#he goes soft she goes soft adjacent

[iicehoon]

LEVEL UP | STREAMER!SOOBIN X READER

︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

"NO NO NO NO," you heard your boyfriend, Soobin, yell in despair.

Glancing at the Snoopy-themed clock, it read 2:30 AM, marking five hours since he started streaming. You recalled his excitement about being sponsored by the game, hoping for future offers if it goes well.

Rising from your spot on the shared bed, you crossed the dimly lit hall to quietly open the door to his room. He remained intensely focused on the screen, the soft clicks of his mechanical keyboard echoing as you entered. Frustrated sighs followed each demise of his character on screen.

"Chat, you don't understand," he started, setting aside his keyboard and mouse. "No username, I am not taking backseat gaming or any advice from you. The last time I did that, it made me restart the ENTIRE game."

You chuckled softly, watching your boyfriend ruffle his hair in frustration. His slouched shoulders hinted that he was nearing his breaking point and pretty ready to end the stream.

"Binnie," you called out, settling into the beanbag adjacent to his desk.

Soobin perked up instantly at the sound of his name, swiftly removing his earbuds as he rose to approach you. "When did you come in?" he asked, crouching down to your level. Leaning in, he planted a kiss on your lips before gently settling on top of you, eliciting a surprised yelp at his sudden weight.

"You've been at it for five hours, hun," you said, poking his side playfully until he squirmed and finally got up after the tenth poke.

"Come here, and I'll show you why," he motioned you over, patting his lap. His followers knew about you because he couldn't help but talk about you at times, and they have seen your face from the times you brought him snacks or a drink during his streams.

"Hi Chat," You smiled, bringing your face closer to his webcam and giving them a little wave when you settled on his lap.

"Okay," Soobin placed his chin on your shoulder and returned his hands to the keyboard and mouse. "Just watch and see why I just can't get past this stupid level."

You weren't as big of a gamer as Soobin, but you knew your way around from the games he played or even those you tried yourself from the days when he didn't want to be at his computer.

One of the perks of having a gamer boyfriend who was also a popular streamer was having access to his Steam account and his credits to buy games that piqued your interest, often discovered from TikTok.

Your eyes analyzed his movements, and you couldn't help but giggle when he dropped his head, hitting the back of your neck. "I don't understand why it's not working," he sighed in frustration.

"Well, it's because you're not hitting that when you're doing your runs," you explained, gently removing his hands from the setup in front of you. Slowly, you moved his character over to what you believed was the key element for him to pass this level. "See, it's breakable with that TNT sign on it."

You restarted the level and began to execute your run. As you played, Soobin's eyes moved back and forth between his main screen and your side profile, a lovestruck smile spreading across his face, just as his chat had claimed always happened whenever you were in his peripheral vision.

His smile widened as you cheered, successfully passing the level he had spent the majority of his time on. "Wait, babe, you're crazy good," he exclaimed, his jaw-dropping in amazement at the winning transition.

"I'm just better than you, Soobie boobie" you teased, twisting slightly to face him and sticking out your tongue.

He shook his head, laughing, and wrapped his arms tighter around your waist, giving you a quick peck on your cheek.

His joyful expression quickly shifted to one of furrowed eyebrows as he read his chat.

"Chat, she IS NOT replacing me," he groaned, "And stop asking if she's single. I'll literally make out with her right here, right now."

an | there is no specific game I'm referencing, I couldn't really think of one but if anyone has an idea, I can make it for another one!

[luveline]

Hi hi could we please get shy!reader with Sirius where she’s just absolutely exhausted and wants him to brush her hair for her after she gets out of the shower? Love u xx

thank you for your request! sirius x shy!fem!reader | 1k

You can barely get dressed after your shower, the heat of the bathroom having lulled you into a near comatose state. You drag your soft cotton trousers up the length of your tacky legs, fighting to pull the waistband over your stomach. You almost fall, body listing naturally to the side, but save yourself with a tired arm. 

"You're taking ages." 

You smile at the sound of Sirius' light teasing. 

"I'm almost done." 

"Good. My lap is feeling much too empty today." 

He's delusional if he thinks you're going to sit in his lap. You rub at the ends of your hair with your towel and breathe in the creamy smell of your conditioner, tilting your head to the side to peek at your boyfriend where he sits near the open bedroom window. He's smoking. 

He snuffs out the cigarette in his little ashtray and covers it with a clinking lid to hide the smell. He looks up, and you know from the settled, unsurprised laxness of his eyes and lips that he'd known you were there the whole time. He'd let you watch him, and now he watches you. 

"I gotta tell you something," he says, wiping at the tip of his fingers, his only tell. Whatever it is he's going to say, it's gonna fluster you. Sure enough, he continues, "Every time you get out of the shower with wet hair I feel like it's the first time I'm seeing you." 

"Do I look alien?" you ask, secretly worried. 

"You look stunning, but that's not the point." 

Charmed, you move to the end of the bed and climb over the sheets on knees, pyjama trousers riding up your calves. Sirius meets you where you're sitting, angling himself adjacent, and tugs them down absentmindedly. 

"I don't know. I just love the way you look when you have wet hair, and," —he inclines his head like you're telling secrets— "when you're tired." 

"I'm not tired," you fib. 

"I believe you." 

He obviously doesn't. You're both liars smiling at one another, waiting for the other to break. You look away first, dropping the damp towel from your hair into your lap. Your shoulders rise unbidden, your reluctance clear even when you haven't spoken it aloud. You don't want to finish getting ready for bed. 

Sirius hasn't touched you yet, but he will. His hand closes around your ankle, climbing up under the trousers he'd only just corrected. You melt veritably.

"Will you brush my hair?" you ask, closing your eyes. 

"Yeah," he says. "Course." 

The nightstand drawer opens, wheels running over tracks. You listen to him fish out your hairbrush and some softener, and your skin practically burns as he settles behind you. He pulls you toward him with gentle but undeniably strong hands, his forearm lingering where it presses against your ribcage. 

"I knew you'd end up in my lap," he says. 

You smile despite yourself and cover his hand with your own. His fingers are long and deft beneath yours. 

After a quiet moment of this he pulls away and starts to brush your hair. He makes it a long process with how softly he goes, never once tugging at tangles. He rubs product in your hair, wipes his hands quickly on the towel, and then brushes it through. He perseveres until every strand of hair is brushed, soft and still damp. You meant to talk to him as he went, ask him how his day was, but the feeling of his hands on your neck, your shoulders, the bristles of the brush against your scalp, and the heat and steadiness of him behind you — Sirius is a quiet safety. 

"How's that?" he asks in a murmur. 

"Thank you." 

"You haven't looked yet." 

"Do I need to look?" you ask, turning into him just a smidge. 

Sirius takes the hint, setting the brush aside so he can accommodate your weight. He drops his face into your shoulder with a groan. 

"Yeah," he says. He kisses your shoulder gently. "I've made a right mess of it. But a bird's nest is with the times. I mean, look at James." 

You laugh. You're in a skewed position; you don't want to climb completely into his lap, so you twist as much as you can and hug him until he hugs you back. 

"You're not nice to James considering how much you love him. I hate to think of what you say about me when I'm not around." 

"I say worse." 

"I knew it."

"Much worse." He pets your hair. 

You know he's joking. James had texted you once to ask if your ears were burning, because Sirius had been 'waxing lyrical about the shade of your eyes for the last five minutes', and no offence or anything but James already has a sensitive stomach.

Sirius is lovely. He sings your praises and he brushes your hair and he holds you as he holds you now, like it's the only thing he's ever wanted to do. 

"Thanks for brushing my hair," you murmur.

He pulls away from you enough to see your face, tucking a silken strand behind your ear. 

"You're welcome. I knew you were tired. You had a long day, sweetheart." 

"I did, but… it feels worth it." 

"Yeah?" Sirius asks, a familiar smugness creeping into his tone. 

You shrink at the sound. Not because you don't like it, the opposite, and you both know it. He can get you exactly where he wants you with one word. 

He laughs as you slide your face back into his neck. 

"Be nice," you say. 

"I'll try. No promises." 

[spencerxalvez]

spencer reid x fem!reader microfic; 800 words; smut-adjacent, embarrassed spencer, slice of life

The light is low and golden, flooding the room from the lamp by her bed. Her hair is on his cheek and his nose; fragrant strands smelling like her conditioner and the faint notes of her perfume brush against his skin. Spencer tilts his head slightly and brushes his jaw against the crown of her head. It’s strange, he muses, to want to be so close to someone all the time.

The silence between them is easy and languid; they’ll both be asleep soon, and tomorrow is Saturday, and Spencer tries to remember if he’s ever felt relaxed like this before, so often and so predictably.

Her skin is mostly bare against him; it’s a ghost of the memory of earlier, when his hands wandered over her hips and the expanse of skin on her back, and she leaned into him with ease and trust that makes him want. He knows why; there’s a psychology behind the appeal of someone who trusts you, but it doesn’t account for the way it makes him feel all the way to the tips of his fingers, electrified and awake.

He puts his hand on her waist and wraps his arm over her and doesn’t think about it, one in a series of small miracles that have been occurring since they met.

And then, like a chain reaction, she tilts herself back; her hips shift and her body follows, inevitable, until she’s slotting into place firmly pressed against him, from her delicate shoulders down to her waist and her thighs, encompassing him with touch.

The friction of the pale pink cotton that stretches with a perfect fit over her hips and just below the small of her back against the bone of his hip and the soft hair beneath his own looser cotton catches Spencer by surprise. He was lost, thoughts wandering. Her hips against his bring him back to the moment, a moment too late.

The soft sound that spills out of his mouth is out of his control; he moans without meaning to, blood rushing through heated veins and senseless touch clouding his sense of himself. He feels it in the relaxed putty of her muscles under his hand when the sound meets her ears. She tenses; relaxes; and turns toward him all in the space of a second.

The romantic glow of the moment slips away from Spencer: he flops backwards onto her bed, his curls buried in the cotton of her pillowcase, and feels the vessels light up in his cheeks as he flushes tulip pink.

She laughs. It’s warm, and soft, and real and he knows— somehow, inherently— that she isn’t making fun of him, she’s endeared to him and she likes him and that sort of makes the mortifying ordeal worse.

He flings his bare arm over his eyes and everything goes dark as he squeezes his eyes shut.

Her voice floats in from above him. “Are you embarrassed?”

She sounds delighted.

“Yes,” Spencer answers, insistent.

A second later, she’s tugging his hand away from his face and pinning it wrist-up to the mattress and Spencer looks up into her face, and— oh.

Where he’d expected to find amusement, there’s something else on her face. Something darker and smoldering and focused in her eyes. The sound of his heartbeat intensifies in his ears, and he tilts his head back to look at her as she moves with focus, bracketing his hips and waist with the soft inner skin of her knees and leaning down over his bare chest. There’s a part of himself breaking off and floating downriver with the look on her face; he’s losing his grip on what he had to be embarrassed about as she looks endlessly at him, and he swallows hard enough to feel it in his throat and then—

All at once, she’s kissing him. Her chest pressed to his, a breath of air between her waist and the clenched muscle of his stomach. Her hand is still on his wrist, not forcing but holding in place. It feels like security as every synapse in his body lights up, and he can’t help it when he moans again, the sound trapped between her lips and his teeth and lingering, lingering.

She smiles into their kiss. Like she knew what she was doing. Spencer realizes it a moment too late.

With a rush of heady, bright confidence, he gently wraps his fingers around the width of her palm and braces his other hand on her waist; in one fluid motion, he flips them. She hits the bed with a breathless little sound and looks up at him like she wants to be taken, to belong.

He’s not always good with emotions. He doesn’t always know what someone wants just by looking at them.

Tonight, he knows. Tonight, he takes.

[lipglossanon]

October 5th

Kink: Praise

Pairing: Sweet Stepdad!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, stepcest, dirty talk, praise kink, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, mirror sex, semi-public sex, creampie

not proofread

“Baby, y’sure you don’t want one of your friends to help?”

You smile at Leon as you tug him into the Halloween store. 

“Promise, besides this way we can match!”

He huffs a laugh and lets you lock your arms together, guiding him over to the back with the racks of colorful costumes on display. You hold up random outfits to him or yourself, brows pinched together, while you debate on what exactly you want to wear this year. 

“What about this one?”

You turn and have to bite your bottom lip. Leon’s holding up a cowboy costume with a cowgirl one being offered out to you. 

“Yes,” you’re nodding as you grab onto the plastic encasing the cheap fabric. “Let’s go see if they have a changing room.”

“Alright,” he scans the area and then presses a broad palm against the center of your back to guide you deeper into the store. 

Stopping in front of the dressing rooms, he goes to take a seat on the benches set up near the door. 

“Uh uh,” you pull him into the room with you and quickly shut the door. “You gotta help me try it on.”

“Oh, I do, huh?” He grins and it makes butterflies dance in your chest. 

“Mmhmm,” you drop the costume down onto the little chair that’s always in a changing room. Your hands glide up his biceps to cling to his shoulders. 

“Need your help taking my clothes off, daddy,” you raise your head up to brush your lips across his. “Especially my panties.”

“Yeah?” He groans, hands grabbing onto your hips. “Those little panties sticking to your chubby cunt, sweetheart?”

Whining, you rock your hips forward, biting down on his bottom lip when you feel his bulge through his slacks. His hands make quick work of slipping your shirt off along with your bra, fingers tweaking your nipples roughly before moving down to help you step out of your jeans and panties. 

“Oh, she’s soaking wet, baby,” he murmurs, fingers skating across your slit to rub your pussy, smearing slick into your soft skin.  

“Let daddy eat this sexy pussy,” he drops to his knees before you can even say anything. “Fuck, you always look so good.”

Biting down on your knuckles, you keep your eyes on Leon as he buries his face between your thighs, picking one leg up to drape over his shoulder so he can lick into you easier. 

“Love how you taste,” he groans, nuzzling against your clit. “Always so soft and wet, god, could stay here all day.”

“Leon,” you mewl, body buzzing with his words as his tongue slides through your soaked folds to lap at your drippy hole. 

“Such a good girl,” his tongue slides into your fluttering walls. He grinds his nose across your clit and nuzzles against your pussy lips. 

The shuffling of feet and muted conversation floods the hallway outside of your room before you hear the person take the room next to yours (door shutting and jostling the wall connecting the two rooms). Leon pulls away with a sly grin and you press your knuckles into your mouth. 

Instead of going back to eating you out, he stands up, crowding into your space. 

“Turn around, put your hands on the mirror, sweetheart,” he rotates your body until you’re facing away from him. 

Following his instructions, you place your hands on the mirror adjacent to the wall shared with the next dressing room. He pulls your hips towards him, forcing you to bend over. Glancing at his reflection in the glass, you watch as he unzips his slacks and pulls out his thick cock, your heart pounding in your chest from nerves. 

The broad head of his dick glides through your slick folds, parting your pussy lips to rub against your swollen clit. Your eyes flutter as you bite your lip to stop from making any noise. 

Leon leans forward, mouth ghosting across your ear and drawing your attention to look at the mirror into his dark blue eyes. 

“Y’gonna let daddy stuff this hot, wet pussy?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. He winks and it sends heat spiraling through you while he notches the head of his cock at your drooling hole. Leon eases himself inside of your clenching heat with measured rocks of his hips, making your toes curl, mouth panting so hard you fog up the glass. 

The loud trill of a phone jars you as the person next door answers the call. You can’t quite make out what’s being said but the cadence of their speaking filters through the thin wall, making you tense up until Leon hisses. He slowly pulls out only to thrust back in equally as slow. It makes your mouth salivate, the easy push and pull of his cock inside your fluttering walls has you leaking slick down your thighs to drip onto the dressing room floor. 

“So perfect, sweetheart,” he whispers against your ear. “Look at how good you’re taking me, li’l pussy’s just made for my cock.”

You keen, but stifle it into a muted whine, clenching down on his dick, “Daaad.”

“C’mon now,” he croons, “look at that pretty girl taking daddy’s dick. So good for me, baby. Such a good girl.”

Your hooded eyes struggle to stay open on the reflection of Leon pumping his cock into your soaked cunt. His words drive your arousal higher and higher, clit throbbing and swollen. 

“Touch me, daddy, please,” you gasp, “wanna cum.”

“Of course,” he moves one hand down to cup your hot pussy, fingers rubbing over your slippery bundle of nerves. “Daddy’s perfect girl deserves to feel good, doesn’t she?”

“Uh huh,” you moan softly. “Feels so good.”

The person occupying the neighboring room bumps the wall and makes you gasp. Leon doesn’t stop playing with your clit or driving his dick into your squelching pussy. Your dazed eyes watch his own flutter closed as he tips his head back, neck tendons taut as he keeps his slow and steady pace. 

Watching him bite his lip does you in, walls fluttering and milking his cock as your orgasm steals your breath. Thighs shaking from the pleasure whiting out your brain, your eyes fall shut, willing yourself to keep as quiet as possible. Leon swears under his breath and lets himself fuck into you a little faster. 

“Cum inside me,” you whimper. “Wanna feel full.”

“Fucking Christ,” he groans, “yeah? Fuck, g’nna cum, goddamn—“

He muffles his moan into your neck as he leans forward and buries his cock deep into your pulsing hole. Your cunt flutters around his thick length as he shoots rope after rope of hot cum until he’s completely spent. Pulling away with a low hiss, he helps you pull your panties back into place before his spend drips everywhere.

Turning you around, he kisses you, tongue pushing into your mouth to taste you. Groaning, he presses you against the wall and sloppily makes out with you until the wall jostles again from the neighboring door slamming open and shut. 

“Probably should just get these, huh?” He pulls back with a grin. 

“I’m totally fine with it. Cowboys are hot,” you smile back. “Let’s head home, I wanna round two where I can actually be loud.” 

[nanabrainrot]

Nyquil [18+]

You have trouble sleeping without your boyfriend’s help.

Warning! NSFW content in an established relationship. Reader likes to get eaten out as she goes to sleep - consensual somnophilia adjacent behavior occurs. Hobie Brown/F!Reader.

••●────── 🕸️⋅🕷⋅🕸️ ────────●••

“Can’t sleep huh, doll?”

He’s such a sweet boyfriend, sweet enough you thank your lucky stars every night that you found a boy like him to accompany you through life. Insomnia had been a long prevailing problem in your night routine, evident in your behavior at HQ where you were noted for being the Spiderwoman who often looked groggy and shuffled about. Your “nonchalant” nature initially enticed him - you really stuck it to the man by making it clear you didn’t care.

It took two months for him to realize you weren’t nonchalant. You were tired.

He’d made it a point to be the best help he could about it: it’s why he was over almost every night he could be now. Hobie does a great job to soothe you. The rough pads of his fingers tracing circles on your bare back. His lips pressing soft kisses to your head, your face buried in the pillow breathing the linen smell in with even breaths. “Hnng…” you mumbled in the pillow, feeling your consciousness slowly tettering but never falling to rest. It was exhausting, the endless sleepless nights before Hobie.

Only he could put you to sleep.

“Almost there? Does my doll need me to put her to bed?” he breathes, hot breath fanning your hairline. Aahh, that offer fans the heat in your core and the excitement of being close to him and being lulled to sleep keep your eyes twitching behind your closed lids - you might as well simulate REM sleep if you couldn’t get there.

“Yeah…” you huff, words soft as air and fanning over the fabric of your pillow’s cotton casing. His hot hand dipping lower under the thin jersey sheet to the small of your back.

His voice hot and raspy, a whisper on the shell of your ear, “Yeah?”

Nodding into the pillow, hands taut under it and your head, his body next to you and curving onto your body like a crescent moon with the way he was propped on one arm and the other starting to palm the fat of your ass.

“Wanna stay like that or you wanna turn a little so I can lap you up ‘fore I put you to bed, dolly?” You mumble something before rolling onto your back, tits coming to meet the air from the movement of the jersey blanket and spreading your legs in a lazy movement that gets him chuckling. He’s too giving, too concerned with getting you to sleep all cozy.

“Thank you,” he laughs lowly, pressing a kiss on your temple before wandering lower under the sheet, “I’ll put you to sleep, don’t you worry…”

He always presses soft pecks to your thighs first, hands around your thighs with his thumb grazing the skin.

He kisses the mound next, pecking the lips with sickeningly sweet gentleness; like pecking your cheek. He does it so gently, careful to not make you cum because it keeps you up longer, and instead sufficing with making out with the area. Suckling at the nub, lazily licking at it with slow big licks with a flat tongue.

You buck a little, sighing, your breaths slow as he hears your heartbeat settle. Both heartbeats. Your hips buck once more, before settling on the sheets - a small snore fills the air. The rumble of cars coming and going in the late night, some honks and some reving engines. Your fan in the corner purring as it washed your naked bodies in cool air. Window only slightly ajar. The dark room illuminated only by the lights of the billboards and advertisements in your universe’s big city.

Hobie comes up, ignoring the ache in his cock to settle on staring. No bodily function or lust could surpass the warmth in his mind. Even if the nonchalance was mistaken at first, the way your face glows a little brighter at HQ when your well-rested is more rewarding. Especially knowing how well you sleep because of him.

Your eyes twitch behind your lids and he can’t help but grin, hoping you’re dreaming of him. The cars rumble twenty stories below.

Hobie knows you’ll never need melatonin, chamomile tea, or nyquil ever again - not so long as he can soothe you.

🕸️𓆩♡𓆪🕸️

thanks for reading! smthng short n sweet - its only smutty for a second but idk I j thought it was a lil silly dynamic/habit for them to have :) feel free to request or chat abt hobie and miguel in my inbox <33

[doromoni]

Clash of Champions | MV1 , LH44

Act 2. Part 5 : The Former and Forever Ally

Ships : Max Verstappen x Engineer! Reader, Lewis Hamilton x Engineer! Reader

Genre : Drama, Angst, Romance

Warning : Morally Grey Characters, Manipulation, Blackmail, Swearing

A/N : Its been a while, my luvs! Here’s the long awaited update~ I’m still getting back into writing, pls be lenient with meeee.

Summary : The rivalry between the titans of Formula 1 goes off track and only one will reign victorious.

< Previous Masterlist Next >

Act 2. ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The ringing of a phone sounded all over the driver room of the Dutch Red Bull pilot. It rang and rang nonstop, as Max's jaw tensed in agitation.

The caramel color of hard liquor danced inside the half empty glass that he nursed.

On the next ring, a voice had finally answered the call.

“What do you want, Verstappen?” The voice of an unnerved Toto Wolff resounded throughout the room.

“You haven’t been holding up on your end of the deal, Wolff. Tell me why is your driver still chasing after my girl? You couldn’t even handle reeling in your pet? How pathetic of a principal can you be?” Max uttered each word with carelessness laced with venom.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, VERSTAPPEN!! You’re the one who’s not holding your end of the deal! You said that you’ll take care of the girl?! Then why the fuck is she winning?! ” The anger and frustration behind Toto’s voice was palpable even to a child.

Toto was in distress, he was facing a crisis at the loss of Y/N L/N. His entire team was at a loss end at the continuous success that the girl brought … but now it was to the rival team. Toto cannot stand the fact that he is being humiliated by a girl half his age.

“I never said that I’ll throw my chances on the championship, now did I? I said that I’ll take Y/N out of your hands— and I did. It’s not my fault that she has actual talent. Now be a good team principal and do something about your lack. Get Hamilton on a leash and away from Y/N” Max had then downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, loudly placing it down on the adjacent table.

“Oh, I’ll do something alright.”

Toto seethed as he dropped the call.

“Prepare the paperwork and the video” Toto uttered to his assistant.

Oh, he’ll do something alright.

***

No one can deny that your presence demanded attention with each step, eyes gravitated towards you, so you lifted your head high in confidence — even when you felt fear and anxiety all over. The enemy shall not see you falter, and in this reality — many are watching to see you fall.

Your footsteps hit the pavement with fervor, each step as sure as the last one. You were clad in black and blue, proudly dressed in your new team uniform adorned with your signature red-bottomed heels as you walked in the paddock towards where the Sky commentators were stationed for the interview.

You had Red Bull’s PR team guiding you to your destination. As the distance shortened, you felt your heartbeat pounding—you could hear it in your ears and feel it in your throat. Nervous was an understatement to what you were feeling right now.

If it were just a regular interview with the other commentators, it would be a breeze. But with Nico present, this was entirely different … it was personal.

No matter how much you’ve grown, matured, or achieved when you faced Nico it all didn’t matter — you always felt like the rookie junior engineer needing guidance. Nico was always your big brother and it broke your heart when your relationship fell apart.

Your eyes adjusted to the sight of them seated in the middle of the busy paddock, mics on hand. With a deep breath, you plastered on a smile and went near the commentators. Natalie Pinkman was the first to notice your appearance.

“Ah! And here she is! Everyone let’s welcome, Red Bull Head Race Engineer, Y/N L/N” The rest of the crew’s attention went towards you with soft smiles present. The reporters consisted of the people you had great respect for; David Croft, Jenson Button, Natalie Pinkham, and of course Nico Rosberg.

“Hello everyone! Thank you for having me~ always an honor to chat with you” You replied with all the grace that you could muster because honestly, you felt the cold sweat dripping down your neck.

“Of course, Of course, Y/N! Well, last time you were with us you were wearing black and silver. What caused the move if we could ask” Crofty’s question caught you off guard, you weren’t going to lie. You expected it, but not so early on.

“Oh come on Crofty! Let the girl breathe~ she just won her 2nd race with Max for goodness' sake. Congratulations by the way” Nico suddenly interjected. Warmth filled you as Nico came to your aid. You gazed at him with thankfulness — and he gave you a knowing look. Maybe patching things up with the Ex-Merc driver wouldn’t be too hard.

“Thank you, Nico! Yeah, Max and I work great together I’ve got to say. He is very straightforward in giving his insights and that helps a lot” You replied with a smile

“And to answer your question Crofty~ yeah I’ve retired the black and silver uniform for sure! The team and I both wanted different things and It was to my best benefit to find what I needed somewhere else and I guess it was with Red Bull. “ you explained with such restraint that you were sure that Red Bull’s PR would be proud. If it weren’t for them and the NDA you’ve signed with Mercedes — you would’ve held nothing back.

“But in the middle of the season? with so much friction between the two teams fighting for the championship. That’s a crazy move” Jenson commented, a wide grin spread on your lips. Boy crazy was only half of it.

“You call it crazy, but I think what Y/N did here takes guts and bravery. Take it from me, my retirement was one of the best decisions I’ve made. I couldn’t run faster ” Nico butted in with a snicker. You couldn’t help but giggle — the shared Mercedes trauma and resentment unites you both. One thing was true, both of you were free from their clutches

“I presume that a lot had happened in the background then” Natalie tried to push further to which you only laughed and gave her a shrug.

“Alright, alright ~ let’s now talk racing. Y/N today’s strategy was flawless. Did you factor in everything or was luck a part of it?” Crofty segwayed smoothly.

From then on the interview ran as smoothly as it could till it finished and they had to let you go.

It was time to talk to Nico one-on-one, but what you didn’t expect was Nico holding on to your wrist and pulling you towards Sky’s office.

“Nico?? What is going on? Why am I here? Am I even allowed in here??” You were filled with questions as the German pulled you into his office.

He was dead silent at first then suddenly he pulled you into his embrace. Shock coursed through your veins but like muscle memory, your arms found their way around Nico.

“What is happening? Nico?” You were so confused. You were made to believe that Nico had hated you — but now everything was as foggy as the weather.

“ Holy Fuck, Y/N! Oh how much I’ve missed you” Nico muttered in your hair.

You were dazed, your mind was reeling and you had no concept of reality at this very moment. You thought that you were about to be chewed out and criticized by Nico and be told that his being nice was just a facade for the world.

Words couldn’t come out of your mouth as you felt hot tears building up. Nico’s hug felt like home and security — you finally felt like you didn’t need to pretend to be the always strong, independent and put-together Y/N the world expected you to be.

You let yourself slump in his hold and clutch him even tighter to you.

“Oh, you poor thing. What have they done to you” As you hear his words , you can’t hold back your tears and they fall uncontrollably. Your breath hitched with every inhale you took.

“N-nico I’m so sorry. I- I should’ve listened to you! I-im so sorry for everything I’ve done to hurt you” You felt Nico’s hand soothingly caressed your hair.

“I’ve forgiven you a long time ago, Bärchen.” Nico hadn’t called you his little bear for so long that when you heard it once more you bawled even harder.

“Okay, let’s get you some water and we’ll talk, yeah?” Nico asked gently as he put you at arm's length— trying to stop himself from laughing at your snotty and red face.

You slapped his arm playfully and then nodded in agreement as you let Nico guide you to his couch.

You let yourself survey his office — and one thing caught your attention. It was the picture of a younger version of you and Nico on his first win with you being his junior engineer. You couldn't help but smile at the memories.

It was even before Lewis came to Mercedes. You were just a rookie and Nico fought his team into letting you into his engineer team for the race.

Nico shouted in joy on his radio thanking everyone including you. Nico had given you special recognition and that was when the world had started to know the name Y/N L/N.

A cold bottle brought you out of your recollection of the past. You took the bottle and a snack that Nico handed you with a thank you and a grin. He still kept your favorite snacks in stock, you truly missed your big brother.

“So tell me Bärchen, how have you been? Finally out of hell’s clutches. Congratulations on that by the way” Nico tipped his bottle towards you.

Nico had never resented Mercedes before… well when you were with him anyway. But when you were suddenly put into Lewis’ team — Nico had turned a 180.

“I have so much to tell you. And you are so right in leaving that hell hole when you won the championship. I wished you dragged me away with you” you said in a joking sarcastic manner — however you meant every single word.

You were mid-chew, when you saw Nico’s face suddenly fell and turned cold. You felt your spine tingle and goosebumps ran through your skin. Nico then faced you with such seriousness that you turned nervous to the bone

“N-nico? Did I say anything wrong?”

“Listen carefully Y/N. That place is a viper den and I would’ve done anything to get out of there. I did try to move teams and I was planning to take you with me. But Toto knew and they transferred you to Lewis. “ Nico held your hand as his eyes were turning red from the tears building up. You were speechless yourself and you could only listen to what Nico had to say.

“They made me avoid and cut ties with you … I know it was cowardly of me but I didn’t know what to do, they threatened your job and your future Bärchen. They were ready to block everything and make sure your future in Formula 1 would not lead to anything. I know your dreams my Bärchen… so I did as they asked” Tears were now starting to fall on the German’s eyes — you could see the pain and emotion through them that you couldn’t hold your tears anymore.

You clutched Nico’s hand tighter, urging him to go on. You felt shame and mortification fill your body, after everything that has happened it was all because Nico was trying to protect you and your future.

“Mercedes made me an ultimatum… I get to leave the team and they would leave you alone if I won a championship” A gasp flew out of your mouth. You thought that you knew everything that had happened— yet you were as blind as a bat at the length of monstrosity that they were willing to go through. They made you believe that Nico was out to get Lewis out of jealousy but all his desperation was for freedom; not only his but for yours as well.

“But … when I did win, they made another exit clause. It was that I could not contact you when you still worked for them.” With a heavy sigh, Nico then met your eyes.

Your lips quivered with disbelief— you thought that Nico had avoided you because of hatred. But it was all because of the despicability of Toto and Mercedes.

“Nico, I’m so sorry. After everything you’ve done for me … and I only hurt you in the end. I don’t deserve your forgiveness and I don’t deserve you” You cried your heart out and Nico pulled you back into his embrace.

“Hey, none of that! I’ve forgiven you and I know that you didn’t mean any of it. You were blinded by love and false information, a very deadly combo and I understand. But we both finally came out unscathed right?” Nico joked. You couldn't help but snicker, yeah right unscathed. Both of you knew how much they’d damaged the two of you.

“Yup! Absolutely, completely healthy and undamaged. “ you tried to joke to lighten the blow “But Nico, what they’ve done to you was abysmal! They deserve to be sued or something! What Mercedes did was blackmail.”

“Oh! You tell me? You’ve stayed longer than me! Imagine putting up with abuse for more years— couldn’t be me.” The two of you laughed at the shared trauma.

“But, Y/N are you okay now? Is Red Bull treating you right?”

“So far, yeah. I never knew that a motorhome could be like that. It made me realize how much toxicity ran in Mercedes” You shook your head out of disbelief.

“I could see you smiling more, and you’re also glowing my bärchen! So you’re now with Max, yeah?” Nico suddenly transformed into the diva that he is and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes affectionately.

“ Thank you, kind sir. And yes, I am seeing Max; and I am happy! Max encouraged me to talk to you, y’know. And yes he also knows about the Lewis drama, he got to experience it firsthand during the grid party”

“Ah! I’ve heard about that~ great job handling Toto by the way. And I did warn you about Hamilton, did I not? But I gotta say as your self-proclaimed brother, you should also be wary of Max… well drivers in general” Nico said catching you off guard. Prompting you to ask why out of curiosity.

“There is just something about us that drives us to extreme extents to get what we want — I could bet that the majority of us are ready to give our lives or more just to achieve it. The question is … what does Max want?” Nico’s question made you think.

What did Max want? You were sure that being a world champion was one of his priorities… but he was not using you as Lewis had done. Right?

Your dilemma was cut short when even pressing matters had fallen on your plate in the form of a heavy succession of knocks heard through Nico’s door.

“Ms. Y/N? Are you in here?” You looked at Nico to which he only shrugged and gave you a look of cluelessness

“Yes, I’m here please come in” You muttered aloud. And to your surprise, it was a frazzled Red Bull staff who was clutching her iPad as she tried to catch her breath.

“Ms. Y/N your presence is needed at Red Bull ASAP. Mr. Horner has summoned you urgently”

“To what is this about?” You questioned further

“Mercedes has filed a lawsuit on you for data and contract breach”

“WHAT?!”

Taglist : @vicurious28 @xoscar03 @barnestatic @stelena-klayley @sopheeg @imagandom @4-20-21-12 @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e @minkyungseokie @d3kstar @kimialaia @cosmicwintr @younxii @ssrcsm @paigem00 @seokjinkismet @wcnorris @jayjay11122 @embersparklz @sam-is-lost @peterholland04 @luckyladycreator2 @lovemesomeescapism @yettobedetermined7 @nikfigueiredo @ironmaiden1313 @alliwantisadonut @uuoozzii @marshmummy @kemillyfreitas @yaesflorist @zoeyjadetice2010 @splaterparty0-0 @likedbygaslyy @myinternettlifeimagine @ilamara @pluviophilefangirl @starssfall @haydensith @adoreleeknw @leilanixx @dr4g0ngirl @forfeityourbugs @choisannyreads @justtprachisblog @felicityforyou @jehun @halleest @closestthingtocoffee @jexxy04 @tremendousstarlighttragedy @a-beaverhausen

[comfortless]

God könig and his only worshipper who doesn't try to get him more followers cause she wants all of his attention on her

another strange vaguely Greek/Roman au?! ^^ (also to your other message: no worries!! being too nice would make me lazy!) this prompt is like a reversal of this and i am here for it!

content/warnings: suggestive, König may or may not have killed some guy no big deal..!

It isn’t as if he bestows great blessings upon you or grants your deepest, most guarded wishes…

It’s just that he’s lovely in all forms: the very apex of some marbelesque, masculine statue made flesh. Warm to the touch and so very real and alive that it was difficult to focus on worshiping him proper when your very being sang for him.

He’s probably only some great god of war, Ares, but without the long list of lovers and offspring - only you. There was nothing that he could do to benefit you much, just a humble citizen that had no need of taking up a weapon…

Yet he was so heart achingly beautiful with the docile look in his eyes, the contrast to his stature that bore the look of a proper hunter, you could not keep yourself from returning to him.

All of the other men in the city pale in comparison to the god you pray to, nestled up in the foothills where you make your trek day by day to speak… knowing that nightly he comes to you in dreams with little glimpses of futures or pasts: the things you can not comprehend yet those in Olympus could parse together with such ease.

As his only worshiper, you are never apart for long.

He descends that mountain each time to meet with you in green meadows with the gentlest look in his eyes.

He has no temple in which to pray to… but, you’ve made a temple of your own within yourself all for him. He knows it, knows well when you pray at your feet and he sheepishly orders you to stop that, stand, face him, and he would lend you his mighty weapon any day if you would just ask for him to use it.

Your god deserves and army of men to fight and scramble for his favor, a harem of women to tend to his needs… but the thought alone is enough to leave bitterness on your tongue.

You don’t want to share him, only savor the honeyed words and touches between the two of you, never muddy what is sacred with another’s prayers or offerings.

… Are yours not already enough?

You only find out that they most certainly are the day a suitor begins his arrogant courtship and… within that very hour he is no longer. A stray spear from the pit pierced right through him…? What a strange way to go out. You don’t even think to question it until you find yourself meandering through soft grass for your meeting with König.

He’s a warrior, too, he should know the intricacies of how a weapon that heavy might rise up on the wind just to strike some poor, silly man down before he could even take your hand and lie with you.

You tell him of this odd occurrence whilst you whittle away at a tiny carving of him with a paring knife, König sat just adjacent to you.

First, he tells you that a blade meant for herbs and vegetables is no good for wood. The dull blade is pried from your hands with ease and tossed aside into the foliage surrounding you both. No need for little idols when your god willingly comes down to grace you, anyhow…

Then, he tells you that… it isn’t fair for you to have eyes for any other. Is his presence not enough? Is he not stronger and more capable than any of your puny, mortal men? He could protect you, haul you up to Olympus and make you his bride, give you as many children as you want… Wouldn’t you like that more?

Your stare is so telling, hands shaking as you set the unfinished figure aside, and the words do not come, not when the look he gives you goes from adoring and sweet to near deadly in an instant. It’s the first time he’s offered to bless you with anything but bloodshed in your favor… a peculiar promise of love in return for your selfishness and gifts of milk and honey…

“I do not think I am worthy of that…” The words come tumbling, clumsy and weighty on your tongue. Could he detect the yearning there..? Surely he knew with the way he invaded your dreaming, and even now as his hand finds your shoulder to push you back down into the soft bed of the earth.

“You wish to make yourself worthy, little one..?”

You only nod, once, as your heart finds its way into your throat and your robe is torn away to flutter out with the wind.

[harrieatthemet]

It’s Pronounced ‘Breasts’

in which Harry gets embarrassed and Angel Baby goes to the Grammys. 

im back agaaainnnn

“What’d she just say?” 

There’s nothing he wants to do more than to succumb to the belly laugh that’s bubbling in his throat. With a hot face, breath held and eyes practically watering he manages to ward it off. Not because he actually wants to, but because he glanced over at you; mouth agape in horror, eyes blown real wide in unison.

You did not think it was funny. At all. 

There’s a pudgy, proud-faced toddler sat adjacent from you both; hair spilling down her back in thick waves with a neatly tied bow a-top her head, cheeks rosy and flush as her round baby face starts contorting in amusement. Harry’s team is swallowing their chuckles, eyes boggling each other to silently confirm the word that just flew from your daughter’s mouth. 

That very familiar shit-eating grin she inherited (from Harry, not you, and you never let him live it down) was touted confidently. The only person who wanted Harry to unleash that laugh more than he did was angel baby. 

“Maybe we misheard ‘er?” he has to choke the words out to shoo off his giggle.

And he sucks in a breath when the back of your hand roughly collides with the side of his arm, not long followed by a very unkind side eye. You mutter something under your breath, something he couldn’t quite make out entirely but well-versed enough to know it was nothing nice. 

“Baby,” your voice is soft as you lock in on angel baby, but stern enough so that your point hits home as best it can for the barely 1 year old, “that’s a no no word, ok? That is not nice.”

There’s no way you don’t find it funny, he thinks. It’s a little funny. Especially because angel baby isn’t quite processing what the big deal is. She’s just sat sweetly, eyes doe-like and unbeknownst. And when you open your mouth to say something again, you’re interrupted by a squeaky little voice that confirms you absolutely did not mishear her.

“Titties!”

At this point Harry just cuts loose. It’s a gut-ripping laugh that he couldn’t hold down after angel baby doubled down. What ensues is laughter from everyone else in the room. Because, well, Harry’s laughing was the only green light they needed.

Your face, flushed with a dangerous combination of embarrassment and irritation, sends Harry a warning look amidst your quick reach to pick up angel baby. She squeals pleasingly once she takes notice to how she managed to get daddy’s sides splitting, on top of the collective few still bold enough to laugh. There’s nothing angel baby loves more than an audience, a character trait she undoubtedly gets from her father.

The tone in your voice as you reprimand the toddler is enough to give Harry the magnitude of the lecture he’s sure he’ll get about it later, but undoubtedly worth the risk. Angel baby, at the ripe age of 1 years old, can’t grasp the gravity of the issue either.  

“G’head and laugh,” your lamenting is just white noise to him at this point, “enable it like it’s not inappropriate!” 

Perched precociously on your hip, grin prominent as ever with dazzled eyes, Harry only guffaws harder at the fact angel baby is pleased with the rise she's gotten out of everyone. Especially you. 

“Can y’blame her” he mewls standing up, finger going to brush a few face-framing curls from her eyes, “m’honestly thinking th’same, you in that dress n’all. ” 

He coos in adoration at the baby on your hip because, honestly, there’s next to nothing she can do or say to get him to see her as anything other than an absolute angel. And he wiggles his eyebrows at you, paying an ode to the cleavage adoring your chest.

“Christ, Harry,” you groan, apologizing to the collective of people stifling chuckles, “can you just back me up here?”

“Y’right,” he admits in unison with a head nod, clearing his throat before forcing himself to get serious “Button, it’s not polite t’say that.” 

And, though the moment is incredibly fleeting, you feel a sense of relief that Harry’s managed to see your point. It’s short lived in the most humbling way.

“It’s pronounced breasts, m’love.”

A groan comes tumbling out of you before you hobble off, angel baby giggling as she catches Harry doubling over in laughter again. You mouth a quiet fuck you to him from the door, neck arched to turn your head to glance at him behind you, before following his assistant out of the bedroom and down the hallway. 

“M’sorry,” his voice is distant, though he's scurrying to catch up, “c’mon it was too easy!” 

He’s mumbling apologies to you, though they’re often stunted by laughter, for the bulk of the evening. And on the red carpet, he can feel his face get hot. Not from the assortment of cameras and flashes, or people yelling his name, but from the toddler clad in designer adorning his hip. Because as he goes to kiss her cheek for a photo, she whispers her newfound word of the day in his ear. 

“Daddy,” and her smirk is awe’d at by groups of people, “titties.”

His lips pucker to avoid laughter because, for starters, she’s not a skilled whisperer. So of course, you’re close enough in ear shot to overhear. There’s no way you’ll fold to anger on the red carpet at the Grammy’s, but you’ll fold to it as soon as you get him alone. And while, ok yes, it’s pretty funny when she says it, he’s realizing his 1 year old has a newfound affinity for boobs. 

“Maybe y’were right,” his voice is hushed as he leans closer to you at the table, “y’know, ‘bout the thing earlier, at th’house.” 

They’re announcing album of the year, and the two of you wave gleefully when the camera twirls to give viewers a shot of him as one of the nominees, so he’s trying to be as demure as humanly possible. But once that camera wanders elsewhere, you seep your smile but the tone is serious through gritted teeth, 

“You broke it,” and you smile again when they open the winner’s envelope, “you fix it.”

He goes to say something else while adjusting angel baby on his lap, but he’s abrupt cut off. A wave of cheers and celebratory back pats ensue promptly after his name is read off. And you can compartmentalize, so you stand up and pocket the discussion to congratulate him with a kiss. With angel baby sandwiched between you, he bounces her up and down before planting her back to his side before he starts his trek on stage. 

You’re too wrapped up in the excitement, the overcoming proud feeling that’s absolutely permeating the table, to fully digest the fact he’s toted angel baby up on stage to accept his award alongside him. In fact, it’s not until he’s halfway through his speech that you notice.

“And of course,” he wins a room full of coos bouncing the giggly baby on his hip, “m’little co-writer ‘ere. A real way with words, this little one. Say g’night, peach!” 

Hand to God, on everything you love, at no point did you think Harry bringing angel baby on stage would go awry. Naturally, you had your reservations; big room of people, an abundance of cameras, 

With her hair falling past her shoulders, grin a mile wide and cheeks rosy as she puts her mouth just above the mic, she breaths right into it, “titties!” 

[moralesluvr]

thinking about soft!miguel witnessing his son or daughter being born 🥹 and he’s jus all Teary eyed

PARTY OF THREE | m. o’hara.

even under the dim atmosphere of the hospital room, miguel thinks you shine— brown skin glowing underneath the fluorescent lights that beam from the adjacent window, eyebrows knitting together as a groan tumbled off of your lips, back arching. the pain that flickered through your eyes before they fluttered closed had miguel’s big heart racing, protectiveness overwhelming him as he tried to be as supportive as he could.

although, he lost points for execution when he told you to ‘just push’, resulting in a scolding from you through grit teeth as you told him to try pushing a literal human out of you.

he was silent after that.

his eyes flickered to your wedding ring, your lovely piece of jewelry that gleamed in his brown irises as he grabbed your bejeweled palm, squeezing as fat tears slid down his cheeks.

seeing you like this, legs spread open and hand on your round tummy with sobs escaping your throat, he almost couldn’t bear it. something about the way you were squeezing his hand set him into a trance, love drunk on your strong body, and the way you still looked beautiful as you were in the process of delivering your beautiful baby.

a scream rips from your throat, tears sliding down your cheeks as you cursed loudly, “fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“you can do it, mi esposa.” miguel murmured, planting a kiss on your ringed hand as you squeezed his own, body convulsing as you gave your last push all that you had in you when you heard incoherent coos and cries.

your body goes limp, legs trembling against the uncomfortable hospital sheets, but you don’t care about comfort right now. the nurses in front of you are wrapping your lovely baby girl in a pink towel and when they hand her to you, there’s no ceasing to your crying, hands trembling as you tutted at your newborn.

“she’s so…perfect.” your husband chimed as he caressed her head with a soft hand, “look, mama…she has your nose.”

“and your eyes.” you smiled, beaming at your husband from below as you kissed your daughter, “hello, honey…i’ve been waiting so long to meet you…”

the amount of kisses you pepper on her soft skin aren’t measurable by number. she’s so beautiful and she looks just like miguel, no matter how much he protests that she’s identical to you.

and when he holds her, something inside of you ignites, so powerful and ethereal that it brings more tears to your pretty eyes. he’s swaying her gently, kissing her cheeks and admiring her baby-soft skin. (literally)

you could tell he was already so in love with her. he practically was cling to her, nose resting on her forehead gently as he coddled her, but still verbalizing to you about how good of a mother you would be and how wonderful you did.

“nearly took me out.” you had sighed, “but i would do it a hundred times over. well, maybe not a hundred, but-“

miguel’s laugh is what cuts off your sentence, and the first thing you think of is that it’s warm. the type of warm that only you could bring him, that your newborn could bring him— and it’s so sweet that you bask in the moment while you can. his flashing smile and squinted eyes, he’s so beautiful, you think— and nothing could change the beauty of this moment that you both share.

miguel looks down at your daughter with a twinkle in his eye as he beams a smile,

“i love you, gabriella o’hara.”

and when he waltzes to you, gorgeous face reddened and warm, he kisses your forehead,

“and i love you, my strong mama.”

[thunderandsage]

hannibal fic recs

(in honor of my first ever fandom… yea i get the implications of how that makes me look 😂 anyways, i tend to like the hannibal fics that are closer to the tone and content of the series vs some of the more popular ones jsyk, and i’m putting the more “same characters, different vibes ” fics in the bottom section. my absolute favorites recs are the ones with red titles)

SEASON 1 ERA/VIBES

Pièce Montée, 3k words, episode-style case fic with well-written original characters and plot, sympathetic killers, would kill (ha) for this to be an actual episode on the show

where there is smoke, there is fire, 3k, georgia madchen character study, reading experience comparable to the joy and dread of watching sparks catch on kindling

Foreplay, 1.5k, despite the title not a smut fic but is actually a hannibal character study which takes the premise “seeing people as meat” and seeing how he does/doesn’t view people’s humanity

SEASON 2 ERA/VIBES

Salome, 6k words, tension, delves into the dark obsessive side of oscar wilde’s work, excellent hannibal pov

As Smoke to Flame, 3k, wherein the seduction does include fucking and predictably doesn’t make anything better, focuses on the inherent angst and betrayal of will’s ploy

Trotline, 7k, takes the fluffy-sounding premise of “will takes hannibal fishing” and makes it uh hannibal, an incredible take on hannibal’s sadism/cruelty, gorgeous looming sense of dread

each according to its own kind, 192k, after getting released will ditches the fbi and leaves for the other side of the continent, a love letter to the pacific northwest, the best will graham interpretation i have ever seen, slowburn character study, bonus points bc hannibal gets decked not once but twice in glorious detail, john steinbeck vibes, one of my favorite pieces of writing ever

pitiful things sometimes born in hospitals, 8k, daemon au where will has yet another difference, not a hannigram fic, beverly/will vibes, bittersweet and tragic

your heart is a vast stone desert, 10k, a conversation goes left field and enters the thorny splendor of psychedelic imagery and the most sinuous dialogue you’ve ever read, takes inspiration from ives’s play venus in fur

SEASON 3 ERA/VIBES

Silver Springs, 2k, a Dolce “let’s make this worse,” non-linear writing, heavy angst but god it hurts so good, gorgeous feels from the eponymous song

Tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks, 6k, a short scene in the BSHCI, what it means to be loved gently by a monster, grotesque and tender at the same time

highway 190, 10k, will graham growing up as a queer man in the deep south and beyond, religious trauma, prose as vivid and striking as a poisonous snake

Churrasco, 2k, leans into the avant-garde vibes of the show, all characters start out using false identities and you get to see them revealed slowly

Au Natur, 9k, a bleak but beautiful imagining of post-fall hannigram, fully embraces will graham’s manipulative tendencies

forgiveness, 1k, a poem-with-footnotes format as Will attempts to explain what his life has become to his father

Sins of Omission, 15k, Jack Crawford’s perspective on the development of hannigram, regret, very good outsider pov

VIBES-ADJACENT (aka fics that don’t “feel hannibal” or are vy AU, but are vy good nonetheless)

Adrasteia, 96k words, Kitchen Nightmares AU, nsfc (not safe for chilton), a hilariously sarcastic and done(tm) will graham, the first long hannibal fic that i read

Black Swan, 10k, as per the tags “all serial killers are birds, some birds are serial killers,” a cracky Swan Lake AU

Separately to a Wood, 13k, a “love at first sight” leads to “proposal during the breakfast scene,” soft

They Came to Florence or: Plagiarize This Fic, 5k, hannibal is a huge fan of will graham’s novels and becomes incensed when someone plagiarizes them, the author was apparently inspired to write this after someone plagiarized one of her fics and i respect that

Poppies, 5k, wherein it is acknowledged that for all the horror she’s been through abigail is just a teenage girl and is allowed some soft moments

their beaks not yet turned red, 134k, magical realism au where the baby does miraculously save the marriage, includes hilarious takes on the inherent absurdities of hannibal’s trial

Be Your Dog, 4k, a rock band au that adapts will graham’s proverbial “descent to the dark side” with an ominous intensity

Sagittarius, 13k, a salem witch trials au where will seeks to avenge abigail’s death by any means necessary, dark but cathartic

a siphon; to pass through, 71k, will has type one diabetes and hannibal is an infuriatingly smug vampire, crack but extremely well-written

[atinylittlepain]

Will Joel and Mama have another kid in the Unexpected universe? 👀👀

well... since everyone's asking...

An Unexpected Addition

dad!joel x f!reader

joel masterlist

warnings | 18+ smut-adjacent, fluffy nonsense, joel gets dunked on by his family but that's nothing new

a/n | unexpected universe, my darling, i will always love writing for you

........................

“You know Joel’s gonna say no, right?”

“He won’t if you say yes.”

“Ellie.” The girl huffs, her eyes widening in a silent plea that quickly turns vocal.

“Oh c’mon. Look at this face! How could you say no to this face?” At that, Ellie holds up the squirming puppy until she’s nose to nose with him. She has to admit, he is a sweet little thing. The runt of a new litter, which Ellie had explained could not be trained up like the rest of the pack for guard duties due to his size. 

“I had to take him. No one else wanted him! Please, will you please talk to Joel? He’s not gonna say no to you.” She sighs, already feeling herself crumbling at her girl’s pleading.

“Alright, I’ll talk to him–” Ellie gasps, a bright grin across her face, but she’s not done talking.

“But, if we keep this dog, he’s gonna be your responsibility, alright? You’ve gotta feed him, and walk him, and train him up a little. I don’t wanna hear any complaints– he’s gonna be your dog, Ellie bean.” Ellie nods emphatically at that, holding the puppy a little closer in her arms.

“Yes ma’am. You got it! Do you think the old man would be pissed if I named him Joel junior?” 

Lord help them all.

…

Later that night, after getting Libby to sleep, she slips into their bedroom to find Joel already propped up in bed, reading an old paperback. Ellie had kept the puppy out in the garage the rest of the afternoon, promising to keep it under wraps until she talked to Joel.

Here goes nothing. 

“Joel?” 

“Hmm?” He doesn’t even look up, obviously preoccupied with whatever he’s reading. She can’t help the huff she lets out, realizing that she’s going to have to be a whole lot less subtle about this. She pads over to the bed, getting onto the mattress on all fours as she crawls over to her man. Still nothing. 

“Joel?” His eyes barely glance away from his book to her, before settling back on the page he’s on.

“I’m listening, honey. What is it?” He is most definitely not listening with the way he’s squinting at his book, lips parted in a silent mouthing of what he’s reading. She’s going to have to resort to drastic measures. 

“Hey, I was reading that! What’re you–” He cuts himself off, mouth agape as in one fell swoop she plucks the book out of his hands, tossing it aside and straddling his lap, her palms splaying out over his chest. 

“I need to talk to you about something, baby.” Got him. His eyes are wide, broad palms reflexively going to the meat of her thighs, fingers squeezing lightly as he wets his lips.

“What is it, mama?” Her lips crook in a grin, hands trailing up to thread through his hair in the way she knows gets him good and stupid for her. His eyes practically roll back in his head when she tugs lightly at his waves.

“How would you feel about a new addition to the family?” He refocuses on her at that, eyes widening and fingers flexing in their grasp on her.

“A new– to the family?” She smiles, nodding.

“Mmhmm. What do you think about–” Before she can get the rest of her question out, he moves with uncharacteristic speed, flipping them over so she’s laid out underneath him, his hips slotted with hers. He lands a series of sloppy kisses to her lips, leaving her no room to speak as he licks into her mouth. When he finally pulls away, he’s got the biggest grin on his face. 

“I know I said all that shit when I was drunk– but damn, I’ve been thinking about it. About you. So pretty, and soft, and round. Look so beautiful carrying my child, darlin. Can’t help but think about giving you another one.” Oh fuck, not this again. When he dips down to give her another kiss, she holds him back by his shoulders, scrunching her face up at him.

“Wait, what? That is not what I’m talking about.” His face goes slack.

“It– it’s not?” 

“Jesus Christ, Joel, no. I was gonna ask you if it’d be ok if–” Once again, she gets cut off, but this time by the sound of a yipping bark coming from downstairs. Joel’s head whips around, sitting back on his haunches.

“What the fuck was that?” Another round of barks resounds through the house, loud enough to set Libby off crying across the hall. Joel’s already up, bounding down the stairs as she darts into the nursery to grab their crying girl before following him down.

The scene she finds is something else.

“What is that?” Joel has one hand on his head, the other gesturing vigorously to the puppy that is currently massacring one of their couch cushions. Ellie puts on her best smile, stepping between Joel and the sight of the dog.

“That is JJ. Short for Joel junior.” She tentatively steps beside Joel, Libby on her hip now consoled by the sight of the little furball. He turns to her, eyebrows raised.

“That’s the new addition you were trying to tell me about?” All she can do is smile and shrug. Ellie scoops the dog– JJ– up off the couch, finally getting him to stop attacking the now shredded couch cushion. Joel scoffs.

“Oh, absolutely not.” Ellie blanches at that, shuffling over to Joel and hoisting JJ up to him.

“Please, old man. He’ll be my responsibility, I swear! He can stay in the garage with me– and you won’t have to hardly ever see him!” Joel grumbles, getting ready to voice his protest, but just then, Libby lets out a shriek of laughter.

“Doggy, mama. Look!” Her girl points at JJ in Ellie’s arms, giggling again at the squirming puppy. She glances at Joel, seeing that his face has practically melted as he watches Libby. She smiles down at her girl.

“That’s right, baby, it’s a doggy. You wanna pet him?” Libby nods her head enthusiastically, and Ellie grins as she steps over to them, holding JJ up to let Libby tentatively pat his head. When he licks her little palm, she lets out another peel of laughter. 

She and Ellie glance at Joel as Libby continues to pet JJ. His face has gone completely slack at the sight, arms hanging loosely at his sides. She can’t help the laugh she lets out looking at him.

“You did say you wanted a little more testosterone in the house.” He sighs.

“Alright, fine. But that dog stays out of the main house, I don’t want him tearing up the place. And you gotta teach him some manners. You understand?” Ellie grins, nodding emphatically.

“Understood. Thanks, old man. Welcome to the family, Joel junior.” 

“Kid, please don’t call him that.”

“What? That’s his name.” 

[sordidmusings]

Sweetly Scented Secrets - Intro (Reader x CYOE Various)

Summary: On a stop to a new island, you managed to find yourself at a witch's stall. Despite yourself, you actually bought some things. The purchase that vexes you is a perfume that could supposedly urge confessions out of those it targets.

Word Count: ~1.8k

A/N: this is some good ol’ Nonsense that came from this ridiculous video of a man spraying himself with perfume then seemingly being unable to keep divulging So Much so suddenly 💀 I have been told that he frequently dissociates into a state of info dumping. I will choose to believe the perfume compelled him. And thus it will compel the blorbos. Some will be sfw and some nsfw (and tagged accordingly of course). All will likely be goofy. I will play with which is which and who happens based on my fancy unless requested! This gets out first cuz it was p much done Forever Ago so all I had to do was fill it out and edit it and make a mood board then set it to come out on a Monday cuz Fuck Em

Warnings: gn! reader (I tend to write from afab perspective since that’s what I am so if something slips please let me know 🤍 this goes for all my gn!), a wild OC appears! Take her in all her cringy glory 👌🏻, I just always wanna write witches man, can’t decide if magic (largely in the modern western esoterica sense) being legitimate counts as canon divergence, if so then this is canon adjacent 🤷🏼‍♀️

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

A spiritual crisis was not how you wanted to start your morning.

You were stuck between the deep-rooted desire to believe in magic and every skeptic you’ve ever known talking down their nose at you. It felt like a very unbalanced war between the two. The weight of scorn had tamped down your wish for magic to be fact for years, but a wanting pit in your chest still clung to “what if”. That pit had begun to grow roots and stems as the Grand Line showed you places and life beyond the scope of your imagination. What explanation was there for Devil Fruits besides magic? Though, magic, it seems, was only for Gods to deal out. Earthly life must keep trying to use science to catch up or fight for what scraps the Gods toss their way.

You continued to stare dubiously at the carved stone bottle in your hand. Delicate, swooping letters decorated its soft pink label, spelling out “Affection’s Confession” in deep violet. Gold accents brought out their curves and matched the shimmering golden wax that sealed the bottle’s cork and dripped down to crawl on the translucent fluorite vessel. It sat heavy in your hand, each second passing with it in your palm adding another gram to it then another and another. You sighed and placed it back on your dresser to stare some more. The light dancing through the sloshing clear liquid, bouncing and glimmering through lines of blue and green and purple, only made it more enticing to you.

Your hesitation was exacerbated by the perfume’s seller. Well, maybe potion was a better word? Saying “potion” made you feel silly though, even if it was given to you by a witch. And that brings you back to the whole problem.

The last island you’d visited was known for its strange customs and belief in the arcane. Most weren’t living by the practice; just knew of its validity as yet another mundane fact of life. Finding the actual practitioners was much harder, or it was supposed to be.

You would’ve had to have been blind or willfully, stubbornly ignorant to see that woman and think anything other than “witch”. Feathers and beads were tied in her dark hair, swaying in time with her vertebrae earrings on each turn of her head to watch passersby. You kept your eyes to them as you approached her, feeling unsettled and intrigued by the strange decorations. Shortly after you began heading towards her, her face snapped to you and she zeroed in, making you feel like a rabbit stalled before a fox. When she stood from her seat and sashayed over to greet you in front of her stall, you realized she was barefoot, sporting wood and leather anklets instead of shoes. The music they beat with each of her steps and the open smile that warmed her face eased you just a bit.

“Hello, sweet thing,” she greeted, the cheery tone of her voice ringing out the pet name. “I can help you find just what you need. The coven and I have built a stock to aid any situation, including yours.”

As she leaned forward in a semblance of a bow, you noticed her large necklace of braided bramble (Thorns still on? you noticed incredulously) hung low, holding dried roses in front of her cleavage. The languid way it followed her matched the nature of the scant drapings of deep red and dirty beige fabric, which hung on her in the vague shape of a summer dress. She held out her suntanned arms, palms up to ask for your hands. Having her this close nearly made you step back; something unnatural lived in the air around her and her tawny eyes saw right through doors and walls and words and skin. Feeling hesitant, you continued to meet her gaze and only offered a mumbled greeting.

“Come now, let me have your hands,” she encouraged gently. “They’ll tell me what you need.”

“How are they supposed to do that?” you asked curtly. “And I usually like knowing someone’s name before hand-holding.”

“Call me Pythia,” she chimed immediately, still holding her bent posture and asking hands. “I don’t have the time to explain the hands. I promise I won’t keep them though.” She giggled at her own… joke? You were hoping that was a joke. You eyed the peeks of death behind her (articulated bugs here, bones there, jarred creatures, hides, blood-) that made all the pretty wares around them seem tainted.

Watching her laugh was the first time you noticed the knack her loving smile had for curling into something more impish, cluing you in that she knew something you didn’t. Despite this making her feel even more dangerous to interact with, you put your hands in hers.

“Thank you, lovely,” Pythia said, voice heavy with a gratefulness that didn’t seem to fit the moment to you. While she cradled your hands, you took in the many carved rings and bangles of stone, leather, metal, and bone cautiously.

That caution had rooted itself to you and was very stubbornly sticking to your feelings about her wares. Besides the perfume, you had purchased an herbal pouch to hang over your bed, meant to aid with ease and depth of sleep. The first night, you noticed your mind was much calmer than its usual anxious whirring before bed. The second night, you listened to the first of her instructions and took ten deep breaths through your nose against the sigil-embroidered pouch. Your sleep came mere minutes after taking in the floral and earthy scent. It had you decide to try out the full instructions, adding on asking the herbs for good rest, placing a gentle kiss to the sigil, and sealing it with a long press of your forehead to the marking. You slept like the dead.

The success had you brainstorming on how to make it back to her in a few months, as she had warned you that the effects will fade with use. It has only been three weeks since your first full ritual with the pouch and you can already feel it start to wane just a bit. You mourned this morning when the sun through your window had actually managed to rouse you from sleep. When you were grumpily blinking at the bright light, you had noticed the perfume bottle still sitting untouched next to the beaming light.

If the pouch worked then shouldn’t this?

That hope was what led you to stare over the bottle as you were now, and try to convince yourself that it wouldn’t be so ridiculous to try out. After all, you had felt quite stupid speaking to your herb pouch and that feeling paled in comparison to the benefits it brought you. You took another minute to mull it over then steeled yourself with a deep breath to go through opening up the bottle.

You found and flipped open your pocket knife before settling on your bed with the bottle. As Pythia had instructed, you placed a kiss on each flat side of the blade before cutting around the rim of the bottle, right where the cork met glass. You thanked the blade and flipped it back closed. You twisted the cork out, took a deep breath filled with curiosity, and smelt… nothing?

Pulling the opening of the bottle to press on your upper lip, you took another long sniff. Yep. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You frowned at the bottle, wondering if the witch had actually managed to sell you snake oil. You sent your narrowed gaze to the herb pouch above your bed then back to the bottle in your grip, mulling over your trust in the liquid. Eventually, a mix of previous success and your burning curiosity got you to continue trying the perfume out. You were also pretty sure you saw actual snake oil in her shop, so that handed the witch a point for gumption and a deduction from trickery.

Her instructions were quite detailed for the perfume to be at its most potent. Things about the meanings associated with fingers and the places on the body and the importance of the order and all of it seemed to jumble together. When you asked if she had anything to write it down, she shrugged and told you what you remembered of the instructions was the act meant for you to take. Maddeningly unhelpful. So you sat on your bed and ran them through your memory until you were sure you recalled everything as clearly as possible. After a good while meditating on it, you were surprised by the detail that your mind let you recall of it. You were ready.

Blocking the small opening with your right ring finger, you overturned the bottle and flipped it back, leaving a drop of the substance on your fingertip. After repeating the process on the other side, you took to dabbing the prescribed spots with those fingers, making sure your right hand touched your left side and your left hand touched your right. You focused on following the list exactly - a dot on the front of each ankle, a dab on the center of the top of the thighs, one on each hip bone, a small swipe along each bottom rib. Each application was made with a whisper of “I can receive”.

Refreshing the liquid on your fingers, this time your pinky fingers, you continued to the next section. You placed a dab at the center of each clavicle, a swipe on the back ends of the jaw, and a circle on each temple, this time muttering “I can hear” with each touch. The liquid placed on each middle finger was rubbed into the opposite wrist to the words “I can unlock”. Lastly, you used your index fingers to draw a star on your third eye. This time right stayed with right and left with left when you flicked the bottom points to aim at your irises (“I can see”) and the side points to follow your brow (“I can know“). Your fingers joined together to draw the final point directly towards the crown of your head. With finality, you voiced a solid and steady “I can understand”.

Once you had finished applying, you noticed a sweet smell start to emanate from your skin. It was quite delicate at first, luring you to lean closer and seek it out. That pull only increased as you also sought more of the pleasant sensation warming your mind with each lungful of the scent. After a good thirty seconds, it leveled out, leaving you feeling boneless and content like you’d woken from a nap basking in the sun. The face of your love smiling down on you during a lazy summer afternoon flashed in your mind with the feeling.

Okay, maybe this will make them confess to me.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Whose confession do you seek?

(list of who I have ideas for in no particular order) Law, Ace, Sanji, Nami, Robin, Koby, Luffy, Buggy, Mihawk

Other names are not unwelcome, just the juices weren't flowing for others vibing immediately with the energy of this prompt but tbh sometimes the challenge of that makes better fics. If you do want to request, please include sfw or nsfw and whether you want gn, afab, amab, fem, or masc. If you don't then my personal default is afab (female physiology, avoided or they/them pronouns for gender). I'm a bit nervous about writing transfem and transmasc properly, but so long as you're okay giving it a once over and pointing if I've made mistakes so I can correct them then I'm happy to try!

Also I had to fight the urge to start this with a dumbass joke hard lol the other first lines were "There are two wolves within you. Both of them are telling you this is likely a crock of shit."

[mosaickiwi]

Soft - Light

Your attempt to cook on a date night goes from bad to worse when the lights go out. Redacted always has you covered, though. 900ish words, GN reader as per usual c:

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

~

"I definitely did something wrong," you muttered and wrinkled your nose at your creation.

"Hmm, maybe they just look like that?" Ren unhelpfully commented from behind you, hovering just as close as always. You didn't have to see his face to know he was grinning. 

"You know what they look like." Smoke began rising from the pan, accompanied by a rather burnt smell as you desperately tried to wriggle the spatula under the lumpy, oversized pancake. All you managed to do was tear its dark brown edges to a mess and reveal the insides—somehow still raw with bits of unmixed batter. You sighed and switched off the burner, turning around to dump the hot pan in the sink and blast it under the faucet. Rather half-heartedly, you scrubbed at the surface. “Breakfast for dinner shouldn't be this hard.”

They watched you with amusement as the water immediately sizzled and steamed from the pan. Curiously, he picked up the box of pancake mix at the stove, turning it in his hands. "You know I'd love t'help, Angel, but…" he trailed off and you could easily fill in the blank.

"You'd do a lot worse, yeah." You quickly gave up on saving the cookware and moved to your boyfriend's side, peering at the box in his hand. Your eyes narrowed on a few words in the first step of instructions. Prepare a nonstick skillet or griddle. One glance back at the shiny metal mistake soaking in the sink told you right away: it was doomed from the start. "You know what? I don’t care. Let’s just order—"

A sudden crack of thunder drowned out your voice and you jumped. The evening sky was perfectly clear when Ren arrived, but the weather in Corland Bay loved to change on a dime. You could hear rain pelt harshly against the windows in the living room as another thunderous roar boomed, much louder than the first. Only a second passed before the lights flickered and died to shroud the apartment in darkness.

“Are you kidding me!?” came Violet’s muffled scream of frustration through the walls. She must’ve been in the middle of a very important gaming session.

You clung to the dark-haired hacker's arm as your eyes took their time adjusting in the dark. He didn't seem all that phased though, casually wrapping an arm around you while he pulled out his phone. The kitchen was tinted in a faint glow from the screen. You expected him to turn on the flashlight like any normal human would, but he began scrolling through a delivery app.

"Ren," you started, utterly confused by his actions. "Who do you think is going to deliver in a storm when their power is out?"

"The whole bay isn't out. Look," he said and carefully guided you into the living room with a nod towards the windows.

He took a seat while you drew back the curtain to peek. Sure enough, most of Corland was lit up like usual. In fact, it only seemed like your apartment building and a few adjacent ones were completely dark. Another point in the long list against your landlord for being cheap.

The lights from outside weren't much, but you could see a lot better once the curtain was open completely. You walked back over to the couch and Ren immediately held his arms open for you, still searching his phone. 

His hair tickled against your cheek as he pulled you into his lap and rested his chin on your shoulder. "Y'liked the place we ordered from last weekend, right? Wanna try 'em again?” 

"Yeah," you answered and settled against them. He turned his cheek to place a quick kiss on your neck before reading the options aloud. His voice was a soft whisper, blended with the now gentle patter of rain against glass. Their hand rubbed careful circles on your back to soothe you. It was more than enough to put you at ease in his embrace, the disaster in the sink long forgotten.

Quiet minutes passed as he spoke and you responded silently in turn. The barely there nods or shakes of your head you made were all you could muster as exhaustion caught up. He finished up the order and soon you were pressing yourself further against the warmth of their body.

He made no comment when you maneuvered in his lap, merely tilting his chin up to welcome the kiss you needed. The phone slipped from his hand not a moment later. You felt the shape of his smile against your lips and giggled softly at his reaction. It was sweet to know how much he always wanted you. Cool fingers came to rest at your thigh as you kissed him once more, then pulled back.

"Tired?" he asked and looked up at you with a smile, leaning into your hand that traced along the shell of his ear. The faint light filtering through the window caught on his piercings when you pushed his bangs back.

"Mhmm," you said with a lazy nod. "Still gonna kiss you 'til the food's here, though."

"Lucky me." He tugged you forward, gentle as could be, and softly kissed the corner of your mouth as he mumbled, "Yippee."

The surprised laugh you let out was only muffled by the fevered press of their lips.

[nevernonline]

Hello, I was wondering if I could make a request for Seventeen 🥺🥺, how would he react to seeing you breastfeed your baby in front of him?🫣

hiii nonnie!! of course <3 I'm sorry this took a second keke. I was nervous to make it feel right, thank you sm for the rec!!

I just did coups-hoshi for now so it's not too long if you want some more lmk &lt;3

SVT's reactions to you seeing you breastfeeding and taking care of your child in front of them:

choi seungcheol:

he would melt immediately!! ik this man would be the biggest softie seeing his two loves enjoying themselves.

I can picture him catching his s/o off guard while they're casually resting as he comes home excited to see the two of them 😭

would come over to them without even saying hello verbally just giving a small kiss on each of their heads to join them sitting adjacent and watching with his little smile.

obvi the queen kkuma would come to enjoy being with her now larger family. (she is the light of MY life)

kkuma and baby cheol matching hair clips, when tbh?? (why can I write all day abt dad cheol idk??)

yoon jeonghan:

would be amazed he met someone who actually wanted to raise his child. not because he didn't think anyone would, just because he knows it has to be hard staying home while he works.

he would tend HAND AND FOOT while they take care of the baby, they worked hard so he would be working his ass off making them both so so happy.

constantly found giggling and buying the baby the cutest little gifts and playing with their sylvanian families families together.

seeing his s/o breastfeeding would def not be a surprise to him!! he'd be so happy that they just feel comfortable sharing the entire experience with him.

hong jisoo:

im so sorry shua as a dad would make me melt fr??

i can't even imagine the matching daddy x baby fits.

he'd sing softly to the baby while his s/o breastfeeds

Joshua def would make their s/o a killer ass playlist for while they feed just so the baby can have a chill time during feeding and so!! his s/o constantly thinks about them while they're doing so if he's not present.

hover dad <3 but in the best way!! knows he's busy so any little chance he can have to spend with his family he takes.

would be so excited about their child's first trip on a plane, probably to visit la and introduce them to the "LA Vibes"

100% best dad and husband a person could want.

wen junhui:

absolutely has read so many parenting books to understand how much goes into the process so he is always informed and not asking you too many questions if you're stressed.

when he saw you breastfeeding for the first time, he'd definitely be intrigued not in a seggsy way just in a genuine curiosity type of way.

he'd be really clingy asking you if you need his help for anything, pumping, diaper changing, etc.

above and beyond dad type like his s/o wouldn't even know what hit him.

him trying to teach your newborn his name >>>

playing you and your baby sweet piano medley's while plastering his cute smile all over the room.

def would enjoy sharing baby food

NEVER leaving your side, but in a helpful way, he'd def drop everything to be by your side like the best partner ever???

kwon soonyoung:

he's the mom 100%

I can picture him just literally going mush over the fact he has a child?? like??

would be tactile as hell to you while you breastfed, just crawling in the chair behind you to wrap his arms around you and his child, he has to be a part of it ALL.

showing everyone photos and videos 24/7 of the family he created. like he's so PROUD!!

compares his and his s/o's baby photos to see who their child looks like more and even if it isn't him, finds the smallest comparison to his features and gives them a nickname from birth based on that.

maybe a clumsy father at times but in the most endearing way.

makes choreography to cool baby songs and shows them off while his s/o feeds their baby for entertainment.

sings really soft and sweet love songs over a baby monitor.

[fruitcoops]

Can you write another jealous sirius fic? I love your work!🫶🏾

Par for the course, this is less 'jealous' and more 'gently possessive', but yes I absolutely can! Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove, but I once again tale the burden of a shitty OC. Enjoy!

TW alcohol mentions, mild drunkenness

The sway of his hips was something to behold. It was subtle (everything about Remus was subtle, if he could help it), but movement rippled from the strong arc of his shoulders and narrowed the world to a single place of fineness. His shirt was loose and casual; Sirius’ mouth watered at the thought of getting to touch the small of his back. It wouldn’t take more than a slip of his hand.

Remus meandered around the edge of the crowd in a winding path. Sirius hid a smile in the side of his hand. He caught a glimpse of pink cheeks when Remus turned his head at the change in music, lips forming a soft ‘oh’ of excitement—he picked up the pace with only a little wobble and Sirius couldn’t help a snort.

Please, let me—

I got this. Remus’ insistence had been adorable; the press of his entire palm over Sirius’ mouth, even moreso.

You’re drunk, honey.

I’m tipsy. A kiss to his forehead. And I’m fine.

He was fine. Remus didn’t really do ‘not fine’, didn’t like the cotton-mouth feeling the next morning, would probably commit a murder to avoid an unnecessary headache. But at this point in the night, he was certainly tipsy enough that Sirius questioned his ability to not spill water all over them both.

Lily’s hair flashed in a copper fan under the low light when James spun her. Her laughter spiked over the noise of the other dancers, unfiltered by the canopy above the dance floor. He leaned back in his seat with a sigh and followed Remus with his eyes as he bobbed and wove, all kinds of amber honey against his soft blue button-down. It was nothing fancy. They went dancing often now, and grew bored of dressing up.

Sirius thought he looked better than a dozen Stanley Cups.

He narrowed his eyes. It seemed those thoughts did not belong to him alone.

Remus hadn’t noticed yet; that much was clear from the tilt of his smile as he watched James and Lily dance before moving closer to the bar. Sirius suffered to take his eyes off the line of his jaw to fix on the other side of the bartop. The man there was watching Remus with absolutely none of the respect he deserved. That alone made Sirius want to kick his stool out from under him, but then the fucker stood up, and—

Someone’s hand was in his hair.

“Blegh—”

“Excuse me,” James said loudly, cupping Sirius’ face in both hands. “Hello? Captain RBF, you’re off the clock, I need my bestie for the evening.”

“Don’t say bestie.”

Lily’s palm moved down to clasp across his forehead, as if feeling for a fever. “Doctor, he’s dying,” she declared. “I prescribe one song, or two and a half minutes of attempted fun.”

“That might kill him faster,” James said, solemn as the grave.

“I’m having fun!” Sirius protested. “And—move, you’re blocking my view.”

James’ brow furrowed. “Of what? The best view is right in front of you.”

A disgruntled noise found its way out before words could; he batted them away, but they just settled down in the adjacent seats and squished him between their shoulders. He couldn’t find it in himself to be grumpy about it.

“Alright,” Lily sighed. Her nails drummed a gentle chime against her gin and tonic. “What are we grouching about tonight?”

“The—ugh, would you fucking look at that?” The man from the stool had nearly made his way to Remus by now. James and Lily shared a look in the corners of his vision. Sirius groaned and took James by the chin, turning his head toward them. “Look.”

“…I don’t see anything.”

“Are the glasses just for show?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Lily said suddenly, only to muffle a giggle behind her hand.

Sirius turned to her in dismay. “Don’t laugh!”

“Is that it?”

“It’s not funny!”

“Honey, you married somebody with a cute face and a rockin’ bod.” Lily reached out to pat the back of his hand. “This is the price you pay.”

James nodded, taking a slow sip of his lemonade. “It’s true. Basic risk-reward, my man.”

Public Shithead Number One sidled up to Remus at the counter. Sirius’ stomach turned. “Can I—”

“Bodily harm is forbidden,” James interrupted.

He chewed the inside of his lip. “…Can I—”

“Probably not.”

“It wasn’t bodily harm.” Mostly.

Lily flicked him on the shoulder. “How about we try putting on a happy face for a double-date and enjoying the show?”

“I’m gonna go get him,” he muttered, setting his napkin aside.

Four hands grabbed him before he could so much as stand. “No,” James and Lily chorused.

“That guy is going to flirt with him!”

“What’s gonna happen?” Lily asked. Her brow arched at a frightening angle. “Hmm? It’s Remus, dummy. He looks at you like the sun shines out of your ass.”

“But he’s kind of drunk,” Sirius protested.

“So he probably won’t even notice any flirting. He’s oblivious enough when he’s sober. If you march over there, he’ll just be upset.”

Upset. God, Sirius hated it when Remus was upset. Any step past mildly vexed was devastating. And when he was otherwise having such a good night, looking so cute and cuddly with his pink cheeks, it was out of the question.

“Fine,” he managed. The table creaked when he rested his elbows on it. “But I’m keeping an eye on the shithead’s hands.”

Lily’s eyes gleamed with amusement as she turned to James. “Can you leash him?”

“Have I ever?”

“He’s making moves.” Sirius bit down on the inside of his cheek to control his scowl. Remus didn’t even like blonds. It was ridiculous for the shithead to even try, with his slacks and overbalanced swagger. The stretch of Remus’ shirt over his upper back while he leaned on the bartop was infinitely nicer to look at.

“Don’t explode, sweetheart.” Lily patted his shoulder, tapping away at her phone. “I don’t want to clean it up.”

“Look at him. He’s like a peacock—oh.”

The tapping paused. “Oh?”

“Remus noticed him.”

“Yeah, the guy’s practically in his lap.”

“No.” A grin budded in Sirius’ chest and bloomed across his face, urged on by horrible, giddy joy. “No, no, he asked Remus a question.”

Next to him, James straightened; the front legs of his chair hit the tile with a soft clunk. “Remus noticed him?”

Remus was fully turned to the side now, hands tight around two water glasses and face lit by more than just Edison bulbs. His profile was sharpened by the pale canvas backdrop as he leaned in slightly, flushed with excitement. The shithead looked thrilled.

Remus took a deep breath, and opened his mouth.

“I love that little nerd,” Lily murmured, leaning into Sirius’ side with a hand to her mouth. “He’s so weird. What do you think set him off?”

“I have no idea,” James said through a laugh. “But I’ll pray for that poor soul.”

“I won’t.” Sirius squinted for a better view. The shithead’s smile was long gone. Before his eyes, the hand that had been itching to wander was shoved solidly into the pocket of charcoal slacks.

Remus Lupin was the greatest part of his life, the moon to his stars, the wing to his center, his favorite non-James individual. He was intelligent, hardworking, and handsome to a fault. Sirius constantly marveled at his kind heart.

When Remus had a touch more alcohol than usual, his helpful nature and brilliant mind tended to entangle the closest victim if they asked the right question, Cthulu-style. He’d spill anything: hockey strategy, random knowledge, government secrets.

By the looks of it, the shithead had asked a very interesting question, indeed.

He attempted an escape, but Remus touched him gently on the shoulder and snagged his attention right back. “It’s an art,” Sirius muttered.

James sighed. “I should save him.”

“No, no.” Sirius reached back blindly to pat his arm. “Leave it. For me.”

“You wanted that guy flayed on your doorstep five minutes ago.”

“This is so much better. I’ll get him in a minute.” Or three.

The song changed and Lily let out a soft gasp. “No, go get him, I want to dance.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, but stood and brushed his hands off on his pants. “You hate it when I have fun,” he called.

“Sure do!” Lily chirped, raising her glass.

The crowd parted for him like warm butter. The wind was picking up, cool on his skin and ruffling the back of Remus’ hair where it was just starting to curl. He supposed that was the benefit of finding an outdoor space; no sweaty, crushing darkness to get stuck in as the night went on.

“—which is where I met Moody,” Remus was saying as he drew closer. His forehead creased. “Have I mentioned Moody?”

The other man looked vaguely terrified. “I…don’t know.”

Remus waved a hand. “It’s fine. He was my mentor out of college. Cranky bastard, fake leg, heart of gold. Anyway, I worked with him for a couple years, mostly on broken bones, but some tendon stuff. I told you about those, remember?”

The man’s throat bobbed. “Yes. Look, I was going to ask—”

“Oh, I can answer any of your questions,” Remus said earnestly. Sirius’ heart skipped a beat at the genuine hope in his voice. Fucking sweetheart. “Seriously, I—oh, hey!”

“Hi.” The small of his back was just as soft as Sirius knew it would be. His temple was a little warmer than normal when he brushed a kiss over it, but Remus pushed into it with a quiet hum, and that banished all worry from his mind in one blow. “Having fun?”

“Yeah, I made a friend. This is Derek, he’s so nice.” His blinks were slow, and he took a moment to focus when he looked up. A crooked smile followed on its heels. “Missed you. Got your water.”

“Thanks, loup.”

A faint cough caught their attention. Sirius twitched a brow; ‘Derek’ shuffled in place for a few seconds. “Is he, uh, yours?”

“My what?” It was best to keep it blunt in situations like this. Sirius felt for the man’s general confusion, but it wasn’t like he had missed Remus’ wedding ring.

“Husband,” Remus answered for him with a nudge to Sirius’ waist. “Duh.”

“I was asking your friend,” Sirius laughed, taking one of the glasses from Remus. Derek’s gaze flickered over them. He watched his eyes bulge when they landed on Remus’ left hand.

Huh. Perhaps he had missed the ring, after all.

“Yeah, I’m—” Derek patted his pockets as redness crept up his neck. “I’m just—I’m going to—sorry about that, excuse me.”

Sirius watched until his glossy hair was out of sight. Then, and only then, did he look back down at Remus. “You’re a terror.”

“Hmm.” Fingertips trailed over his belt; Remus nestled his cheek in the bend of Sirius’ neck. “I like these jeans.”

“I know.”

“I like this song.”

“Lily’s already dancing. Asked me to come find you.”

Remus smiled, and planted a sloppy kiss to the side of his neck before tangling their fingers. A long exhale warmed his skin. “You’re gonna love me forever, right?”

Sirius buried his nose in the top of his head and took a deep breath. He let his other hand settle at the back of Remus’ neck, drawing a happy noise from him. “I’m going to love you forever.”

“That’s good.”

“You’re not going to say it back?” Sirius teased.

Remus pulled his face free long enough to narrow his eyes. It did nothing to quell his grin. “Come dance with me, then we’ll see.”

A soft ‘I love you’ found them far before the end of the song did. Sirius closed his eyes and savored the shape of it, pressed against his lips like a prayer and a promise.

[spoiled-fawn]

Lust by Nature {Part 5}

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Read on ao3

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader

MDNI: 18+!

Warnings for this chapter: None

Word Count: ~6.5k

Summary: In Mexico with Los Vaqueros!

A/N: I swear I didn't take a break, I just wrote this a billion times and am struggling to make my writing better without a beta writer. I hope ye enjoy!

The constant drone of the plane's engines became white noise after the first hour. It blended into the sound of your breathing by the 10th. Given four days after the medical ward stint, exhaustion still coats your nerves with a steady hum, rivaling the plane’s engines.

Thankful for your government stipend coming back into play, a private plane across the pond was allocated to the team. Besides this, it meant you got to lie down and sleep during the flight to Mexico.

“Sae whit th' heck ur we daein' ower 'ere again?”

Groaning at the man whose lap your head rests on, you slap his knee weakly.

“Soap, be quiet.”

“Sorry, bonnie.”

His warm hand that's been petting you throughout the flight cards through your hair. A soft laugh bleeds through his breath. He’s been careful not to touch your horns after giving him a warning bite to his thigh earlier.

The sergeant had been an angel the past few days, as had Gaz and Ghost. After Deidrick was reported and shipped out in handcuffs, the boys stuck to you like glue in the easy moments. Annoyingly hovering because they had no issue with your protests.

Price and Gaz sit adjacent to you with laptops clicking away. Ghost, sitting opposite of you, spread out like a pampered cat. Something you feel that man deserves to enjoy.

“Tha’s the fifth time you're asking, Soap.” Gaz groans out. Making a noise that you can assume is him stretching out, the lower timber of Price echoes him a moment later.

“Alejandro’s men are having a tiff about selection to bring in a hybrid operator.” Price begins. “And they’ve got an issue with a renegade group. So, they’re having us help with their bug problem and show off Saint.”

“Show off that she’s a little shit most of the time?” Ghosts' deadpan humor never ceases to amaze you. All you manage is a small flip of your middle finger in response, making him laugh again.

“The fact being…” Price begins, voice coming closer to where you lie. “She is an enhancement to our team. Show ‘em how we work and help ‘em outta bit.”

You catch the small frown on his lips as your eyes blink open. The ocean in his eyes seems colder, foggy. A shallow wave of concern emits, forcing you to become conscious of how you’re curled into a ball, searching for warmth in the comfort of Soap’s legs. Goosebumps have been in a constant roll on and off during the flight, the chill on your body never ceasing to crest over you.

“How you feelin?”

“Cold, and like I need a B-12 shot with a Red Bull.” Looking much better than days prior, the dark circles under your eyes were still present. You’d all chalked it up to being subjected to a serious wound, then fighting against restraints whilst wounded, followed immediately by an 18-hour flight.

At least Mexico was going to be warm.

The feeling of a cheap blanket covering you brings some sense of ease as Price gently tucks it around you.

You miss the look Soap gives him when your eyes close.

“We’ll be there soon and can get you an IV if you want.” Is all the Captain offers before he goes back to his seat.

Truthfully it wasn’t even something that would help at this point. You’ve been starved of anything intimate for days you don’t care to count. As dry as the salt flats, your body groans with each crack of your powers. Stiff, split, and rough on each edge that tries to hold itself together.

In this state, your body let a small remnant of human mechanics take over to get you in good health. Eating food felt good, and drinking electrolytes and vitamins made you perk up. Your demon accepted emotions offered in your presence; love and care.

And usually, you would preen in the presence of these, savoring every moment you could. Yet right now, you hated the taste of it on your tongue.

Every ounce of care you received felt embarrassing. Coddled like something so fragile that can’t be protected. It angered you, the sense of superiority you radiated washed out and dragged under sea foam while trying to grasp at the surface. As if the moment you were left with the humans and away from the lab, every force of nature wanted to knock you off the water you walked on.

For now, you were surviving.

Price hadn’t said much after the interrupted kiss on the couch, having to scramble while Laswell mandated him on everything to be done.

The kiss was just that. A kiss.

Something passionate in the moment, but you knew it didn’t hold even a flicker of a flame. There wasn’t time in the dark hours of the night to huddle around the wet wicker that he is. He’s in charge, and his life is sacrificed to do so.

Sure, it would have been easy enough to come in and check on you while practically being babysat by the others. You listened for his familiar gait to approach your room in the late hours of the night.

But it never came.

With Laswell on base, the lack of interaction between her and Price made you feel like a toy soldier. Forgotten and avoided. Like he was embarrassed after it all. It made the attention from the others feel artificial, pitiful of his absence that was painfully obvious in the way you silently pleaded for him.

You had a bit more pep in your step by the time the plane landed.

Stepping into the Chihuahuan desert greets you with an eye-blinding brightness. The warmth is unrivaled as you open up like a sunflower. Looking around the expansive base, did you become coherent to where you are. Oh. This is familiar. Very familiar.

The mountain range peaks in the background of the small town in contrast to the flat land the base is planted onto. The airstrip has an impressive size, yet your plane is the only one showing activity. Like a barricaded wall, your teammates form a barrier around you while walking forward.

“Bienvenido de nuevo, my friends.” The first speaks out. Is that-?

“Good to see you all, again.” The second voice followed immediately after.

No fucking way. Had Price not been blocking your view with his large and toned back, you’d have recognized the voices sooner. You wait, rather forced to, while the men stand in a guarding wall before you.

“¿Dónde está tu demonio?” The men shift to disperse and greet each other with handshakes and half-hugs.

“She’s ‘ere. And don’t call her-” Ghost starts, looking over his shoulder to you while Price stays blocking your view.

“¿Y a quién llamas demonio?”

Ringing out from behind Price, peaking your head out to make your appearance.

Meeting the gazes of Alejandro and Rodolfo.

“They call me Saint, now.” Walking forward with an almost shy smile, you take in their reactions; Alejandro looks as dumbfounded as the day he first met you while Rudy almost cycles through the emotions of grief before blatant excitement settles on his face.

“Santa madre de-” Rudy punches Alejandro’s arm as if to make sure they're not in one of your trances. “You? It’s you?”

Dropping your bags, you meet him in the middle with a small hop into his arms. Peaking an eye open, you watch Alejandro walk with an almost angry swagger to wrap his arms around your back.

“Is this where you went? After how long- ¿Estás bromeando?” He almost shouts against your hair, each of them leaning down to leave a kiss where your horns won’t poke them.

“Are they takin’ the piss?” Gaz whisper-yells behind you, followed by Soap. “Does she speak Spanish?”

The small reunion disperses after a moment. Turning to face your teammates by the sides of the Mexican operators, a dazzling smile on your lips. Something they hadn’t seen before.

“Care to enlighten us how you know each other?” Price's arms crossed, body rocking on his heels. Chin tilted down in almost a parental look while flicking his eyes between the three of you. Your smile falls while taking in his sharpness.

“She came on a test assignment with us, in the forest. Even let us interview her.” Alejandro claps your back, looking down with an affectionate smile. “Was supposed to be for us, but they felt our men were not ready to handle a mujer malvada like her.”

“So when she left, we thought that would be the last of her we’d ever see.” Rudy finishes, moving a hand to pet your hair. “Mira cómo has crecido, princesa.” The low murmur draws a soft smile as he looks you over, almost too intimate with so many eyes watching.

Price shouldn’t feel threatened as threatened as he does.

Getting a move on, you’re led into the base's hallways. Nostalgia rushes over your lungs, almost suffocating from having the tangible feeling. Back when you were less experienced in a trepidatious custody battle.

An empty barracks hallway designated to 141 has three rooms lined up. Soap and Ghost already make their way into one, while Gaz moves to the one next to them. Price watches as you enter yours, staying in the doorway while Rudy enters the room with you.

“Are you not going to sleep with her?” Alejandro’s voice startles the seasoned vet. Watching as Price tries to move away to hide the tips of his ears turning red.

“No- No. It’s not like that.” He shakes it off, saying it for the thousandth time. Setting his bag down opposite where Gaz lays. “She’s her own person. I’m not using her for my entertainment.” There’s so much more he could say to defend himself. Dispel any feelings or even waste a breath trying to justify himself. But he leaves it at that.

He can feel Alejandro watching, hearing the cogs in his brain turning at the lack of an answer. Gaz brushes aside them to join Soap and Ghost.

“She’s different.” Alejandro starts, checking to see your door closed before he moves closer to Price. “She needs you to survive, Capitán. Nothing wrong or in the way of it- Yet you’re not getting your team to its full potential.”

This whole trip should have been a video call. Price’s clothes drop on the bed with heavy thuds, no soft movements but refrains from snapping at his host. Tension glimmers in the silence. Sounds of their breaths cut at your voice through the wall, almost smothered by the boys on the opposite side.

“We’ve been here less than an hour. How are you already giving me pointers on my team?” It’s not meant to be as harsh as it sounds. Alejandro can read between the lines from his position.

“She’s quiet. She’s not happy yet, not to what she should be.” His murmur breaks down the grating air between them. “You need to be careful with how slow your bond is going-” There’s that fucking word again. It pisses him off. It pisses him off more so that Alejandro knows your schematics exceptionally well to dish out advice. “Before something happens to her.”

“An’ what’s going to happen?”

The sound of your door opening as you and Rudy enter the hallway pulls Alejandro’s attention for a moment. Arms crossed while leaning against the wall in a relaxed form, his eyes almost appear softer with a quiet plead behind them.

“Just don’t let it get to that point, cabrón.”

Whatever means Price and the Colonel had drafted up was to show Los Vaqueros how your integration uplifts the team's mission while coinciding with integrating you into society. It sounds like a reentry program, save for the fact that you weren’t a criminal. The obvious added perk that you’ve been shaped into a soldier.

Plus you were fucking hot, so the perfect candidate to be a psyop if needed to sway the Mexican forces.

Tensions were underlaid with the men’s belief that having more than human power in an ordinary fight would soon lead to their dismissal. That, and that there was an underlying bias towards hybrids and creatures even stepping into war.

Having met Alejandro and Rudy previously set you at a higher level than respect. They know your capabilities and knew how to promote you.

You can hear the gym filled with deep voices that speak fast and low. Some women linger in their respective groups, but there was less of them compared to the base in England. The sound of the voices diminishes as you and the team step into the room.

Confidence exuded from Price, Gaz, Ghost, and Soap as they entered; Finally being able to parade you around in front of strangers made that feeling of being their pet return. Chin held high, your horns pointed towards the sky with a shine that catches the lights. Tail flickering behind you teased the soldiers with glances. The shape of your wings almost seemed like a shadow on your back, so black that it almost absorbed the light if not for the reflection of the soft scaled texture.

They move and flex in time with your breaths, brushing against Ghost as his hand keeps on your lower back to guide you through the door. Some whispers still stand out for those taking in your appearance, some speaking “Demonio” if they remember you.

When your red eyes look up and over the crowd, silence takes over.

“Buenos días, gracias por estar presente.” Alejandro breaks the static with an introduction and reasoning for the meeting- mandatory for the entirety of their base to move in on better resources, opportunities, and allocation of funding. “We welcome our friends back, to bring information on their newest addition.”

His speech moves through the facility definitions on the program; Highlighting the newest strategies for combined arms, and operations other than war, while showcasing how 141 has been integrating you within previously followed operations. A piece of them that solidifies their objective's success.

In the middle of the gym is a kill house. Made of plywood and spray-painted markings to denote entry and exit points, furnished to simulate a residential environment that tests differentiating friendly from hostile. Above is a projector screen, playing feed of the inside walls. It’s not the largest kill house you’ve been in, but tighter situations like this cause more stress and demand quicker reaction times.

In events such as this, where it's kill or be killed, those with a quicker reaction time will always come out on top. When Price steps up to speak, he presents you like a new piece of artillery.

“Saint can empathetically rule out emotions. Being able to sense them without even seeing the person, she can discern the intentions of the individual.” He shifts his weight, looking over the kill house before turning over to you. “The test will showcase her reaction time, and ability to compensate hostile forces while being mindful of civilians- if any, around her.”

Speaking on the heavy stress of why you were chosen for them, Price continues on while you're led to a small armory table by Rudy. His voice similar to telling a story with a moral at the end; Gloating on your interrogation skills and how you could make the information come out in less than a few minutes.

“Her breed is beautiful. Known for her looks, that's one of her greatest advantages. But-” You can hear him move about, getting comfortable in the crowd. “She is much more, than just a piece of art.”

Rudy’s hands check your gear, handing you an ISO and two 30-round mags while he leads you to the doorway.

“Show them what you’re made of, princesa. Eres mortal.” His lips meet your ear, giving a soft kiss that makes your smile grow pointed at the edges, giving a dangerous lick to your teeth. Rudy had learned how to rile you up since the first meeting, even in ways that Alejandro couldn’t.

You let your letting your lips kiss his cheek while smiling. A silent thank you for something sweet to make you feel just a bit more sinister. His hands give your waist a rough squeeze, your body absorbing his arousal as if sucking down water in an oasis.

Price’s voice booms a bit louder as the countdown begins overhead and signals Rudy to step back.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

“The challenge she faces today-”

Seven. Six. Five.

“will be the lack of human opponents.”

Four. Three. Two.

“But instead, virtual targets.”

One.

The buzzer rings out and your boot is already kicking in the door before it can finish. Sharpening your senses, to scan the maze-like layout of the house. The sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears fades in your mind.

As the first apparition appears, your hand moves with lightning speed to draw your weapon. The projected figure seemingly peaks by a bookcase with a weapon trained on you.

“Hostile.” Speaking in a growl from the back of your throat, a single burst rings out, hitting the target square in the chest before it fades away. Moving from the living room to the kitchen, four apparitions pop up from unexpected angles, forcing you to adapt and react in real-time. Going in time with how quickly the projections have them raise their weapons, you shoot bursts into their chest before looking at the figure displayed in a crouched position.

The barrel of your gun guides your eyes to focus, noting it's displaying a child crouched on the floor. “Civilian.” By the time you reach the fifth and final room, you’re met with a hostage situation playing on the bedroom wall.

“No te muevas o dispararé!”

Stilling, your gun stays trained on the man who holds the woman to his chest with a pistol raised to her head. The actor cries, cheesy enough it almost ruins the atmosphere. Before the animation can play out any further, a burst of fire embeds itself into the wall and they both disappear.

Finding your way back out, you dispose of the gear and fix your hair. Making your way back to the sides of your CO’s, the hidden signs of their approval don't dispel how it radiates around them.

But the sting of something sharp catches your heart. Surfing your gaze over your teammates, you catch Price’s eyes.

A sharp, hard-set stare holds you captive. Anger. You can tell from the sharp feeling in the back of your throat and almost as displeasure as pepper spray makes you recoil.

Did you fuck up?

The screen above draws your attention away. A fleeting excuse to turn away from him.

Your analytical statistics are side by side with the footage, showing near-perfect numbers; Two minutes in and out. Your figure, or lack thereof, looks as if a black haze in the kill house. Static borders the edges of you, leaving your eyes almost pitch black in the light amplification of the video.

“Think you look more of a ghost than Ghost does, lass.” Soap’s hushed laugh comforts you.

Trying to brush off whatever is stuck so far up your Captain’s ass, you stay between Ghost and Soap, hiding from Price’s aura that sours your confidence.

“Vaqueros,” Alejandro’s voice cuts the silence after the video ends. “It is time for your challenge.” He moves to the middle of his impromptu stage space where a sparring mat lies with a clear circle in the middle.

“War is changing, and now we have to. Pick a brother to fight and test her. Make it count. ¿Comprendido?”

The resulting answer is louder than you expected for a bunch of men who looked like they may faint at the sight of you.

The man sizes you up. Short wavy hair that looks black. About 6’ in height, medium build. Brown eyes. He’s by far no Gaz or Ghost, a lighter hue that doesn’t hold a depth like theirs. Less inviting.

The first lunge is led with his chest, feet following with the weight in his toes. Heavy in his strikes, you give the man credit and think you’d have been at least hit if he wasn’t a bit fearful. You can taste it.

Not using an increase of speed, you dance your dodges with him. He presses on, each time more intense as he gets used to your presence, your appearance, and nature. Not like you’d bite his hand off, damn. Having enough, you catch his wrist, using the shock of your touch to the advantage before turning and tossing him over your body and to the ground.

A collective sound of “Aye” and low whistles ring in the room, taunting and scrutinizing the operator looking up at you.

“Otra vez.” Masculinity in this culture is a serious thing, you learned a great deal from Alejandro and Rudy. There’s no smile, no laugh, or taunt, to your demeanor. His glare is vicious, but it means good progress for an actual spar.

Resetting, he wastes no time to tackle you.

You let him, wanting him to have his moment and feel a semblance of training. Your body rolls with his, absorbing his momentum while adjusting your limbs to grapple against his hold. Vaguely, he reminds you of a boar. Head-driven while using his size as intimidation, the testosterone that leaks from him is almost enough to make you cough.

It’s when you release a hiss of air from taking the knee to the ribs that you decide the show’s over. Elbowing the arm that holds himself up, locking your legs around his hips, you push him onto his back, growling. “Enough.” Your voice has that ethereal chime, sending shivers down the spines of those looking on with an intent to devour.

Focusing on his eyes, the connection forms a bridge. Golden glowing embers that only you can imagine leading your intentions to coat him with a soft push of influence. He stills beneath you. His grip on your thigh which was previously attempting to push you off becomes soft. Almost petting your muscle before he nods.

“Sí, señorita.”

The men watching start to holler, making enough racket that you have to push your control just a bit harder. Hand trailing over his face before taking his wrists and printing them above your head.

“Very good. Wake up.” As easy as it was to enter his mind, and form around him in a soft embrace, you pull back your influence. The trance leaves him in a breath, becoming aware of the crowd before looking up to find you smiling down on him.

The erection pressing against your ass is immediate. Giving his wrists a small squeeze, you stand from his lap a second later to let your actions speak.

It takes about another ten minutes for the meeting to adjourn. Some of the men had spoken up and even asked questions, and a lesser tension could be felt, compared to the beginning. They’d have much more work to do if it was ever to become a safe environment for whatever creature was chosen, but you had hope for Los Vaqueros.

Alejandro and Price agreed on having downtime before meeting for the second reason of the task force’s visit. With an hour to do nothing, Price decided to walk around on a self-guided tour, wanting to separate himself from the others.

He isn’t one to let curiosity get the best of him, but that became a lie when you joined. Tension in his knuckles begs to be cracked by the force of at least hitting something, pent-up frustration storming.

It was the moment between you and Rudy. He’d seen it.

What seemed like a private moment between you two hadn’t been fully concealed at the entrance point of the kill house. While everyone else had watched the feed of internal cameras, he’d been watching you.

Seeing you instantly melt into Rudy’s affection sparked something far too inappropriate for a man his age. Immature for a Captain. The nagging thoughts of hands coating something that belonged to him, made him want to lay his hands on you in any way. Spar marked as training, or grabbing you by the waist and against his chest.

Maybe you’d ask for a transfer. Fuck, maybe you’d be in bed with Rudy and Alejandro at the end of the night.

He doesn’t understand how you could chase him like a puppy, just to sniff a new bone and run in the opposite direction. Fleeting and impatient where your attention should be on him. You’re on his contract. Not theirs. That can’t possibly be broken and torn up. You’re his and his alone.

“I’m a fucking mess.” He admonished. To whom, he wasn't sure.

The hallways of the base were more intimate and narrow than the ones back home, making an eerie quietness come over him. Minimal sounds echoing, letting Price’s footsteps reverberate quietly on the concrete ground. It's when walking past a small corridor of offices, that the silence breaks.

“-your face, princesa. You’re tired and cold. No nos mientas.” Alejandro’s voice breaks over the hum of electricity in the halls. Straining to hear the vibrato of the conversation, Price follows the sound coming from an office a few yards away

“Tell, him. If he doesn’t know, how is he supposed to fix you?” Rudy’s voice consumes the space in a whisper, absorbing sound as he speaks gently. Price leans against an adjacent wall, the blinds on the door’s window blocking any view of him.

He can see you sitting on the desk with the two men he has loathed far too harshly since the start of the morning, crowding you. You lean into them, the movement of their hands petting you isn’t missed by Price.

The unspoken relationship between the three of you is so blatantly contrasted against you and the 141, that he wants to throw himself out of a window. The ignorant belief you wouldn’t stray from his heel grating in his mind.

Jealousy makes his lungs stutter at the wave of pressure from the sight. It makes him want to have a team bond that makes holding and sharing you in soft moments. It’s what he’s beginning to crave as he watches it happen with them.

Maybe if you weren’t a self-righteous prick it would be different. He tells himself, seething as he watches on.

“I’ll be fine. Just a few more days like this and I’ll be back to normal.” You almost sound defeated with the insistent directing and questioning.

“You know… We could always just-”

Before you can finish the sentence, Rudy’s hand gives a smack to your arm in the form of a reprimand. “No, cariño.”

Alejandro follows the reprimand, capturing your chin in his hand. “We respect the Captain. We’re not going to interfere with what you have together.”

Alright, Price is fractionally less mad at them, his paranoid mind bristling still.

“Yeah, right.” An irritated scoff leaves you, shaking your head from his hold. “Doesn’t want me. Made it known.”

When you hop off the desk to gather yourself, you miss the look between the Colonel and Sergeant Major.

“Price is a good man, princesa.” Alejandro starts, and the words stir you enough to let the disbelief on your face show.

“Why are you-” You cut yourself off, moving to turn on Alejandro. “Look at me. Any man would have fucked me on the first day. You know what's going to happen, if-”

It almost sounds as if you’re going to cry. Has it really been this big of an issue?

“Shh, you’re okay. Estas perfectamente bien.” Through the blinds, Price watches as they bring you back into their embraces. “We believe in you two, just let him come to his senses.” Rudy murmurs against your hair.

“If he doesn’t… Please call us, mi amor.” Alejandro finishes.

You don’t make it more than five minutes before being grabbed and shoved into an empty conference room.

“What the fuck-” A hand covers your mouth as the door locks behind you, flicking on a yellowing overhead light.

“What the fuck was that?” Startling at the intensity of his voice, your eyes dart to the ice-blue ones glaring at you, filled with rage.

“The hell are you talking about?” Your muffled reply makes his hand move from over your mouth and down to your jaw, his body crowding you against the wall.

“Don't you play stupid, girl.” Price’s voice drops lower than you’ve ever heard. Even thicker than when he finishes a cigar. The prickling feeling rolls off of him again, making your throat tighten. There’s another feeling to him. A crash of emotion that makes you want to lower your head and dispel any argument between each other. To please him.

Your silence makes him continue. “That little thing you had with Rodolfo earlier today. That little meeting you just had with them. What the fuck is going on?”

It's suffocating how fast your brain spins to make sense of it all. Trying to remember while the weight of his emotions makes a cyclone crash into you. It’s not fair that his eyes are boring into you, scanning for a lie.

Oh, Christ. That moment with Rudy. It almost feels shameful to know that he had seen it, and watched the intimacy between someone you trust. But the anger at Price for now approaching you like this, like he cared, outweighs everything.

“That wasn’t anything. It wasn’t even a thing.” Hissing back, gaze unmoving from his while puffing yourself up in defense. “It was a small pick me up.”

Price's expression turns dark. For a moment, all you can hear is the light humming above you.

“I saw it. Plain as day, Saint. The whole team did.” You feel the pressure on your body getting firmer. “Do you know how fucking embarrassing that is? Seeing you act like a little slut for all to see?”

If it wasn’t for the anger boiling in your veins, you’d be turned on by how degrading he is.

So, you play his game.

“Oh I see.” A silent grin haunts your lips. “You jealous, Price?” Tilting your head up before he reaffirms his hold on your jaw. “Didn’t like how he touched me?”

You can see how close he is to doing something, being on the edge of a tipping point you don’t know of. The anger floods into you, making your own emotions match. The previous submission evaporates into a storm of fury, potent enough that your tail twitches aggressively against the wall.

“You’re really askin’ for it, ain’t cha?” He fumes. Breath fanning across your lips, the heat makes you lick your own. The buckle of his belt presses against your stomach, and you wonder if it’ll leave a mark with how much he pushes onto you. “Say that again, I dare you."

The heated air between you charges something greater than your dream ever did on him, heavier than any touch you’ve felt by his hands. So, you do what he asks.

“Are you jealous, Captain?”

Before you take your next breath, his thumb moves to invade your mouth; Pressing against the backside of your lower teeth, he opens your mouth for you while leaning to speak against your ear.

“You think I don't know what kind of games you’re playing, right? Tha’ I don’t see how you’re acting right now?” The brush of his beard itches your right cheek. And god damn this forsaken man, your panties are already soaked from the feeling.

Your jaw is still trapped in his hold, not allowing you a noise besides the garbled mess of a protest.

“You’re trying to piss me off right now so I punish you, and give you the satisfaction you want eh?”

You’d argue that it didn’t start that way, but now he’s certainly correct. “Keep acting like a child and you’re gonna be treated like one. Demon brat.”

Had it not been for the use of that insult, you could have forgotten that you were mad in the first place. Saliva pools in your mouth, and you can see his eyes dart down at the stand that drops onto your shirt.

You remind him of your fangs with a curl of your upper lips.

Seemingly reigning himself in, he releases his hold but lets his thumb remain on your bottom lip as you swallow.

“You want me to behave?” Inhaling shakily, as if high on a stim, your head tilts back to match his glare. “You gonna keep me on a leash? Make sure I’m by your side so my tail only wags for you?”

Price raises his eyebrow at that and somehow you feel like you’ve just let him win.

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" His expression transforms into something more dangerous; A small smile curls on the corner of his mouth. "To be my little demon dog, staying by my feet, always ready to obey. Is that what you're after, Saint?"

Your hands move from the wall to instead find the meat of his hips, digging into his jeans with the tips of your nails. Pressing against him to stand on your tip-toes, the pressure of your hips together makes you bite down a groan, feeling a flicker of his arousal inlet to you.

“I’m not your little bitch.”

“You’re not?” He drawls, looking at you in fake surprise. The hand previously on your shoulder moves to your ass while he presses into you harsher.

"’Cause right now, you’re barking an awful lot with tha’ pretty little mouth of yours." He sneers, his hips grinding against yours forcing a gasp from you.

"And I think that pretty mouth of yours could make some different kinds of noises. Hm?"

At that, your head thuds against the wall. Fisting your hands onto his jeans, you don’t offer a response.

“Tsk. Gone quiet now?” His low laugh saturates your heart, the heat flowing to your core. To your surprise, he encourages your behavior. Lifting you with a hand under your ass with the other on your back, he turns to lay you on the conference table.

His erection grants you friction across your damp panties, good enough to almost sedate you in a drunken haze. When you prominently roll your hips against his straining cock, he groans loud enough to make him turn and bite his shirt.

“Maybe if you used me, I wouldn’t have to go bending over for anyone else.”

“You’re my operator. Your loyalty lies solely with me.” Snarling in a sharp contrast, a choleric look peers into you. “Is that understood?"

The drag of his beard across your cheek comes back, scratching your skin to bring you back from the feeling of his hardened cock rocking against your clit through your clothes. When you can only grunt in response, the hold on your jaw is the only warning before he kisses you.

Tongue diving in to meet your own, he dominates his way in while holding your jaw. Breaths borderline panting, the searing anger turning into a lustful spark, and fuck he tastes so good on your tongue. It almost dulls the meaning behind his words, of his claim and possession that comes to the surface. The feeling of submission comes to you again; Understanding that it's not you empathetically picking up on it, but rather the way your body wants to submit to his domineering energy.

His hand fists into your hair, holding you down as he licks into your mouth. You find your ground in the moment, kissing him back like a cannibal and expecting to see red smeared across each other's lips if he were to pull back.

“Show me you’re mine and I’ll give you what you want.” You can feel him start to leave you, his hold lessening to leave you on the table.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” A broken growl rumbles your chest, eyebrows furrowing as your jaw sets. Reaching out a hand to latch onto his belt, frustration glowing in your eyes.

He scoffs. Actually scoffs as he looks down with a twisted smile.

“Careful sweetheart. Don’t go ordering me around.” He easily shakes off your hand and greedily lets his eyes take in your body underneath him. It's uncomfortably tense as he grips your hip, moving to get off and away without a second thought.

The feeling of your pants tugging makes him stop.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding.”

Looking down, you both find you're stuck together; The button of your pants having looped into his belt buckle. It doesn't make any fucking sense whatsoever, but rather keeping his hips tilted against yours with the pull.

“Could be fucking. But not kidding.” You griped, not offering any assistance. Wanting to keep him there for longer, your hips buck up.

“Stop. Moving.” He hisses, adding emphasis as he smacks the top of your thigh. “I'm trying not to bloody rip it.”

“Just take it off.”

The whine comes unabashedly from you, childishly biting your lip as you laugh at him. His fingerwork is clumsy, unable to unhook the button from himself. Huffing, you swat his hands away to take over. “Let me-"

Your fingers fumble between the button seemingly wrapped around his belt buckle, weaving around the metal in a way unknown to either of you. You’d settle for divine intervention.

“How’s it so fucking tight-” His hand holds yours while he tries to pull free again, only to feel you’re still stuck.

“Ye sly. Old. Dog.”

The speed at which Price’s head whips back over his shoulder is almost concerning for a man his age. Had you not also immediately looked to see Soap standing at the door, staring with the proudest shit-eating grin, you’d have noticed the vein pumping in Price’s neck.

“Soap, ‘ave you gone daft? Get. Out.”

You can’t even respond as your jaw drops from the surprise. The man wolfishly snapping his eyes to find yours, and holding it with a tick in his jaw. Fuck, even he's aroused with the imagination of finding you and the Captain fucking. Without validating any part of the story, Soap darts away with the door clicking shut, Price aggressively pulls hard enough that you’re freed- clothing unscathed.

“That’s gonna be spread like wildfire now.” He busies himself with being sure his pants are on correctly and probably hiding any remnants of his hard-on. You let the silence hang while fixing yourself up, wanting to walk out of the room as if you weren't close to being fucked. Trailing your eyes over Price, he doesn't bother looking at you, but the subtle flush on the tips of his ears is there. An expert in hiding his emotions and blending in for whatever the social context calls for.

“Don’t act like that’s not what you want to happen.” Hopping off the table and heading to the door, he crowds you from behind. His warmth makes your hand pause on the door, feeling the draft of his breath skim your shoulder. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, sending an anxious chill down your spine. More and more it feels like you've lost your advantage with him.

“I don’t want an endless fling to become your permanence. To sustain you.” His hand wraps around your front, securing a place on your neck.

“I want to drown in you.”