute.

on the drive home lando had waited until you were out of your parents' street before he was asking you about it. his smile wide and eager to know what the backstory was behind the nickname. lando does keep his eyes on the road but he glances in your direction to revel in your flushed cheeks.

"i was completely obsessed with sleeping beauty when i was little. my gran started calling me and it just caught on. it's so embarrassing i actually forgot all about it until she said it, i'm so used to it." you confess, all shy.

lando cannot keep his smile hidden. "awe, baby. that's so fucking cute. can i call you aurora too?" he asks, desperate to be in on this too, especially after finding out how much you loved the character when you were younger. finding things like this out made him fall in love with you more and more every single time.

"lando!" you whine in annoyance think he was just taking the piss and just wanted to tease you about your childhood nickname. you were already so embarrassed and here he was trying to make it ten times worse.

"what? i'm being serious. i know you don't like it when i call you princess so this is kind of like my way around it, isn't it? because we both you know you're my passenger princess!" lando cannot help himself and throws in a little joke.

although it was lighthearted you could tell he was being serious and you thought your heart was going to melt. you agree to his idea because even if you did hate the idea (which you did not, not even for a millisecond) you could literally never say no to your boyfriend. he sure as fuck knew how to work those pretty little puppy dog eyes when he wanted to.

it did take a little of getting used to for lando. he had always been big on pet names and things like that so in that respect it was easy. he just found it difficult to switch from his usuals to 'aurora' but he loved the idea way too much to give up on it. the boy had even changed your contact name on his phone to ‘my aurora' which did make you swoon. you would never tell him that though, the boy's ego way far too big as it was.

eventually the both of you (lando more than you) fell into the swing of things. it had even gotten to the point where lando had started you calling the nickname to others around him, too.

both him and oscar were sat in the middle of an interview and one of the questions had been something along the lines of "top five best date ideas" and lando had immediately thought about where he had taken you and what you had seemed to like the most. he sat hard in thought, really trying hard with his answers. oscar goes first and describes his favourite date ideas to the interviewer.

"lando? what about you?" the man asks lando as he finally zones back in after his name is called out.

"uh i'm just trying to think where aurora likes to go. i like to go where she likes to go on dates." lando explains although it seems to confuse both boys further.

"aurora?" oscar asks. he then asks about you and how he had not informed him that you two had broken up, oscar seemingly forgetting that he was currently getting filmed at that exact moment. lando had not forgotten though. he stutters his way through his answer as oscar looks at him confused and the interviewer even more so.

"no i- we have." he sighs " we're still together. i just call her that. it's an inside thing." he does not feel like telling everyone why he calls you that. he wants to keep some things private if he can help it.

that night as lando recalls the moment to you while he lays with you in the hotel bed. he has you basically sitting on top of him, arms winding around you to keep you pressed against him. his chin rested on your head and you could feel his jaw moving as he spoke, refusing to move it from its resting place. you laugh in his arms at the incident.

"did you mean to?"

"no! i just slipped out. guess i've just got used to calling you that." lando laughs. it lights up your heart in a way you never know to be possible until you had met lando. he had made you feel things you had never felt before. the butterflies were tenfold with him. like when his mouth comes down to press a series of kisses into your hair as you hum.

"i thought i'd hate it but i actually love it." you inform him.

"you always give in to me eventually." lando smirks as he teases you.

you roll your eyes even though he cannot see you because you are hidden in his chest. you press a single kiss against his clothes chest before you mutter a 'goodnight' to your boyfriend.

[vettelsdarling]

Darling, thank you for the AMAZING writing for my last request. <3 I am here with…HAMILTON! Here’s the prompt: 5+1: 5 times Lewis calls Y/N by a pet name and one time Y/N finds one for Lewis. I definitely think Lewis would shower his words of endearment and I am imagining a shy, blushing Y/N? Perhaps Y/N wants to find the perfect word/nickname to call her special person. Let your creativity run wild! I leave the rest up to you because I love your writings (obviously). Have fun!

𝐏𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

Lissie note… I am so glad you like my stuff<3 Thank you for this request!!! I’ve never really written anything like it before, but it’s an interesting prompt and I’m willing to give it a try!

Things to note

This is set in the 2020 season

Lewis and reader have been dating for a year and a half before that

Reader is an accountant

Tiffany appreciation

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Tiniest bit of angst. Blink and you might miss it

Word Count: 4.2k+

Playlist recommendations: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟💗, 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒

Taglist: @drugged-kitkat, @allwaysalleyway

You were walking home from your 9 to 5 job the day you met him. He’d been exploring the city he was to race in that coming weekend. With your face buried in your phone, aggressively replying to unanswered emails— you accidentally sealed your fate with the asphalt, tripping and falling onto the road. Luckily, it wasn’t an active one. He’d seen you scramble to scrape all your things together and rushed over to help you. Never had you seen such generosity from anyone before. You were used to people minding their own business if you fell or if you dropped something.

“You didn’t have to,” you’d said. He had a number of things in his arms that had spilled out of your bag… including feminine products. He hadn’t seemed to care though. He’d happily helped you load your things back to where they’d belonged.

“Of course I did.” You had managed to collect yourself before falling into conversation with him.

“You’re not from here, are you? I know most people in this town…” He was a new face. Not somebody who you’d seen before.

“Guilty as charged. I’m here for work.”

“What do you do?” It was forward and he had been taken aback but ultimately came up with something to string you along to.

“I’m an engineer… of sorts. You?” ‘Engineer’ made sense to you, as his style was very out there and the designer watches were more than your yearly salary.

“I’m just an accountant.” In stark contrast to him, you had on a white blouse and a grayscale checkered pencil skirt. Your ordinary uniform. Freedom was something you had to give up when you came in for work.

“I see… you work near here?” He had just been following you, not really paying any attention to where your feet had been taking you.

“Yeah, I do. About five minutes from here. Is your workplace near here or are you working from your house or hotel?” Your intention hadn’t been to pry, but the genuine curiosity drove you to ask him anyway.

“I guess it’s near? I can’t really say…  if I’m being honest.” That was obviously not the best answer. He had every opportunity to tell you a white lie, but he slipped up somehow. Did it even matter though? He wasn’t going to see you again… was he?

Days turned into weeks. He had given you his number after getting you home safely that day. You hadn’t been in contact with him until he finally sent you a simple text: “Hey, it’s Lewis.” It had sent you spiralling. You hadn’t been sure whether to pursue the connection or let it slip. For better or worse though, you had replied with a short quip. Not intricate enough to suggest something, but not doing a full swing in the other direction either.

It was, however, enough to spark something between the two of you. A blossoming bud that turned into a bountiful garden. That was you and Lewis Hamilton.

1. Trophy wife

The two of you had been dating for a few years. He eventually cracked, and told you about his actual job on the second date. Though his true identity was a Google search away, it came as a shock to you. Never had you ever believed him to be famous. He was so down-to-earth and humble.

Over the course of your years of dating, he had tried to make you quit your job. Mostly because he wanted to support you, but also because he wanted to spend more time with you. Every waking moment he wanted to spend in your presence. You refused and turned down every offer he gave you. Dating a celebrity was already more than enough for you to handle. You wanted normalcy in your life. Even if that came in the shape of hell sent bosses who cared very little about your well-being.

“You know I can cover you. If that won’t sell you, then Roscoe must. You could take care of him whilst I’m gone.” It was another day of his notorious begging for him to take care of you. It was a sweet sentiment, but even living with him was too much.

“I’m already taking care of him. Lewis, you can’t just make me a trophy wife. That’s not who I am. I want to work,” you said begrudgingly and seated yourself by the kitchen island.

“Trophy wife? Please. You will never be some sort of arm candy for me to show off. I love you. I just want you to take a rest, love.” Lewis decided to deploy a deadly weapon. The pet name. If there was one weakness you had— it was whenever he referred to you with a pet name. It made you all weak in the knees and your feet would feel like jelly. Forget about cloud nine, you were swimming in warmth.

“That’s not fair, Lew. You can’t just do that to me.” You scrunched your nose at him and checked your phone for incoming notifications from your workplace text chain. Or so you thought it looked like. In reality, you were hiding your face from him. It was redder than the apple in the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter.

“Hmm, you know, I’m not so sure what you mean by that, my love.” Oh, how you wished he would stop. It was hard to resist giving in. Especially when he paired it with such a precious smile. Who’d be able to peel their eyes from that?!

“Look, we aren’t talking about this right now. I’ll be on my way now,” you scoffed and left, leaving your lover with the last laugh. Once again, you let him have his victory.

2. Flatscreen

A few months passed before he tried his luck again. With a new offer. Lewis tried to reason with you, but just like always— you simply would not have it.

“No. Never in a million years,” you snapped and closed the fridge a little too aggressively, remembering to mutter a quiet “sorry”. The Brit even got up early that morning to make you breakfast in bed— just for good measure. If you were in a great mood, surely you’d be more agreeable. Yet… he was utterly wrong. You were headstrong and did not agree one bit.

“You need it, sweets.” Again with the pet names. That was the final nail in the coffin for his begging.

“You can’t just expect me to splurge on a flatscreen simply to watch you race on more pixels! I can watch you perfectly fine on our current TV, thank you very much.” You poured him a glass of orange juice and scooped some protein powder in it as well. He drank it all in one go.

“Splurge? You won’t need to. I’ll buy it for you, okay?” He crossed his arms confidently and made sure to smirk like he always did whenever he tried to prove something.

“Okay? What do you mean ‘okay’?! You will not buy me a brand new flatscreen, Lewis.” Your face was flushed and your frustration was only piling up.

“You can’t tempt me with those things you call me. That won’t work.” Who were you kidding? You lived for his little pet names and those brief moments he’d hold you in his arms while the two of you stared into the early morning view.

“Whatever you say, sugar.” Oh, how you wish you threw the juice in his face instead of offering it to him.

3. Restaurant

You were standing next to Tiffany in the Mercedes garage. Both of you were wearing large headphones whilst watching the screens showing your boyfriends. It was hard not to make noise whenever Lewis overtook someone, but you were just able to contain yourself.

Tiffany was surprisingly calm and collected, but wasn’t afraid to groan and sigh if Valterri slipped up. You weren’t the type to show much of anything unless it regarded Lewis. It was something that you’d grown up with. A habit of sorts.

“How long have you been with Lewis by now?” Tiffany asked with a slight tug of her lip.

“A few years now… I don’t think we’ll ever get tired of each other.” You said that as if he didn’t bug you with his endless blabbering about wanting to spoil you and give you every black card he owned. 

“That is just too sweet! I can only wish that Valterri and I will last as long. I certainly love him.” In a way, you envied her position. She was a professional athlete, much like her partner, whilst you were stuck counting numbers behind a desk all day. She was gorgeous too… it was as if a strike of adoration hit you whenever she passed you in the paddock.

“Yeah… Lewis is something else.” You watched him speed past the camera on the screen. A smile spread across your face, knowing he was doing his best.

Lewis managed to secure a pole position, giving you a kiss as he saw you in the crowd with all of the Mercedes crew. Your heart swelled at the amount of attention he gave you rather than his engineers. Especially knowing he was dead serious about his career and his coworkers.

The podium celebration was magnificent. He sprayed the champagne as if he’d won the lottery. Butterflies formed in your stomach at his pure glee. He was adorable.

There was an after-party, but Lewis had other plans in mind. He wanted to take you out for the night. Even though you didn’t mind partying, there was something in him that held him back from letting you do so. It felt morally wrong of him to drag you along to his work retreats.

“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?” Your face was pressed up against the car window. His hand was on your thigh, gently caressing it. You could almost feel yourself dozing off.

“You’ll see when we get there, honey.” That one was fairly new. It felt more domestic too. That was probably why your cheeks were hotter than an iron.

“You’re crazy,” you said with a chuckle.

“Crazy about you.”

“No.”

“Okay, I’ll admit that was pretty lame.”

“Yeah, it was.” The two of you had a small laugh about it before turning some music on. The two of you had made a shared playlist. One that consisted mainly of your favourites. Since you had far too many, they outnumbered your boyfriend’s.

The ride was long, but the destination made it worth it. He’d driven you to a cliffside restaurant. It was quaint and cosy and had balcony seats. You could see the ocean and its waves cascading onto each other in a synchronized manner. It was beautiful. Lewis was a romantic. Not exactly what someone would expect at first glance, but he truly cared deeply for you and your needs. It was almost impossible to say no to him.

“Lewis… Thank you for this.”

“No, honey, thank you. I won today because you were here with me. It’s the first race you’ve come to in a while now.” The man was perfect.

“Yeah, and I’m sorry I haven’t been able to attend that many. My job won’t allow me and—”

“Hey- no- none of that. Stop making yourself the guilty party here. You’re doing what you love and you should not be worrying about me. I see you whenever I’m home and that’s enough for me.” Your fingers interlocked with his as he leaned in to peck your lips. The support he gave you couldn’t amount to anything you’d ever received from anyone. Even your own family.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you.”

4. Bath

You were dead. Completely drained from your job. It felt like your body was that of a gigantic slug. You couldn’t move a single limb. Your brain had already checked out, so you were pretty much stuck. Being too tired to move, you decided to take a rest on the couch that you’d collapsed onto upon entering your shared home.

Your boss was a nightmare. He overworked everyone to the bone, and if you happened to pass into overtime, he refused to pay you for your extra hours. Was it fair? No. Was there anything you could do about it? Also no. You had to endure him for as long as possible. At least until you could find yourself a different company to work at. Quitting had been on your mind for some time, but with Lewis travelling all the time— you felt that you couldn’t just stay home all day. You still wanted to occupy yourself with a job.

The faint sound of Roscoe’s pattering paws could be heard inching closer. You didn’t mind looking after him. He was the sweetest and didn’t require much of you.

“I’ll take you out in 5,” you mumbled somewhat incoherently to the dog. He had politely plopped himself in front of the couch, staring at you with those adorable eyes. Your hand reached out to scratch him, as it would give you more time to stall and relax.

The more you contemplated whether or not to quit, the more you started leaning towards a self-destructive mindset. You wanted to work. You had to. It didn’t feel right for you to leech off of your boyfriend. That was simply not an option for you.

“I’m home!” You heard a strong voice boom throughout the house. It was Lewis, who had been out for most of the day. He was usually stuck in a billion meetings and was often hard to reach. You didn’t care about that though. You were just proud of him for working so hard. It made you feel guilty for not working nearly as hard as him.

“Hey, there you are. You don’t look well, are you ill?” He crouched down next to Roscoe to meet your face. Your eyes were closed due to the weight of your eyelids, but you lightly shook your head.

“I’m just really tired. Sorry, I didn’t take Roscoe out for his evening walk… I’m a bad dog mum.” Lewis chuckled lightly at the term you used to describe yourself. ‘Dog mum’.

“No need to worry about that. Your well-being comes first. How about I draw you a bath? I’ll take Roscoe out whilst you soak up some relaxing aromas.” If there was a ‘Boyfriend of the Year’ award, surely Lewis would win. He cared about the little things. The things you hadn’t even thought about.

“Thanks, Lew… you’re too good to me.”

“Nonsense. You deserve to be treated like royalty.” He stroked your cheek, causing your lips to tug upwards.

“I’ve been thinking about quitting.” You announced it out of the blue, but Lewis seemed unphased. Your eyes finally had some strength to stay open, so you looked straight into his. A mix of elation and calmness. That was your Lewis.

“That’s great. You shouldn’t work with a boss who doesn’t appreciate your efforts. Trust me, I would know. I’m lucky to have Toto, but I can’t even imagine working with some of the other team principals.” You knew about Williams’ fall from grace after the daughter of the former team principal stepped in.

“I don’t know though… I don’t want to stay home all day long and do nothing. I have to work, you know?” You had to face the music. There was no way you could quit and still be able to work. Accounting wasn’t special in Monaco. You were likely not someone a lot of companies were looking for.

“It doesn’t matter to me. I can take care of you, angel.”He really deployed your kryptonite. The name made your heart flutter as if the two of you were back in your honeymoon phase. It wasn’t fair.

“That’s a dirty trick, Lew. I’m not going to quit until I find a job I can replace my current one with. I’m sorry. It may not matter to you, but it matters to me.” Lewis got up and stretched before walking towards one of the many bathrooms,

“I’ll prepare a bath for you.”

5. New job

It had been a few months since you last brought up your work situation to Lewis. You had decided to continue until you’d eventually short-circuit. All that mattered was that you were a working girlfriend instead of a stay-at-home one. You didn’t have anything against that lifestyle in particular. It just wasn’t for you.

This day was special. You were cooking a vegan curry when Lewis came out of the shower to help you chop vegetables. It was a celebratory dish, as you had just been fired. Apparently, you had been doing ‘the bare minimum’ and that simply wasn’t good enough. Under normal circumstances, it would’ve been devastating to be fired, but you were elated. It sure as hell was better than quitting.

“What’s got you in such a giddy mood?” Lewis came up behind you and hugged your waist. Your body leaned into his and it was as if you were floating on clouds. Fluffy clouds of love.

“I was fired.” He pulled away from you and got the cutting board out.

“This is great news! We should eat out tomorrow to celebrate.” He started chopping up some potatoes to dump in the pot.

“I was thinking this could be a celebration. Just you, me, and Roscoe. We could throw on a good movie and all.” Lewis didn’t oppose that idea. He smiled and nodded, continuing his feat with the veggies.

Then it hit you. You’d be jobless. You hadn’t found a job to replace the old one with. A pang of guilt hit you like a freight train. You somehow managed to overlook the fact all day. Your breathing became hard and heavy. You had to take a break.

“Woah woah woah, what’s wrong?” You saw Lewis with the kitchen knife and apron. His image was getting blurry from tears you simply couldn’t hold back.

“I thought we were celebrating? What’s going on? Are you okay?” He put down the knife, undid his apron, and pulled you out of the kitchen. Luckily nothing was boiling. 

“I just… I’m jobless,” you sniffled through your tears. The salty liquid coated your lips, and you could taste the despair. You slowly sank down onto the floor with him following suit.

“Well, that was the point,” said Lewis. You found it oddly comforting, but guilt still clung to every part of you. Like poison, you didn’t have the antidote for.

“I don’t want to burden you like that.” You were able to speak clearer after Lewis rubbed your back for support.

“You could never be a burden to me, okay? You are the reason I’m still standing here today with win after win. You motivate me to keep being strong and keep aiming for higher heights. How could you ever be a burden to me?” His words were like a warm hug. Your tensed muscles relaxed a little bit.

“I don’t know… I’ve never not worked before. I don’t exactly come from wealth,” you sighed. As much as it was about burdening your boyfriend— it was about your own values. Coming from what most would consider ‘middle class’, you always had to work harder than your peers. Monaco didn’t have time to wait around for you, so you always tried so desperately to catch up. It felt embarrassing. Your home country was just as forward and busy. There was never time for you. Working hard was a lifestyle that you had to pull off.

“Do you think I came from wealth? I didn’t. I worked my ass off to get here, and now that I have the means to spoil you. I want you to feel that you can take a rest, okay?” His reasoning was flawed to you. There was something about it that just couldn’t sway you.

“Lewis, I can’t be your trophy wife. I can’t.” You shook your head and swallowed hard.

“You won’t be. Think of this as your new job. You’ll have the responsibility to take care of Roscoe and keep the house clean and habitable. Is that not considered work?” There was no other offer on the table and there was no other option. The only way for you was that.

“Basically a housewife.”

“Darling, please.” Your stomach did cartwheels and the butterflies tumbled around in there.

“It’s okay. I’ll just have to make do,” you sighed and rested your face in your hands.

“Hey, at least you’ll be able to come to more of my races— if not all.” Wow, what a consolation… but he wasn’t exactly wrong.

“You know what? I have to make a call. I’ll be right back.” Lewis got up and made his way to the guest room for privacy. Meanwhile, you stared into the white ceiling. You felt so tiny. As if you were just a small speck of dust. An inconvenience. Muffled sounds were coming from the room Lewis had gone into. You could tell that it was about his job. Something that you already missed. Your boss was terrible, but at least you had something to do every day. At least he let you have 10-minute lunch breaks. Which, in retrospect, was far from enough time.

It took a while, but Lewis finally came back. His face looked as if he couldn’t contain himself. He seemed excited?

“Guess what.” He crouched down to meet your eyes.

“What?”

“You have a job.” He smiled and reached for your hand, helping you stand by supporting your waist.

“No need to rub in my new position as a housewife. I get it, Lew.”

“No. I pulled a few strings, and you’re going to be in the accounting department on my team.” Your eyes flew open in shock.

“What? Wait what?!”

“You get to work from home too, so it’s sort of like a compromise. You’ll be able to come to my races and you’ll be working like any other person. Your pay is higher than your last job too.” It was all too much, but you couldn’t turn it down after he’d just done something so grand for you. It’d be rude.

“Lewis, I genuinely don’t even know what to say. I mean, this is just amazing.” Your tears were all dried up on your face, and your eyes were gorgeous from them.

“You didn’t have to do this for me, you know?”

“I’ve told you so many times now; that I would do anything for you, darling.” Lewis was truly out of this world. His generosity and humbleness were his character. That was him. That was all yours.

+1. Handsome

The time had come for the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix to commence. Lewis was in the running position to bring home yet another championship. He had been dominating all season, so there wasn’t really a question of whether or not he’d win. That fate was sealed. It was just a matter of if he could snatch the last win of the season. You certainly didn’t doubt his skills paired with his car. He was basically unstoppable.

“You did great in the qualifying sessions, I’m sure you’ll do great now. You’re starting from pole position. You’ve got this in the bag, I’d say so.” You smiled as he got into his race suit.

“I have no doubts. I’ve got my lucky charm with me.” He looked at you with a silly smile plastered onto his face. Cute.

“I believe in you, handsome,” you cooed and winked at him before walking away, leaving him with the effects of having been called a pet name, when he’s usually the one to get the fun out of you. He felt his chest tighten and tingle. Perhaps the race would be in his favour after that one.

You were seated next to Tiffany again. The two of you were too focused on the race to have an actual conversation. You were completely immersed in your boyfriend, hoping that he’d not only win but also stay safe. You were convinced he wouldn’t do anything reckless though. That wasn’t like him.

He didn’t win, but at the very least he scored a podium finish. You were still proud of him. He was the 2020 world champion.

The crowd surge towards the podium stand nearly crushed you several times, but you were able to get in front of everyone else to receive a heartwarming kiss from your lover.

“You did so well out there, baby, I’m so proud!” His heart nearly stopped when you called him that. You pulled him in for a hug, before letting the engineers embrace him. The smile on his face was immaculate, and you couldn’t wait for the ceremony where he’d rightfully receive his trophy. You had been to the same ceremony a year prior, but something felt much more special about this year. Both you and Lewis had grown so much over the span of it, it didn’t feel real, but at the same time— you couldn’t remember how it felt before.

Safe to say, you were definitely going to stick around for a long time. Losing his lucky charm would be detrimental after all.

𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻…

𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩! (𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙣, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨, 𝙙𝙢𝙨, 𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙨: 𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧(𝙨) 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚(𝙨) 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣.)

[widowbitessting]

Bedtime? What Bedtime? A Sugar Mommies Drabble

Prompt: Reader/baby reacting to getting a bedtime after not resting enough in one of her exam periods.

Word Count: 908

Rating: General with fluffy scenes. SFW!

Dom!Natasha Romanoff, Dom!Wanda Maximoff, Dom! Carol Danvers x Sub!Reader

“A bedtime?” You say, eyes nearly bulging from your head. “What am I? 4?” 

“The way you’re acting right now, yes, yes, you are.” Natasha replies. 

“I am not going - no! No way! That’s ridiculous! Wanda, back me up here!” 

The older woman just shakes her head and holds her hands up in a mock surrender. 

“Normally I would, but this time I actually side with Carol and Natasha; baby girl.”

You glower at her. How could she? 

“I am not having a bedtime.”

“How much sleep did you get last night, detka?” Natasha asks. You open your mouth to reply, a cocky response on the tip of your tongue, your inner brat riling up, ready to swing; but when the red head raises her perfectly sculpted eyebrow, your brat vanishes in a puff of pathetic smoke. 

“I - why is that important?” 

“Because your dom is asking you, that’s why.” She replies. “Now answer the question.” 

“...I don’t see why I have to…” 

“5.” 

“What?” You stare at Wanda. 

“4.

“What is she doing? Why is she counting?” 

“3.” 

“...Wanda…” 

“2.” 

“Answer Natasha’s question, Y/N. Your final warning before things get ugly.” Wanda says, her glare fixed just on you.

“I don’t know…I finally…I…crashed around 3…maybe 4am?” 

“When did you wake up?” Wanda asks, stepping towards you. You automatically try to step back but Carol is there behind you, blocking your body from any chance of escape. 

“7…”

“That had better be PM babygirl.” Carol whispers into your ear. 

“A-AM…” 

“So last night, you’re telling me, you slept for 3 hours?!” Natasha shouts, she really doesn’t mean to, but she knows for sure people at the local Starbucks heard her.

“Maybe? I mean…it was like a nap…”

“Not helping your case there, bunny.” Carol murumers. 

“Yeah, I didn’t think that through.” You try to move from around Carol’s body but her grasp tightens around your wrists and she doesn’t let you budge.

“Oh no, sugar.” She smirks. “You’re not getting away that easily.” 

“What are we going to do with you?” Natasha sighs. 

“Oh I know perfectly well what to do with her,” Wanda glares at you, causing you to let out a pathetic sound and burrow into Carol.

“Save me and I’ll do your chores for a month, Danvers.”

The blonde cackles, momentarily letting you go, and you take your chance. Making a dive for freedom that is short lived. Carol snatches you back up and holds you in a hold so tight that no amount of wiggling will set you free.

“Nice try, baby, but you aren’t going to bribe me that easily. Now be good, accept your punishment like a good little brat.”

“But -” 

“No buts, unless it’s yours.” Carol says. 

Your grin slides off your face when you make eye contact with Wanda. 

“Now, whilst we discuss your brand new and very permanent bedtime, you may go to your corner and kneel, and think about the apology letters that you will be writing to each of us.” 

“Each?!” 

“With no complaints.” Her tone is firm and you really have to fight the urge to roll your eyes at her. Instead, you just gape at all of them.

“I - what…?” 

“Off you go, sweetness. The grownups have some stuff to discuss.” Wanda tells you, squishing your cheeks as you pass her. “You know what to do and what position we like. I’ll come and tap your shoulder when you’re done; understood?”

“Yes.”

Her fingers squeeze just a little harder.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, mommy.” 

“Good. Off you go.” 

That night, at 9:55pm, you’re lying in bed with Wanda as she reads to you another chapter from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. You lie there, facing her, head cradled against her chest as she reads some of the dialect from Albus Dumbledore and you can’t help but shake the exhausted feeling in your body. Your eyes are heavy, burning with sleep and you fight with them to stay open. It’s when you yawn, do you catch Wanda’s attention and she leans down to kiss your temple.

“Sleep, detka. Don’t fight it. We will all be here in the morning when you wake up.”

“But -” 

“- and you can finish your work too, with breakfast if you’d like.”

“No…I wanna know what happens in the book.”

Wanda giggles, and looks down at you with adoration.

“How many times have you read these, baby?” she asks.

“...couple…”

“And yet you want to know what happens?” 

“Just call me Dory.” 

That earns you another laugh and this time, a peck on the lips.

“How about this, if you fall asleep, I stop reading immediately and we can continue on during breakfast. Does that sound okay?” 

“...I’d like that.” You yawn again.

“Good girl,” she says. “Now shut those beautiful eyes for me.”

You do as you’re told.

“And don’t forget, bedtime is at 10pm, yes?”

“Mhm.” 

“One day it might even be 10:30. But for now, 10pm works just fine I think. Don’t you think so?” 

She’s baiting you. But you’re far too exhausted to bite. So you just sleepily agree and vow to fight her on bed time tomorrow, when you’re fully refreshed. 

It’s a very good plan. Foolproof some might say. 

You fall asleep as Wanda reaches the end of the chapter and dream of nothing.

Smiling when Wanda tucks you in and settles down for the night also. 

One word on your mind: bliss. 

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 22 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-He sets you on the vanity, the marble cool against your bare bottom. The contrast of his hot hands upon your thighs is maddening, and you whimper as he withdraws from you.

“Shh,” he says. “Do you want these undone? Or do you want me to touch you?”

The fact that you actually have to think for a moment before you answer makes his eyes shine.

“Untie me,” you answer as quickly as you can form words. By the way he looks at you, you’re afraid it wasn’t fast enough. There is a heavy pause between you, electric with the warring of your wills.

“Hmm.” You can’t stop yourself from making a sound when he leaves you, though he only takes a few steps to the tub, turning on the taps.

“I’ve had a long day,” he says, looking you over like he might like to eat you.

You worry your lower lip between your teeth, your heart in your throat.

This is it, you realize. No turning back now.

“Where were you?”

“You’ll find out later, if you’re a good girl.”

You’re not sure you like the sound of that.

He bats the door closed with a swing of his long arm before returning to you, standing between your spread legs. You are cold, in just the thin silk of the stupid nighty, and the line of his body so near yours warms you like a furnace. He takes your wrists in his sure hands, running his fingers over the ropes as he admires his handiwork upon you. Then he begins to pick at the first knot, and even he seems to have trouble undoing it at first.

You really hope he doesn’t have to cut it. You do not like the thought of a blade in his hand, that close to your skin.

“Is this…something you’re really into?” you dare ask, your heart in your throat.

“Shibari? I may have dabbled in my misspent youth,” he answers with a smirk, enjoying your uneasiness far too much. “Are you curious about it, kitten?”

“No,” you answer quickly, winning a pout that has no business on the lips of a grown ass man, but somehow is cute.

You understand it’s something some people enjoy, and that’s perfectly fine. Consenting people, who know what they’re getting into, and trust each other.

Sadly, that is not the boat you’re in right now.

“Shame. Maybe later, when you’ve come to trust me more.”

The fact that he knows you don’t trust him now is perhaps a little heartening. However, you decide you will not be bringing it up again.

When at last your restraints are reduced to a pile of red silk on the floor you cannot suppress your sigh. He runs his hands over the marks in your skin, seeming fascinated by the twisted patterns imprinted in your flesh.

“You alright?” he asks, rubbing to aid the circulation. Even just on your wrists, his touch is maddening.

You press your lips, warring with the desire to tell him off for it, or play it like no big deal. You decide to go with what is already obvious between you.

“I didn’t like that.”

He turns your face up to his with a hand that engulfs your jaw. “Then be a good girl, and I won’t have to do it again.”

“Be sweet to me, and I will.”

He narrows his eyes at you for your pithy insolence, but you can tell that he’s secretly pleased. When he lowers his head to kiss you, his tongue sweeping your mouth possessively, you hate to admit that you forget all about your aching wrists, and your self-respect, straining to reach more of his soft mouth as he uses his height to draw away.

He places your hands on his chest, looking at you expectantly. Realizing that he wants you to undress him, you try for the first button.

As it turns out, you really weren’t lying about the circulation in your fingers. Or maybe the lack of use throughout the day, something. It is not easy to undo the first button of his shirt. It is tiny, and the hole is tight, and you are ready to rip it off by the time you finally manage to slide it through.

 “Don’t tear it,” he warns, as though he can read your thoughts.

You sigh, and concentrate on the second. It gets easier as you use your fingers more…and the prize you begin to unveil spurs you on. You realize you are biting your lip again when you taste blood in your mouth. Button by button, you unveil the marvel that lies beneath.

He stands still as a statue as you work, watching you with those eyes that miss nothing. You are not half as nervous as you should be, enjoying your task. When you pull out his shirt tails you finally begin to understand. 

A myriad of scars covers his body from collar to below his waist line. Large and small, fresh and old. Cuts, and round puckered flesh that look like bullet wounds. Your heart drops to your feet, and you sense it as John stiffens under your scrutiny. 

“Oh, honey...” 

It hurts to look at. It hurts because you cannot fathom the pain he must have gone through, enduring all these injuries. He lets you touch him, tracing the lines of these old wounds. You meet his eyes, finding him vulnerable, before giving in to the urge to press your lips to his chest over an old scar that cuts across his pectoral. His eyes slide closed, and you think it might be the first time you've seen him surrender to anything.

You slide down from the counter, pressing against his body as you plant your feet on the floor. Wanting to see all of him, you circle him slowly, never once taking your hands off of him. The scars continue there, and across the expanse of his powerful shoulders are sinister looking tattoos. Some men get tattoos like this because they think it makes them look hard, but somehow you just know that they mean something in his world. Something...ominous. On top of the tattoos, the praying hands in the center of his back bears a horrible brand of an upside-down crucifix.

That might have hurt more than all the rest.  

You rest your head in the divot of his shoulders, wrapping your arms around his muscled torso. It feels good, to nestle here. Better than it should.

“I wouldn't have run,” you tell him, and you feel a tremor run through his steadfast frame, his big hands covering yours just beneath his heart. 

You make your way back to his front, and his sharp eyes follow your every movement. 

“You would have had questions.” 

“Of course I would have.” 

You’re not a total idiot.

“You would have been scared.” 

You just shake your head, knowing it was true. At that time, you wouldn't have had the sense.  Even now, knowing what he was capable of... you still weren't half as scared of him as you should be. 

His gaze upon you is surprisingly soft, as he considers your words. You dare think you’ve finally gotten through to this man, until his long fingers close around your jaw, holding your gaze upwards. “You’re not lying to me just to appease me, kitten?”

Rather than follow the wiser path of meek contrition, you give way to the indignant anger rising in your breast.

“You’re so worked up about me running from you, but you know what? You ran from me first. You didn’t even give me the chance to accept you.”

He narrows his eyes down at you, considering what you’ve said.

If you're lying, he has to punish you.

If you're telling the truth, then this whole thing blew up for nothing, and it's all on him. 

Rather than hash this out, he dips his head to kiss you again, and he is not exactly gentle with you. Hungry for you, his tongue sweeps into your mouth, his teeth on your lips leaving you bruised. His hips pin you against the vanity, his erection pressing into you unforgivingly.

His fingers tangle in the lace skirt of your nightie, pulling it up. You fight him on instinct, and hear the silk tear as he jerks it from your grasp, defeating you so easily. He draws it up over your head with a flourish and throws it across the room, leaving you utterly bare to his gaze.

You are glad for the warm steam that is filling the room from the running bath. The tub is so massive it’s not even a quarter of the way full. Still, you try to cover yourself, but John grips your wrists in his big hands, twisting your arms behind you easily.  

His eyes rake over you, and your nipples harden as though he’d touched them. “So. Fucking. Beautiful.”

He falls on you, releasing your hands to cup your face as he kisses you again without mercy. His touch is possessive, inexorable, unyielding, and his hands explore your body, the curve of your bare back and the swell of your breast. His thumb and forefinger pinching your nipple make your knees weak. He recedes like a crashing wave down your body, his mouth upon your chest, your breasts, his tongue wreaking sweet agony upon your aching tips.

You don't know how much more of this your pussy can take. You've never been this turned on, for this long, in your life. 

You blink stupidly, when suddenly John is on his knees before you, looking up at you with his nose nuzzling the curls between your legs. That brief moment of eye contact electrifies you, before he guides your leg up over his shoulder, and licks your weeping slit. You lean back on the marble counter, and if not for his strong hands on your hips and your ass, you would have fallen, your legs shaking beneath you as he wrecks you with that devilish tongue.

He brings you so close to the edge with licks and little sucks, torturing you making circles with the tip of his tongue before taking mercy with broad, hard strokes, two of his long fingers sliding inside of you. That burning knot of pleasure begins to tighten within your womb. You clench on his fingers, your grip white-knuckling on the side of the vanity, so relieved for release on the horizon that you could cry.

That is when he leaves you, wiping his mouth on your belly as he stands before kissing you with the same punishing force as before. You whimper into his mouth, cheated of your pleasure, so pent up you could die.

“Hush,” he tells you, more gently than you would have expected from him in this unforgiving mood. He lifts you up onto the vanity again, easily as though you weigh nothing. With stars in your eyes, you watch as he undoes the zipper on his slacks with quick efficiency, pushing it all down to the floor and kicking it away.

You cannot help but stare, your lip caught between your teeth again. How many times a day can you think to yourself, This man is beautiful? His trim waist and powerful thighs covered in crisp dark hairs. The line of soft dark hair on his belly leads the eye downward…he is thick, and long, and even while you know you are in trouble, you cannot quell the dark thrill of knowing he is going to absolutely ruin you.

“Like what you see?” he asks, pulling you from your trance. He pumps himself up and down a few times, spreading the precum leaking from his tip.

Unable to find words in that moment, you nod.  

“What was that, sweetheart?” His big hands on your thighs pull you to the edge of the vanity top, his body wedged between your legs.

You make a frustrated sound between your teeth. “Yes, I find you very fucking beautiful, Mr. Wick.”

He offers you a cruel little laugh before catching your lips with his, his thick tip hovering at your weeping entrance. You try to move closer to him, hungry for the stretch and burn of his cock entering your body, but he holds you fast.

There is a surprising vulnerability in his next words, uttered quietly against your ear. “You want me?”

“Yes.”

God help you, but it’s the truth.

You give a strangled moan as he pushes inside of you, writhing from his cock and his teeth in your shoulder. The sound he makes is more animal than human as he works himself inside.

“Even your pussy fights back,” he huffs with strained laughter, easing himself in and out. “God, baby, you feel so good.”

Your fingernails dig into his shoulder as your body protests the invasion half-way.

“Wait…”

“Can’t…” he informs you raggedly. “Breathe for me, kitten, I know you can take me.”

“It’s been a long time,” you admit between a deep inhale, trying to adjust. A long time, and to be frank, none of your previous experiences with men prepared you for him.

“How long?” he demands, as though this is information he desperately needs to know.

“Over a year.”

Long before you met him.

He veritably growls his approval at this figure, and if you weren’t so cock-drunk you would have rolled your eyes at the fragility of the male ego. As it is…you can hardly think straight at all.

“That’s my good girl,” he rasps against your skin as he slides deeper and deeper inside. “So wet for me. So good.”

You cry out as he bottoms out against your cervix. He looks down between you, fascinated by the sight of his body buried in yours to the hilt.

“That hurt?”

“A little.”

“Sorry.” You can hardly believe it when he kisses you with contrition. “I’ll try…” He thrusts again, slower this time, and it makes you see stars. “To be gentle.” He presses his thumb to your lips, and you open for him, sucking and leaving a trail of saliva as he withdraws. When he circles that thumb over your clit you mewl like the needy little kitten you are for him, your thighs tightening upon his narrow hips. He moves for you at just the right speed, teasing you with the thickness of his shaft in all the right places inside. Your walls grip him with abandon, desperate for the pleasure he’s been dangling before you for days.

“You wanna cum, pretty kitten?”

“Yes,” you pant, so desperate for release. Your tight little pussy clenches around his cock in answer, and he sucks in breath through his teeth.

“Then you have to say something for me. And you have to mean it.” 

Fuck. 

“What?” You can hardly remember your own name, much less form complicated sentences as he fills you to bursting, merciless and so very wonderful, his thumb working magic on your clit.

“Say you’re mine.” 

He glides inside you, stretching you more somehow, but removes his hand to grip your hip.

When you meet him with silence he kisses your neck, nipping at your skin as punishment. There will be marks all over your chest and neck tomorrow.

It doesn't matter.

Not like you're going anywhere.

Not like anyone will see you. 

You keen, craving more pressure, more friction, pulling him deeper with legs wrapped around his back, bringing you so close to where you need him. You think you can come on his cock, whether he touches you or not. It would be a victory, to prove that your pleasure needn't only come at his own whim. 

Knowing all too well, he denies it to you, holding himself just shy of it. 

“Say it,” he demands. “Say you're mine, and I'll give you everything you want.” 

“Even freedom?” you dare ask as he strums at you again, a master at keeping the fire at just the right height, making you feel so good, but never quite enough to make you cum.

You don't know how you have the cheek, with his clever fingers between your legs frying your brain.

This man was made to torture you, it seems. He shifts, so that he is making shallow strokes that only barely stimulate you. You scream a little in frustration. It actually makes him smile. 

“Did you know that ninety percent of women cannot orgasm on penetration alone?”

“You don't have to be so fucking smug about it.” 

“You need me.” 

“Do I?”

You reach for your clit, hoping he will be distracted by watching you. Most men would, but not John. He is a man of focus, determination, sheer will. He catches your hand with a warning growl, twisting it behind you. 

Pulling you closer, he buries himself as deep as he can, his face buried in your hair. It doesn’t hurt this time. It feels like he makes you whole, and you feel the bass growl he makes against your ear in the depths of your soul.

“Please? I can’t wait anymore, baby girl. I want to feel you cum with me.” There is a new desperation in his words, and you know he must be close.

“Then let me cum,” you answer, hardly recognizing your own voice. “I want it. I want you.”

“Say you’re mine.”

You are tempted. Boy, are you. You want it so badly your legs tremble, your back arched tight as a bow. A tear rolls down your cheek, because fuck you if a part of you doesn't want to say it. Not just because it's the only way you're going to get to orgasm, and he’s driving you insane. But because...you know it would make him so fucking happy.

You’re afraid if you say it aloud, it might be true.

You are so close, but he is a master of bringing you just to the edge before backing away. In that moment, you hate him as much as you love him. You know, you just know, that if you give in to this possessive madness so soon, there will be no going back. You will be so fucked, and not in the way you want to be.

You just shake your head.

“Go to hell.” 

It is, decidedly, the wrong answer, of course. His eyes darken, and he ruts inside you out of spite, spilling himself with a growl and his teeth in the curve of your neck. You feel the scalding hot rush inside you, the impossible fullness. It is good, and you are this close as he shudders against you, but in the end it’s just not enough.  

You keen miserably as his slick length slides from you, leaving you filled with his cum, utterly wrecked yet still unsatisfied. He wipes his tip across your belly, marking you.

Men.

“You are the stubbornest fucking woman I’ve ever met,” he grumbles low in your ear.

It sends a shiver across your skin.

You have to try twice before you find your voice.

“Thank you.”

He actually laughs, a harsh, disbelieving bark as he shakes his head at you. You watch as he goes to turn off the bath taps, the tub finally full, thoroughly enjoying the view despite how he’s left you. He steps into the water, turning so that he can see you with his arms on the rim of the tub.

You take some pleasure in the fact that he doesn’t look quite satisfied either.

Though your legs barely work, you slide down to the floor with a glare, intending to use the shower instead, away from him. You feel his seed dripping from you, down your thighs in warm thick rivulets. He didn’t ask if you are on birth control, and you’re grateful for your IUD, feeling like you’re armed with a secret weapon. If he means to bind you further to him with bearing his child…he’ll be disappointed. You decide right then that’s a card you’ll play close to your vest.

You take one step towards the shower before he makes a sound of warning low in his throat, and you freeze in your tracks. “In here,” he directs, and you close your eyes with wariness. Of course, that was the deal you’d made with the devil, and he’d warned you not to break an agreement with him.

He’s going to torture you more, you reckon, with his mouth or his fingers or maybe even that magnificent cock again, and you just don’t think your body can take it.

You’re not sure your heart can take it, either.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Resigned to your fate, you go, sinking into the warm water. It would have been wonderful, you know, if your every nerve had not already been on fire.

You hover up to your neck in the deep tub, trying to relax and succeeding only by half. “Come here,” says your beautiful tormentor, holding out his hand to you. The invitation is deceptively gentle this time. Mr. Wick, the undisputed King of Hot and Cold.

“You are such an asshole,” you inform him as you take his hand, letting him pull you into the circle of his arms against his chest.

“So you tell me,” he says with his lips against your temple, his arm around your waist holding you to him. “You might be a tiger kitten, but you’re still just a kitten.” He almost sounds proud about it. “I’m going to win in the end.”

You’re afraid he’s right, but you’re not ready to surrender just yet.