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sweetestberryofthebunch · 1 month ago

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Give It To Someone Special (Detective!Agnes x f!Reader)

You take your fiancée home before the holidays, but your parents and Agnes have never been on the same wavelength. On the drive back home, you offer her the best remedy to release her tension that you know.

Content/Warnings: Smut, Rough sex, Car Sex, Dom/Sub Dynamic, Age Gap Relationship, Vaginal Fingering, Choking, Spit Play, Degradation kink, They fuck nasty but they really love each other

Thank you so much to @ragnarockz @msharkness @lotsofmilfs for beta reading and helping me get this out in time for the holidays! I appreciate all of you angels so much! ♡

I‘m actually home for Christmas for the first time in years and the amount of time driving around to meet family that finds me odd and off putting inspired me, but like make it horny and enjoyable. My Yuletide Gift, from me to you! Enjoy my loves, happy holidays!

It was raining. Of course it was, you were in early December, and thanks to climate change, Westview barely got an actual white Christmas anymore. Let alone snowy December Days. Driving even further down South to the town your parents lived in certainly hadn’t helped. Miniscule raindrops hit the windshield silently, making the view muddy. The road was concealed by the mist like rain, the cars headlights piercing through just enough to safely follow the path.

Some young pop stars had covered Last Christmas, and the radio played it for the third time today. If dinner had been better, you might have sung along. But, as per usual, bringing Agnes out to see your parents had gone like shit, so you didn’t exactly feel the holiday spirit right now. The rain didn’t exactly help either.

Agnes‘ hair was in a low ponytail, a few strands falling loose around her face, forehead creased stoically as her eyes were fixed on the road. A few days ago, you‘d found the first grey hairs on her head while laying entangled in the morning, pressing little kisses to the crown of her head as she’d frowned and told you to get box dye immediately.

Now, the grey had disappeared between the rich brown of the rest of her hair,. If if you didn’t know you probably wouldn’t even notice them at all. However, the frown on her face remained. Just, it wasn’t her own greys frustrating her anymore. It was your parents. You licked your lips, resisting the urge to reach for her hand. Not while she was driving in weather conditions like this.

„Thank you“, you said instead, breaking the silence that had lingered since you‘dyou'd entered the car in your parents driveway. „For coming with me. I know you don’t exactly get along.“

Her jaw tensed, you could hear the motor give a tiny roar when her foot pressed down on the gas a little harder. You swallowed, eyes focusing back on the dark road before you. The highway was empty this late on a Sunday, especially in this weather. It was early December, most people hadn’t gone to visit family yet. You just liked to get it done early.

„I don’t mind your dad most of the time“, Agnes huffed, knuckles tightening around the steering wheel. „But today … was just uncalled for.“

„What did he say?“, you asked without looking at her, wanting to give her the space to dodge the question if she didn‘t want to talk about it.

„He probably just had too much beer.“, Agnes snarled, but you could tell it still bothered her, „Said the ring you’re wearing is a seal of your fate, that you’ll be in the prime of your life stuck taking care of some bitter old cop. That I‘m stealing your best years and you don’t even realise it.“

You bit the inside of your cheek, anger boiling in the pit of your stomach. „I‘m sorry. He shouldn’t feel entitled to say something like that, alcohol or not. That’s messed up.“

She scoffed, shoulders rolling back. „It’s fine. I know your mom doesn’t like me either.“

„That’s not true“, your tone didn’t even convince yourself. Your mother was better at pretending, but even you knew the smile she put on whenever Agnes and you drove down once or twice a year was a forced one. That she wished the person you brought home was anyone but the rough around the edges woman besides you. Like it was any of her business who made you happy.

Agnes scoffed. „I know she doesn’t show you her brunch friends’ shiny young sons for shits and giggles.“

„Agnes.“

The rain had intensified, thick drops of rain splattering against the windshield. Another roar of the engine. She kept her eyes focused on the road, gripping the steering wheel a lot tighter than she had to. You swallowed.

„You know none of their shit matters, right?“, A heavy sigh left your lips when she wouldn’t even glance at you, „My dad is talking out of his ass and my mother still thinks maybe the whole liking women thing will be over soon, as if we haven’t been engaged for two years now.“

Agnes stayed silent, eyes sternly focused on the dark road, only the sound of raindrops splattering onto the windshield between you. And that cover of Last Christmas, again.

You passed a road sign. A parking lot and a phone cell just a few miles ahead of you.

„Let’s stop there“, you proposed, watching the way Agnes pressed her lips together in a harsh line. „You know I don’t like when you drive angry.“

„I‘m not angry“, she replied immediately, and as if to prove her point, she took her foot off the gas, letting the car slow down a little, „I‘m just … irritated.“

„Either way“, finally, you reached out to her, brushing the few lost strands of hair behind her ear. The gentle touch of your fingertips against her cheek had her exhale immediately, readjusting her grip on the steering wheel. The car did a minimal swirl to the left before she caught herself again and readjusted her position on the road.

You giggled, pulling your hand away, elbows leaning on the middle console as you grinned at her. The tip of your tongue peaked out past your lips, giving her a coy smile. „I think you should take a break to … release some tension anyway.“ Your voice dropped lower when you saw the way her jaw tensed. „And it‘s just us out here tonight.“

At the clearly suggestive tone that swung in your voice, she finally glanced over at you, pupils dark. You shrugged your coat off your shoulders, leaning a little further towards her, eyes batting almost innocently.

Agnes' eyes stared at your lips, your eyes, your shoulder, still covered by a knit sweater, but the lacy strap of your bra peeking out, and then quickly back to the road before you.

She swallowed hard, then scoffed. But the smirk on her lips betrayed her, even as her eyes turned back to the road. Her right hand left the steering wheel to come rest firmly on your thigh, fingers brushing over the fabric of your pants so high up, your breath hitched at the contact. That made her chuckle, a low sound in the back of her throat, and she blinked right to pull over into the parking lot. „Maybe you’re right“, her thumb ran lazily up and down your inner thigh and you felt your stomach tighten at the touch. „A break sounds good right now.“

You were right, the small square of asphalt lay completely abandoned, nothing but a few parking spots and a telephone cell already halfway towards decay. No street lights, no buildings, just Agnes' grey little car alone between fields and meadows, the rain now pouring down against the metal roof.

Agnes put the car into park mode and turned off the radio, right hand never leaving your thigh as she did so, and then took a deep breath, back of her head hitting her seat as she did. She would never admit it, but she wasn’t just frustrated, she was tired too. Exhausted of never being enough to please your parents, of every trip to see them going to shit in some way. There was the little crease between her brows, the one she always got when she worried, when she was questioning herself.

„Baby“, you sighed. Now that you were safely parked, you leaned over the middle console completely and reached for her face with both hands, turning her head to face you. The tips of your fingers ran over her cheekbones, gently cradling her face, and her face immediately softened. Her hands wrapped around your wrists, keeping you close, the tips of your noses mere inches apart from each other.

„I‘m sorry we left on a bad note“, she said, blue eyes warm as she scanned your face, „I know you just want them to be happy.“

You shook your head at that, your thumbs brushing over her bottom lip as you gave her a warm, reassuring smile.

„I‘m sorry we spent your day off driving all the way down there only for dinner to be shit“, you replied, „I want my parents to be happy, but I value your happiness more.“

Her eyes widened, and you watched her pupils dilate at your little smile, which only made you grin brighter. „I mean it.“

Agnes' lips parted and she took a short breath. But before she could say anything else though, you surged forward, cutting her off with your lips on hers. Chapped lips melted against yours, leaning forward to deepen the kiss immediately. Fingers wrapped around the back of your neck to tug you closer, and you had to smile against her. Your teeth brushed against her upper lip and you felt Agnes holding back a little moan against your lips.

„I don’t care what my parents think“, you whispered, cupping her face in your palms. You made sure to look at her while speaking, watching the way her eyes flicked from your lips to your eyes, back to your lips. Your breath was heavy. „I just want you.“

For a moment, you just held eye contact in silence.

Agnes barely smiled, and she wasn’t one to keep her heart on her sleeve either, but you had learned that a lot of her inner world played out right behind her eyes. The way all color seemed to fade from them when she was sad, every little crease of her brow. How bright and wide they turned only when she looked at you.

Your tongue darted out, wetting your bottom lip as she scanned your face, that bright, distant look of almost disbelief on her face. Like she couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that you were real, that you chose to wake up next to her every single day. Like she was trying really hard to focus on what you were saying, but failing miserably.

A calloused thumb ran along your jaw, gentle like you were something delicate to be handled with care.

„You’re too good to me“, she murmured, and your own hand found hers, clasping around the pale skin, her fingers flexing in your grip.

„And you’re still way too tense“, you whispered, watching her eyes widen as you lead her thumb up and over your chin, grazing your bottom lip. Her eyes were firmly focused on the tip of her thumb, and you couldn’t help but grin before pushing it up further, lips parting to slip the single digit inside.

Agnes sucked in a sharp breath, watching the way your lips closed around her finger like it was some kind of mysterious sorcery, like she’d never seen it before. You had to withhold a smirk, tongue swirling around the tip of her thumb playfully, cheeks hollowing out as you made a show out of it. Agnes' other hand on the back of your neck tightened its grip, grasping at your soft hairs there.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you let out a soft moan, like her thumb pressing down onto your tongue was the most delicious thing you‘ve ever tasted. It was. Your stomach did a little flip at the taste, and a part of you wanted her to push more fingers past your lips, until you were gagging on her.

When she pulled out eventually, thumb now glistening wet, your mouth still parted as you blinked up at her with a smirk, you could swear you saw her tremble a little.

Agnes was fidgeting around in her seat, her eyes dark as she licked her lips, gaze heavy with arousal.

She kissed you again, firmly, one hand finding your shoulder and holding you in place, the other on your cheek, her wet thumb leaving a thin trail of your saliva on your skin. It made your insides feel like they were burning up.

„I really want to eat you out right now“, you gasped into her mouth, barely holding back the breathless giggle that accompanied your words. Her grip in your shoulder tightened, fingers digging into your skin.

„Way too good to me“, Agnes purred, her gaze heavy, fingers hot on your skin. Your lips were parted in a slight pant. Your thighs pressed together where you were still halfway sitting in your seat, halfway draped over the middle console to be as close to her as possible. Agnes glanced down at you, cheeks hot and lips swollen from kissing, your eyes dark and pupils round, practically begging her for more. Her own face was flushed too, and her breath had picked up, taking sharp breaths through her nose.

„Backseat“, she ordered, her tone leaving no room for discussion. Not that you had any intention to disobey. „Now.“

You jumped out of your seat and into the rain faster than you thought you were even able to move.

But, Agnes was still faster. She leapt around the car, pried the backseat door open, and before you even knew what was happening, your back hit the hard cushions. She was on top of you, crowding you up in the limited space of her car, slamming the door behind her shut with a little more force than necessary. She was straddling your hips, eyes now black with lust as she stared down at you. Even though you’d only been in the rain for a few seconds, wet strands of hair were already sticking to her forehead, and she wiped them back with one hand, the other finding your chest, pinning you down against the car seats.

„You’re wet“, she stated, and when a whine left your throat in response, paired with a twitch of your hips underneath her. She let out a hollow laugh. „I meant your shirt, slut.“

Your lips curled into a pout and her hand on your chest grabbed a fistful of your wine red sweater. She leaned down towards you, propping herself up with her other hand, until her face was mere inches from yours. You craned your neck, trying to catch her lips with yours, but she was just out of reach, her smile smug as she tugged harder on your sweater, exposing your midriff. A breathy whine escaped your throat, met by an evil chuckle.

„Not so assertive now, huh?“, her brows raised almost mockingly and for a moment, she just enjoyed watching you struggle underneath her, unable to push up against her grip on your jumper, helplessly wiggling underneath where she had you pinned. It was utterly pathetic, and by the way her breath came ragged, it was exactly what she wanted. Keeping you pinned down by your chest, she rolled her hips down into yours exactly once, the rough fabric of her jeans pushing against your softer, loose fitting slacks.

„Agnes please“, you whined at the contact, staring up at her through heavy lids. Heat was pooling in your stomach, you knew that your underwear must already be absolutely soaked, and you wanted nothing more than for her to just press her knee up against your core, to grind down against her until you were in tears from how good it would feel.

For a moment, she seemed to actually consider it. Then, she readjusted her position, sitting back up. At the loss of her closeness you almost cried out in frustration.

But her gaze was stern, so you didn’t dare to just yet.

„Arms up“, she instructed, eyes twinkling even in the dark at your eagerness.

You put your hands up over your head willingly, allowing her to quickly pull the knit sweater up and off, leaving you in just a thin black bralette, goosebumps rising on your skin. The moment the jumper was over your head, her lips found yours in a bruising kiss. One of her hands found your wrists and immediately pinned them over your head, the other one found your ribs, tips of her fingers running over your exposed skin. When you gasped at the contact, she took the opportunity to slip her tongue past your lips, smirking against you at the mewl in the back of your throat. The muscle ran over your teeth, pushing your own tongue aside as she explored your mouth, claiming each and every inch as her own in the process. Her hand ran over the flimsy lace of your bralette, and the little squeeze to one of your breasts made you squeak into her mouth.

“Worked up already?“, her voice had dropped low, that mocking tone she loved to taunt you with. A thumb ran over the curve of your breast, self satisfaction painting her face when she found your nipple already hard peaking through the thin fabric. She ran her index and middle finger over it, pressing down right into the hard bud just once. Hot pleasure surged through your body and your chest pushed up into her touch, the mewl escaping your lips loud and desperate.

„You know“, her hand wandered further up, over your collarbone. The tip of her finger ran over it asshe licked her lips. Like she was already planning how to devour you, how she was going to paint your delicate skin in shades of purple.

She was watching the way you were trembling under her touch, trying so hard to stay still. Fingers wandered up your throat, finally clasping around your neck, her grip firm but not yet tight. Agnes leaned down, voice ghosting so close to your ear you could feel her lips move against it. „If you just wanted me to fuck you in the backseat, you could’ve just asked.“

A moment of silence. Then you felt the tip of her tongue dart out, running along the shell of your ear. Hot breath right against it. „Next time we can skip the entire dinner and just go straight to this.“

Finally, her legs shifted, her knee pushing between your thighs. Your legs parted willingly, mouth opening in a gasp. Her fingers tightened around your neck, and the mix of finally feeling something push up against your aching cunt and the sudden lack of oxygen made your head spin. Agnes knew how to make you melt into nothing but a boiling hot puddle beneath her.

Agnes’ voice was still right by your ear, though she was leaning towards your face now, watching every muscle shift in reaction to her touch.

„You think you can cum like this?“, she taunted, „With me merely touching you?“

You nodded frantically, eyes wide with eagerness. Agnes scoffed, „Didn’t take you for such a needy slut, but alright.“ Without warning, her knee pushed up hard against you, and the squeak you let out was high pitched and throaty, weak through her firm hold on your neck. The older woman raised her brows expectantly, „Show me, and maybe I‘ll fuck you properly after.“

There were lawyers of fabric between you, and it shouldn’t work as well as it did, but God, you could not get enough. Your underwear was soaked, sticking to your core, and if you rolled your hips just right, angled yourself with just the slightest arch of your back, your clit brushed against her knee just right. So that was exactly what you did, grinding down into her, trying desperately to push closer as she kept your wrists pinned above your head with one hand, and your throat tightly gripped by the other. Piercing blue eyes stared down at you, taking in every single rut of your hips, every gasping attention to grasp for air, the flush of your face, your eyes fluttering open and closed as you worked yourself against her, steady and unwavering even in your compromising position. It was a borderline pathetic sight, and she couldn’t get enough of it. She needed to watch you fall apart like this, needed you to come undone on the brink of consciousness. She needed to see you in absolute ruin, from barely any stimulation at all. So you did.

You lost your sense of orientation, no way to tell where was up and down. Stars danced before your eyes, black spots mixing in with them over the blurry view of her face hovering over you. Hot white, spots of black, bright blue. Your eyes fluttered shut, but the view remained. Hips pressing down hard against her knee, picking up their pace as much as you could. Or maybe the sudden flashes of almost painful pleasure just came naturally, you genuinely couldn’t tell. But the soaked cotton of your underwear rubbed against your aching clit, pulsating with want as you chased more and more of it.

„That’s it“, the only clear sensation flooding your mind was her voice, so close to your ear, ringing through your head, „You look absolutely wrecked, my love.“

Hot, wet lips against the shell of your ear. A moan tried to escape your throat, but no sound could make it past the vice grip she had on your throat.

You felt scathing hot beneath her, burning up from the inside out, pleasure overtaking every last nerve end of your body. Finally, it all came crashing down. Your core pressed against her knee, not even rutting against her anymore, just pushing up as close as you could as a wave of heated, explosive euphoria shot up your spine. Your body was shaking, there was no up or down, left or right. There were just colors dancing before your eyes as your mouth fell open, no scream able to push past her tight hold and the pulsating of your aching clit as the orgasm took over all of your senses.

The grip on your throat disappeared, and your lungs rapidly filled with air in a loud, deep groan. Agnes’ lips attached to the side of your neck, nipping and kissing along the reddened skin, feeling the deep, slow breaths you took as slowly, your vision cleared and you felt the cushions beneath you again.

She released your wrists still pinned to the car door over your head as well, and your hands immediately found her hair, tugging her up towards your lips. She kissed you softly, making sure you could still breathe through it.

You wanted to moan into it, her name right on your lips, but no sound could make it past your throat, the strain settling in. Agnes' tongue darted out against your bottom lip, and you let her enter, hands running down her front. Your fingers dug into the washed out fabric of her flannel shirt, pulling her closer by it. Your legs, still shaking from the ragged orgasm prior loosely wrapped around her hips, holding her as close to you as possible.

The kiss turned heated again, and you felt your sense of up and down slip away. But she pulled away before you could fully lose yourself in the feeling again, leaning back enough to take you in before her. Your neck raw and bruised, painted by choking marks from her hands, a few blooming kisses peppered between them, the ghosting remnants of her teeth against your jaw. She loved to paint you hers, the view of her mark on you unlocking a feral, deep lust in her, a need to claim you and your pleasure as hers. To let everyone who laid eyes upon you know that she was the one touching you, that she was willing to do anything to make you feel good. And the things she did to you, even in the back of your car in the middle of nowhere on a mid December night … it should embarrass you, but something inside you twisted the humiliation into fuel for the fire inside you. Your legs twitched.

„Agnes“, you managed to croak out, surprised by how hoarse your own voice was, the single word barely making it past your lips.

Her brow raised, „What?“

Instead of an answer, you just tilted your head back, lips parting. Your tongue darted out, flat as your gaze found hers, a silent plea. Agnes' eyes turned black, her fingers digging into your waist harder. But, of course, your wish was granted.

Agnes strained her neck, jaw tightening at the movement. She was leaning over you, dark eyes never breaking contact with yours as a single string of saliva left her lips, dropping right onto your waiting tongue. Your eyes fluttered shut, lips closing around it as you savoured her spit like an expensive, rare fruit. With heavy eyes you stared at her from beneath your lashes as you swallowed, wincing at the slight pain the motion sent through your neck.

„Jesus fuck“, Agnes voice was low, nails digging into your waist, and your legs wrapped tighter around her at the sharp pain.

„If you could see yourself right now“, Agnes groaned, „So fucked out … and I haven’t even touched you yet.“

She surged back down, lips crashing into yours, and you managed to actually slip an audible moan past your throat this time, arms wrapping around her neck as you let her tongue lap into your mouth.

„Flip over“, she panted, words mere inches from your own lips, before propping herself up enough to give you some movement space, „On your hands and knees.“

Wriggling into the new position proved slightly difficult in the small space, but eventually you made it. On all fours, you cowered in front of her, Agnes forced to be halfway draped over your body with the low ceiling of the car. One hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against her before reaching up to brush your hair over your shoulder. Warm lips ghosted over the back of your neck, trailing downward between your shoulder blades.

„You okay?“, she grumbled, lips vibrating against your skin and you gave a quick nod.

Her lips attached to your back again, this time more urgently, sucking your skin between her teeth, the pain minimal but delicious.

Her other hand dove into your pants, brushing over your tailbone before dipping lower. She gave your ass a little squeeze, grunting into your neck at the feeling of your soft flesh in her palm. Her knuckles ran over your asshole on their way further down, and you jumped at the unexpected contact, making her chuckle.

„Now, now“, she just as much purred into your ear, „Don’t get greedy“, teeth nipped at your earlobe, „I‘m saving that one for another time.“

Your breath hitched, pushing back into her touch as her hand ran lower, down the curve of your ass and then finally, the tips of her fingers dipped between your folds.

She hissed at the contact feeling not just how hot you were but also the amount of slick that covered your core, absolutely soaking your underwear that she’d pushed past so easily.

„You are so wet“, she hummed, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot right below your ear, „How embarrassing.“

Her index and middle finger swirled around your entrance, collecting liquid pleasure along their way. Your hips bucked back into her touch almost all on their own, and you heard her tut.

„Don’t get impatient now.“

For a moment, her touch was gone, and all you felt was the stretch of your cotton panties as she pulled her hand away. The lining sat just over your clit, and maybe if you rolled your hips just right …

Agnes let out an evil little laugh. „God, you’re so fucking pathetic.“

And then, without any warning or preparation, she plunged right in. Two digits slid right inside with little to no resistance, and the sudden intrusion made you jump, the moan on your lips shaking your entire body.

„Agnes fuck!“

She did not waste any time easing you into it, thrusting into you at a rapid pace, her hips pressed firmly against your ass. Your fingers dug into the fabric of the car seat underneath you, back arched like a cat to take her as deep as possible.

Once she was sure your position was stable enough, her other hand let go of your waist. Before you knew it, her fist curled into your hair, yanking your head back. You yelped at the unexpected tug, gasping for air as a hot, tingling sensation slowly crept up your entire body.

Her fingers drilled into you mercilessly, other hand pulling your head back by your hair. The tug was harsh at your roots, a sharp pain shooting through your skull that mixed deliciously with the way her fingers brushed over your walls, sliding in and out with no resistance.

„Agnes“, you mewled, eyes rolling back in your skull. The fist in your hair gripped harder.

„What, slut?“, she spat, fingers never breaking their brutal rhythm.

„Please“, was all you managed to reply. But of course, that wasn’t enough.

„Please, what?“ Her tone was harsh, and if it wasn’t for her grip on your hair, your head would have fallen forward in frustration.

“Make me cum“, you groaned, throat burning. You pushed your hips down into her hand, your entire body shaking as her fingers brushed over that one spot that made you see stars. „Like that“, you rasped, not caring for your voice anymore, so lost in the mix of pain and pleasure, all you needed was to reach that peak, and then come crashing down rapidly.

„Don’t stop Agnes, oh god— please don’t stop! I‘m gonna—“

And then you crashed. Her fingers drilled into you relentlessly, hitting the right spot with every thrust. The wet fabric of your panties still clung to your pulsating clit, and you could feel the way she pushed her own hips against the curve of your ass, felt her ragged breath against your back. For a moment, everything turned into singing, burning hot pleasure.

Your limbs gave out beneath you and you collapsed forward onto the seat. However, before your forehead could hit the car door right in front of you, Agnes' arm had wrapped around your waist already, interrupting your fall before gently laying you down on the cushions. Your breaths came ragged, panting loudly, throat still aching, your body numb from sheer overwhelming pleasure, tears stinging in your eyes.

But Agnes was right there. Her hand slipped out of your pants, running up your spine to brush your hair out of your face, a gentle kiss finding your cheek, arms wrapped around you firmly enough to keep you grounded, but not so tight that you could feel smothered. Slowly, your breath evened, craning your neck carefully, just enough to glance back at her.

„Fuck“, you sighed, sweat glistening on your brow.

Agnes chuckled. „What, you’re done already?“ Her hand brushed a few strands of hair from your forehead, stuck to the layer of sweat on your skin, „I thought you were gonna eat me out back here“

Still catching your breath, you shook your head at her. „Not after that I‘m not“, your voice was hoarse, throat still a little tight and you‘d definitely feel sore tomorrow morning. „I can barely breathe.“

Her thumb slid underneath your chin, tilting your face upwards to look directly at her. „Are you okay, darling? Did I go to hard?“

Slowly, as to not strain your neck any further, you shook your head. „I promise I‘d tell you if you did.“

Her eyes scanned your face for any signs of pain, but when all you did was give her a gentle smile, she nodded. „Let’s lay you down for a moment," she whispered, leaning forward. Her lips pressed against your forehead for a soft, lingering kiss, “I could use a breather myself.“

You were laying on your back, head in her lap, the blanket she kept in the back of the car for emergencies draped over your body, your hands holding one of hers, gently running your fingertips up and down her calloused palm. The movement came to a halt when she felt the metal of your ring brush against her skin, the rough edges of the little polished amethyst on the band. Her hand clasped around yours, warm skin against skin.

„We should pick a date soon“, she whispered suddenly, and your eyes fluttered open, already half asleep in your exhausted state.

„Hm?“

She leaned forward, nose brushing against the shell of your ear before pressing a single, small kiss to your cheek. „We should get married next summer“, she whispered, ponytail falling over her shoulder. Your heart skipped a beat.

„I‘ve already made you wait too long," Agnes murmured, forehead resting against yours.

You stretched your free arm over your head, blinking up at her, eyes bright in the half dark of the car.

„I‘d like that“, you whispered back, voice growing hoarse from the strain your earlier actions had put on your vocal cords. „Maybe Lilia could officiate. And we’d have a bonfire in the backyard. I‘d wear a flower crown. Jen could do my makeup.“ You sounded drowsy, half asleep but still smiling, the vision clear before your eyes, cheeks warm at the thought.

Agnes looked at you for a moment, and her face was soft. No crease on her forehead from constant frowning, no furrowed brows. Her lips were swollen from kissing you so hard, and they were slightly parted when she leaned in, a slow, gentle press of her lips against yours.

„I love you“, she murmured, and you felt her arms wrap tighter around you. „And promise we‘ll make our day the most special day it can be. But Jen is not touching my wife at my wedding. You’re beautiful as is. Jen should feel lucky that she’s invited.“ You rolled your eyes at her, pulling her into another kiss by the back of her neck. She let you, leaning down to brush her lips gently against yours.

The Radio played that stupid song again. This time, it made you smile, whether you wanted it to or not.

„Merry Christmas“, you whispered against her lips, and she pulled back in surprise. For a moment, she stared down at you in disbelief, like she was waiting for a punchline of some sort. But at your sheepish little grin, she just rolled her eyes with affection.

„Merry Christmas to you too, my love.“

#berry writes things #agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agnes of westview #agnes o'connor #Agnes o‘connor x reader #aaa #Marvel #wandavision #mcu

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wonderjanga · 2 months ago

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Totally Me

When Billy first joined the league, he made sure to not tell anyone about his identity. This went on for nearly five years until he eventually started feeling bad for the others. They always look so sad. Not that blames them. He knows their names, where they live, their jobs, he knows almost everything about them, yet they know nothing about Marvel. So, Billy decided to tell them some things about himself, only it’s not himself. He told them about his dad, or at least what he remembers. He can’t exactly tell them he’s a twelve year old radio show host who lives in an apartment with his sister and his friend. Can he?

Supes: *talking about Jon*

Hermes: “Alright, Batson. You can do this!” *hyping him up like a sports coach*

Marvel: “He sounds awesome. The way you talk about him reminds me of Billy.”

Supes: “Billy? Who’s that?”

Marvel: *smiles* “My son.”

Supes: *jaw drops*

Clark was so happy his friend finally opened up with something about his personal life. He was smiling the entire day. This information eventually got around to the others so they tried to see if they could find out more too.

GA: “So, Cap, are you finally gonna come one of my mixers?” (ref to a fanfic I can’t remember the name of) *bros digging for information to see if cap is in a relationship*

Achilles: “Come on, Billy, let’s go! You can do this!”

Marvel: “No, I have a wife.”

GA: “A wife? What do you mean you have a wife? I expected a girlfriend not a wife?”

Marvel: *slightly nervous because he thinks Green Arrow might not believe him* “Yeah, well, I have a wife, okay?”

GA: “How long have you guys been married?”

Marvel: “Uh…” *doesn’t even know* “Like since 19-”

GA: “19??”

Marvel: “Yeah, 1920 or 30 something.” *is pretty sure that’s correct*

GA: “You’ve been married to your wife for almost 100 years…?”

Marvel: “Uh… yeah. Now that I think about it, yeah.”

By the way, anything Billy tells these guys, goes straight into the rumor mill. Once he divulges a little piece of information it’ll take like an hour, and then everyone knows.

Bruce even got in on the action by grabbing a form and walking up to Marvel:

Batman: “Captain, on your registration papers you left your occupation blank. Could you fill it out?”

Marvel: “Ah, sure!” *fills it out*

Batman: “Thank you.” *walks away and rounds a corner, only to be met with Clark*

Supes: “So, what’s his job?” *is hoping that Marvel is a reporter because he and Marvel have yapped about reporting multiple times*

Batman: *looks at the form* “He’s an archaeologist.”

Supes: “Archaeologist?” *sounds a little dumbfounded* “Huh. That seems so Marvel-like, yet so un-Marvel-like at the same time.”

Also, Billy does actually like archaeology. It’s one of bro’s special interests. In fact, to see if Marvel was telling the truth, Bruce asked a little bit about archaeology and was met with an hour long rant about how amazing it was.

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #captain marvel dc #fawcett city #fawcett #fawcett comics

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emmyrosee · 4 months ago

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happy birthday samu 🫶🏻

complete credit goes to @nyxprobability for the PRECIOUS idea, much love to you 🥺🩷

———

Tired legs struggle to keep his foot on the gas, and tired eyes struggle to stay open.

Osamu is convinced this is the longest drive he’s ever taken from his restaurant to home, the songs on the radio feel painfully slow and repetitive, and there’s a twisted part of him that wonders if he should just turn around and nap at the restaurant for a bit before coming home.

But you texted him, playfully demanding his presence at 6 sharp, to be at the dinner table, hungry.

It’s 5:55 when he pulls into the driveway.

Very, very hungry.

Heavy feet trudge up the walkway and the small steps in front of the door, and he sighs sleepily as he turns the handle.

The threshold reveals his warm kitchen, decorated with candles and all his favorite dishes, and he could cry.

It smells devine. He feels the weight lifted off of his shoulders at the idea that he’s able to just relax for the night and only have to worry about doing dishes for you- you’re a heaven sent, and he smiles softly as he hangs his keys on the hook and blinks his sleepy eyes at you.

“What do you think, baby?”

“I think you spoil me,” he chuckles, opening his arms for you to slip into, which you do. Your warm body feels like the perfect remedy to his crazy day, like you’re able to smooth all the frazzled bits of him back together with one soft coo of his name and pet of his hair.

“Well,” you giggle, rubbing your warm hands up and down his big arms, leaning up to catch his lips in a playful kiss, “it’s a special night. I wanted to spoil you.”

Wait.

Is it?

Osamu tenses in your arms, and you start to giggle softly at him, only striking more confusion through his soul. Was it your anniversary? No, surely that was months ago. Was it because of his new hire? No, you probably wouldn’t shower him in affection because of that.

You got a promotion. That had to be it, especially since he wasn’t home last night to celebrate with you. This is why you wanted him home. And he couldn’t be more happy.

He softens and presses a kiss to your head, “I’m so proud of you baby. I knew you could do it,” he says sincerely.

Now, you tense up. You look up at him with a quirked brow and when he matches your confusion, you click your tongue. “Baby… do you really not know what today is?”

Uhh…

“Sssssaaaaturrrrday…?”

“No,” you snicker. “Baby boy, it’s your birthday.”

It is?

“It is?” He asks aloud. He genuinely starts to count the days in his head, his lips moving slightly in thought.

Yeah… October 5.

Sure enough, it’s his birthday. He’s made it another year.

He’s just… surprised. No one wished him a happy birthday, not even his brother, his mother, and-

“Is your phone on do not disturb?” You ask; he assumes he looks saddened at his realization. “Because I did call you three times before you answered me about tonight.”

He smirks. Then, he lets out a flurry of laughter, shoulders shaking as the noise flows out of him, and he almost forgot how good the feeling of laughter is. You join his laughter and wrap your arms tight around him, squeezing him gently as his own arms drape around you.

“Happy Birthday, handsome man.”

“Thank you, babydoll.”

He takes out his phone from his back pocket, shaking his head at indeed, the little moon icon indicating his phone was set to Do Not Disturb. When he turns it off, he’s met with countless messages, from old friends and new, a missed call from his mom, and a flurry of texts from his brother.

A lot from his brother.

atsumu WEVE BEEN HERE FOR AN HOUR

WHERE ARE YOU

THIS WAS YOUR IDEA!

At least now I get a date but STILL!

Huh?

Another wave of realization crashes onto him, and he winces slightly at his mistake.

“Crap…”

“Whats wrong?”

“Atsumu and I were supposed to get brunch today.”

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explorevenus · 1 year ago

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addicted ♡ re2r!leon kennedy x reader

nsfw (18+) - minors dni or i will call the cops

word count - 2.9k

description - by the end of the summer, you're bound for college and your boyfriend leon is bound for his shiny new police officer job in raccoon city. knowing your relationship could be threatened by the distance, your need for each other has become insatiable.

tags/warnings - porn with plot, soft dom leon, car sex, cunnilingus (f receiving), fingering, p in v, creampie, breeding kink, mildly angsty, no use of (Y/N)

a/n - this was a request by my beautiful goth puppy wife chaos baby @nexysworld <333 special thanks to @dollfacefantasy for beta reading and believing in me and also being my momager <3

recommended listening - addicted by saving abel

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ;w; <3

-venus ♡

Young adulthood felt so scary and new and weird.

You and Leon had been dating since high school and now you were fully legal adults, figuring out what to do with your lives and pretending you would both fit together seamlessly in each other’s plans. Just weeks ago he had graduated from the police academy and you had until the end of the summer to spend as much time together as possible before he would move into the city to become an officer, and you would be moving states away to attend college.

You told each other you would visit as often as possible, that you would call every day, that as soon as you finished school you would move back to Raccoon City to be with him, or he would find a hiring police station near you to settle into, and you would live happily ever after.

But there was a silent, knowing melancholy that hung over you all the while, and it intensified every day. Neither of you wanted to address it, for fear of spoiling what little time you had left, so it just hung there unspoken as you clung to each other for dear life.

Leon knocked quietly on your door, hoping not to wake your roommates. It was a crisp, clear summer evening and the forecast indicated a meteor shower would be visible, so as soon as he finished up at work, he took the top off of his Jeep, loaded the back with blankets and made his way to you.

His heart softened at the image of you wrapped in a blanket, ducking out of your apartment to follow him out to the car. It was nearing midnight and you were already in pajamas, but it felt right that way. Comfortable.

Soon enough you were sipping slushies from the gas station, your sneakers kicked up on the dashboard and the wind rushing through your hair as Leon drove the two of you up the base of the Arklay Mountains. There was a little lookout tucked away less than five miles up, one you frequented together practically since you met. This lookout had seen numerous makeouts and unquantifiable hours of conversation, silly and stupid and serious and solemn.

The car slowed to a stop and Leon threw it in park, moving his seat back so he could get comfortable. His lips were stained pink with cherry slush as he looked over to you with a gentle smile.

“Pretty, huh?” He asked, watching as you stared up at the sky, awe-filled eyes searching every gap in the void for a shooting star. His warm, broad hand still rested on your thigh, thumb skimming over the soft fabric of your sweatpants in a gentle caress.

Relaxing into his touch, you nodded, looking over at him now. Your own lips and tongue were tinted blue and what remained of your slushie was cold in the palm of your hand. It was funny, you thought, that you’d driven all the way out here to watch the meteor shower but still, you couldn’t help but watch each other. The breeze blew warm and the radio played lowly.

“You’re pretty,” You replied quietly, playing with his fingers. Even having been together for years, he still managed to make you shy.

Leon let out a soft laugh and shook his head, his other hand coming forward to tip your chin up. “You’re pretty too,” He began, and you were just beginning to blush when he added, “Pretty corny.”

You threw your head back and groaned dramatically, swatting at his chest. “You’re pretty annoying,” You griped, but before you could continue your playful rant, he guided you back toward him and pressed his lips against your own, and just like always, you melted almost instantaneously.

At the start the kiss was quite tender, communicating a sense of longing and connection that you had only ever felt with him. His thumb traced your jaw while his grip tightened on your thigh in an affectionate little squeeze and you felt as though you could sit here with him forever, craning your neck over the center console of his Jeep just to kiss him beneath the stars, just to breathe him in, to be with him. Leon was your safe place and even the thought of being away from him sent you into withdrawals.

Your shaking hand came up to cradle the back of his neck, fingers curling into his golden hair as you took it upon yourself to deepen the kiss, wanting to get as much of him as you could. You wanted to horde him all to yourself, you wanted to sink into him and have him sink into you, to pause time and keep him there until you were sick of each other, though you knew no length of time together would ever feel like enough. Tongue swiping against his lower lip, you flattened your palm over the crotch of his jeans and massaged gently.

“F-Fuck, baby,” Leon grunted into your mouth, feeling all the blood rush to his cock in response to your touch and your languid kisses. “I’m gonna miss this…”

“Don’t,” You whispered, “I don’t wanna talk about it… Just wanna feel you…”

With a short nod of understanding he reconnected your lips, sliding his hand beneath the waistband of your sweatpants to dip a finger into your folds, delighted at the realization that you had gone without panties for the evening. He grinned into the kiss and slipped his tongue past you, the pads of his fingers quickly finding your clit with practiced ease.

Your lashes fluttered and your thighs shifted together, a quiet mewl of pleasure tumbling from you as you bucked up into his hand. With each passing second your heart was beating faster and you could feel the wetness collecting beneath his touch.

“Mm, my pretty baby,” He sighed out, the pad of his thumb flicking at your clit while his middle and index fingers petted at your hole. “Put your seat back. Let me taste you.”

There wasn’t a beat of hesitation as you reached down to recline your seat and push it back, and as you did so, Leon was making quick work of climbing over the center console to join you in the passenger seat. He gripped your thighs and pushed your legs up to rest on the dashboard as he yanked your sweatpants down in one swift motion, wasting no time smothering your plush inner thighs with kisses.

His pupils dilated by the scent of your cunt alone, and while he initially planned on taking his time with you, he just couldn’t help himself. Cramped down on the floor of his own passenger seat, Leon’s fingertips printed into your thighs as he dove forward to kiss and lap at your wetness, drinking you up with a deep, wanton need.

You tensed at the feeling, glittery heat washing over you before you relaxed into his mouth and brought one hand down to tug at his hair, encouraging him further. Your hazy eyes blinked open to look straight up at the sky, the cool night air foreign on your most intimate parts, but not unwelcome. It was quiet out, serene, private, as though you and Leon were the last two people on Earth. A shooting star cast across the sky in a blur, and you quickly realized that your wish was for you and Leon to be the last two people on Earth. Maybe that would be nice. At least your time together wouldn’t be so limited.

Losing Leon felt like losing a limb, even if he was only moving a few hours away to the other side of the mountain. Another shooting star streaked across the night sky, and you barely even noticed you had said something until you already finished speaking, “I wish you could stay… I feel like I can’t breathe without you…”

He hummed into your slick pussy, tongue swirling over your bud before pulling back just far enough to respond, “Not talking about it, baby, remember?”

Your face scrunched up a little bit as you realized your mistake and nodded, returning your focus to the glittering stars above you while your boyfriend sucked and licked at your cunt like he was starving. Soon enough his middle and index fingers were prodding at your hole, tracing the shape of you before sinking deep into your sticky, wet heat, your needy walls sucking him in.

What you didn’t know was that Leon had been focusing so much pleasure on you over the summer because it felt like making up for what he wouldn’t be able to do from thousands of miles away in the fall. You were the only thing he could bring himself to think about since roughly halfway to graduation at the police academy, when he was beginning to pester Raccoon City Police Department with his exemplary test scores and ever-growing resume– by the end of the year you would have both gone so far in separate directions, and long distance wasn’t something you ever excelled at. He knew that the day he left for Raccoon City, he would be effectively nailing the coffin shut.

So he bided his time by fucking you senseless almost daily, eating you out, pinning you down and driving you to tears with your toys, feeling every inch of you beneath his hands just so he wouldn’t forget. Every moan, every mewl, every whimper and sob and plea from you was like music to his ears, like pure heroin directly to the vein. Just like a drug, the better it felt in the moment, the more he knew it would hurt you both later on.

He felt you bucking into his nose and whining quietly, and every twitch of your muscles made his cock throb in his jeans. Leon couldn’t take it anymore, he needed you now.

Pulling back from your core, Leon moved quickly to undo his belt and shove his jeans down his thighs, desperate for some relief from the pressure and intoxicating desire. He was already dribbling precum just from the taste of you, a distinct wet patch growing at the front of his soft blue boxers that soon joined his pants down his legs, and shortly thereafter he was clumsily crawling over you in the passenger seat of his Jeep.

Almost like muscle memory, your arm fell behind you in a blind search for your purse in the back seat. You quickly retrieved it, digging through its contents as Leon’s hands shoved their way up your shirt to paw at your breasts, devouring your throat with kisses, making it a little difficult to maintain your focus. Finally you found what you were looking for, fingers coming into contact with that trusty little box… only to find it empty.

“L-Leon… mm, babe, hey,” You panted in an attempt to gather his attention. He hummed a barely noticeable sound of acknowledgment, but otherwise didn’t budge. You let him continue for a lingering second before breaking the news in a near whisper, “Leon, we’re out of condoms…”

He paused, breaths short and hips rutting into your own with need, his woefully hard cock grinding against your slit. While his body acted on its own in search of any friction he could get, his mind was spinning. He knew you weren’t on birth control and he knew a risk like this could ruin everything you’d both worked so hard for… but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

In fact, it sort of spurred him on.

He buried his face into your neck again and sucked a harsh, dark mark into your skin, a feeling of possessiveness taking root in him. “Then we’re gonna risk it,” He said definitively, his voice low and almost growling in your ear. “Just think about it, sweetheart… Maybe if you let me knock you up, you can forget all about college… I could just whisk you away to the city with me and take care of you for the rest of our lives…”

A rush of heat struck you like a moving car and knocked the air out of your lungs. You knew it would be stupid to throw away your scholarships and every dream you’d had for yourself on a whim, but it was admittedly a nice fantasy at the very least. Arching into the palm of his hand, you relented.

“F-Fuck, fuck… Fuck me, Leon, please, just fuck me…”

And just as you anticipated, he took you up on that. A cool breeze rushed through the open vehicle as he lined himself up at your hole and drove into you, his vision going white for a second just at the intensity of the pleasure he felt, being engulfed by you again. Your body was heaven on Earth to him, you were heaven on Earth to him.

He sheathed into you down to the hilt with a low groan, one hand clutching your hip and the other tangled in your hair. Leon tugged your head aside by your hair so he could speak directly into your ear, “You’re mine, you hear me? All mine. My girl, my wife, my pretty little baby mama…”

Each declaration was punctuated by a thrust of the hips, his swollen, leaking cock stuffed so deeply inside you that it was almost like you could feel him in your throat. Any and all concerns about your future, individually and as a couple, burned to ash in the far back of your mind as he fucked into with fervor. In this moment, Leon was all that mattered.

You quivered and writhed beneath him, your gummy insides pulsing and clenching around his length, and even with the top off the Jeep, the windows were beginning to accumulate a subtle fog on them. The two of you were hot and slick with sweat, drowning in the heat of each other and the late summer air.

“Leon,” You moaned, nails biting into his shoulders as you clung to him for dear life, for any shred of stability. “Make me yours…”

At this point, you couldn’t even tell if you were serious, and similarly to Leon, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You were drunk on him and everything about him, the warmth of his skin, the pheromones that clung to his sweat, the strong grip of his hands and the sound of his breaths and the feeling of him railing into you like you were made for each other.

“Plannin’ on it, baby,” He said in response, words breathy and a smug grin tugging at his lips. He let go of your hair to plant his hand against the window as he increased his pace, plunging into you with ardor, his balls heavy and aching for release. “Gonna keep you all to myself, give you everything you ever wanted.”

The hand of his that was holding your hip just a moment ago was now wedging itself down between you to rub steady circles into your clit. You jolted at the contact, an incoherent cry tumbling from you, molten heat pooling up in your stomach. His earlier ministrations left both him and you especially sensitive and nearing your climaxes.

He could feel your peak approaching through the way you were convulsing around him, your wet cunt tightening and pulling him deeper with each stroke until he couldn’t even think anymore. Every last one of his senses was clouded– no, drenched with you. His pace stuttered just a little bit as he decided he couldn’t possibly hold back any longer.

With a loud, pleasured groan of your name, Leon stilled inside you as a torrent of cum flooded your waiting womb, warming you from the inside. What finally pushed you over the edge into your own release was Leon’s sly fingers tugging and pinching at your bud with expertise.

“G-God, fuck,” You sobbed, breaking skin as your nails raked down his strong back and gripped him as close to you as you could manage. Tears were pricking at your eyes as you coated his cock with your release, leaving behind a creamy white ring of arousal at the base of his softening sex.

Silence fell over the car as you clung to each other, broken only by your gasping breaths for oxygen. Leon buried his face into your shoulder and kissed the sizable hickie he’d left you earlier, still fresh and stinging.

“Did so good for me,” He huffed into your ear, nibbling at your lobe. “I can’t get enough of you.”

Eventually he pulled out, a sticky mixture of your juices dribbling out of your spent hole and down to the leather seat below you. As Leon climbed less than gracefully out of the passenger seat with his pants around his knees, you were both startled by the unexpected sight of headlights traveling up the very same mountain road that led you here, and the vehicle was pulling into the lookout.

“Shit,” Leon grumbled, rushing to fix his pants and toss you a blanket from the back seat to cover up with, given your sweatpants were lost somewhere on the floor of the car.

The intruding vehicle pulled up right behind Leon’s Jeep, headlights shining into the cabin as a person got out of the driver’s side… with a flashlight. Of course it had to be a cop.

Leon took a deep breath before rolling his window down with a polite smile. “Evening, officer… Nice night, isn’t it?”

#venustext #sintext #summit of beauty and love #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #nexy !!!

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rosie-read-that · 1 month ago

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a nonsense christmas / tyler owens x reader

summary: an unexpected snowstorm traps tyler owens with his workplace nemesis over the holidays. bonus points: there was only one bed.

content warnings: f!reader, allusions to smut

word count: 9k

author’s note: happy holidays! 🎄🎊🤶🏻🕎 i hope they were merry and bright and as stress-free as possible. thank you so much for supporting my three little fics. this is unedited, but i wanted to post it before i went out of town as a gift made specially for the glen girlies - i wrote it to bring you some december cheer. see you next year!

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Over the span of the last twelve hours you’d lost count of the number of times you’d muttered that sentence underneath your breath.

First, it was the office building in New York, where Tyler had the appointment right after yours at a ritzy funding agency. Then it was the airport, where you’d both flown standby and had a Wild West confrontation over the last seat on the plane, only for another passenger to volunteer their place in exchange for a travel voucher. (“It’s not like I’m in a rush to see my family, anyway.”) The woman manning the desk had given you both a look that said, “See, this is how an adult behaves,” which you thought was rich when the guy was clearly trying to cheat his way out of a Christmas dinner. Then, Tyler got assigned the seat behind you on the plane, and in keeping with his infuriating personality, spent the entire flight kicking your seat - or, I’m sorry, just trying to stretch his legs.

After landing, you’d raced to the same rental car company. The woman at this desk kept pointing out that the weather seemed dire and that a snowstorm might hit at any moment, to which you assured her that you weren't headed far—a lie—and glared at Tyler’s back before shuffling into the parking lot with your borrowed keys, hoping his heater would break or that an ex-girlfriend had broken into his house during his absence and left coal in his stocking.

It turned out that the woman at Enterprise was right. The weather was dire; your visibility was shot to hell after the first forty miles, leaving you to squint through the flurry-turned-blizzard, your knuckles white on the steering wheel as you inched forward in your seat, as though you could magically see through the storm if only you pressed your nose just so to the windshield.

After a while you gave up and started to admit that unless you wanted to turn into a human Popsicle, you might need a Plan B. You let out a weary sigh, listening to the weather report on the radio—“If you're safe and cozy at home, it's gonna be a white Christmas, folks, but if you're out on the road, I suggest taking cover and waiting it out for Santa Claus to slide down the chimney.”

You scanned the passing road signs for fast food restaurants, gas stations, and rest stops, even took a few exits just to be hit with NO VACANCY in bright neon reds, making mental calculations for the rest of your trip.

Home was still a long way off: three hours, after dark. Normally you’d power through with an extra-large coffee, but it was snowing, and your window to remain safely on the road was closing with every passing minute.

Dammit.

After the fourth failed attempt at finding lodgings, you sat in the driver’s seat with the heater on and called your sister.

She answered after a few rings. In the background you heard your nephew and nieces screaming their heads off in that kid way. God, you loved those little rugrats but they were undoubtedly a nightmare—you imagined Margo plugging up one of her ears and waving at them to be quiet. Of course, to no avail.

“Where are you?” she demanded, the accusation sharp in her voice. You knew to expect it, so instead of answering, “Well, hello to you too, I can’t control the weather, in case you haven’t noticed,” you went with a plain response, facts only.

“Somewhere in the middle of Benburg.”

“Where?”

“Exactly.”

You heard her sigh. “The snow’s getting pretty bad.”

“No shit.”

“Hey, don't ‘no shit’ me! I told you traveling right before Christmas Eve was going to be a nightmare.”

“And I told you I had no choice.”

She paused. There was whispering on the other end, an almost-silence that put your body on high alert until, finally, she said, “Mom wants to talk to you.”

“Margo, no!”

Your protests fell on deaf ears. The phone was jostled as your mother took it and began to speak.

“Honey, are you almost here?”

Covering your face with your hands, you kept your voice light, knowing she’d be able to detect even the smallest hint of frustration, and then you’d have to put up with another round of “why on earth did you take a meeting in New York right before the holidays?”

“No, mom, I’ve still got a-ways to go.”

You pictured her narrowing her eyes, maybe placing a hand on her cocked hip.

“How long a-ways?”

“Less than two hours,” you lied.

It was absolutely more than two hours.

A pause. “Well, I guess that's okay.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Through gritted teeth and the voice of a demented schoolteacher, you added, “Mom, can you put Margo back on the phone now, please?”

“She wants to talk to you,” you heard her saying from a distance.

After some more jostling, you felt the caller change as you merged back onto the highway and left the motel behind.

“Marg, can you tell her to cut me some slack, please? I’m doing my best.”

“Ha!”

You glared at the console, hoping she could feel it over the phone.

“Gee, thanks! So much for the Christmas spirit!”

“Listen, when you have three kids, two dogs, a husband, all of your in-laws, your parents, and your stepmom breathing down your neck, I’ll have a little more sympathy.”

“Fine… But I promise I’m not leaving you in the lurch on purpose. My flight from New York got delayed, I had some asshole kicking me in the kidneys the whole time, and I can barely see a yard in front of me because of this storm—it’s not exactly a walk in the park for me either.”

No cigar; it was you who felt her glare over the phone this time. Clearly, her issues outweighed all of yours on this occasion, and knowing her sister-in-law, you were inclined to agree.

You added: “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’d better.”

The wipers on your rented car worked overtime to clear your windshield. You were about to end the call to focus on driving when, up ahead, you saw the red and blue lights of a highway patrol vehicle stopping traffic.

“Oh shit,” you muttered under your breath.

“What?”

“The road is closed.”

“The whole road?”

“Yeah, Marg, the whole road.” She would've argued with you over your tone, except you cut her off with “Hold on—I’m being flagged down.”

A middle-aged man with a mustache came over to your car. He was wearing a fuzzy hat and holding a flashlight now that the purpling sky was fading to black. Without being asked, you lowered your window and shivered at the stream of icy wind that cut through the artificial heat.

“Evening, officer.”

“Good evening. Where’re you headed?”

“Sayre or roundabouts.”

“Rough night to be doing so. This road is no good, you're gonna have to turn around, find a place to wait it out for the night.”

Your heart sank. You knew Margo was listening to everything. By the time you made it home, your ledger would have a massive list in the red which she’d make you pay off somehow—by doing the dishes, playing horse with the kids, or worse, entertaining Kayleen, who would say as she always did that you really ought think about having children soon unless you wanted to get used to “a self-absorbed lifestyle.”

God forbid.

“Do you know anywhere that might have a last-minute vacancy?” you asked the officer, whose shiny name tag read HARRIS.

He scratched behind his ear, twisting his mouth in thought.

“Try the Sunnyside Inn. Back this way to Fairmont, right after the exit, left on Vail.”

“Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Right. Merry Christmas.”

You put your window back up.

“Did you catch that?”

“Sounds like you're grounded,” said Margo. Her eyebrow must be arched because the judgment could be heard loud and clear—if you hadn’t gone to New York…

Well, there was nothing you could do about it now.

“It’s meant to clear up by morning. I’ll still be there long before Christmas.”

“You’d better be.” She sighed.

Your niece Haley was screaming out the words to “The Twelve Days of Christmas” like a possessed banshee and giggling at what she knew must be an ear-splitting performance. You didn't know whether to be more horrified or amused; you remembered doing something similar when you were a child, back when you didn't have to worry about spreadsheets and grants and the trials and tribulations of flying Economy during the worst time of the year.

Margo must be thinking the same. Her tone sounded a little more sympathetic when she said, “Drive safe, and let me know when you find somewhere to spend the night.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Don’t get murdered.”

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t try—do. Someone’s got to help me defuse the tension during Christmas dinner.”

“Me? Defuse tension?”

“Good point.”

After hanging up, you followed Officer Harris’s directions to the Sunnyside Inn. Wherever it was in relation to the highway, there weren’t any signs you could see from the road and it reminded you of a famous, albeit fictional, location where people did go to end up murdered.

You only hoped whoever was on duty at the check-in desk had zero resemblance to Norman Bates or you’d have no choice but to sleep in your car.

Ten minutes later, you arrived at a quaint little building like something out of a Hallmark movie with six parking spaces and no neon out front. The facade was fake stone, the ornamental bushes lining the circular drive covered in a postcard layer of fresh snow. The wooden sign read VACANCY and had an empty slot where the NO might go, which gave you the tiniest sliver of hope, tempered by the thought that a place like this might not pay the utmost attention to a detail like that, especially in the middle of a storm. All in all, it was the sort of place you stayed at when you had no choice, being off the beaten track, but it looked as well maintained as it could be given its age, which you dated back to the 70s because of its slanted roof.

You parked and got your suitcase out of the trunk, the wheels clattering and then coming to an abrupt stop when you saw a figure across the way doing the same with his black carry-on.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you called out.

Tyler Owens grinned. Even from here you could see the dimple on his cheek.

“Road closed?” he asked, still walking towards the entrance. You did the same, glaring as you tried to keep pace with him—no, tried to beat him to the front door.

“You know it is,” you answered, eyes narrowed, dashing the rest of the way just for his hand to reach the metal pull bar first. Damn his longer limbs.

With a smile, he opened the door and waved you through like a Manhattan doorman.

“Ladies first.”

“Wow, I didn't think you were remotely a gentleman.”

“What gave you that impression?”

You brushed past him into the heated lobby, pausing long enough for him to close the door so you could send him a pointed look.

“Oh, I don’t know… maybe your knee on my back?” you enunciated.

“I told you—that was an honest mistake.”

“Right.”

The Sunnyside had a single check-in desk that looked more like the host’s stand at your favorite restaurant than the counter at the cheapest Marriott, but it was decked in cute bells and garlands and baubles that glittered in the light. Behind it stood a woman around your age with straight, shoulder-length hair partially covered by a Santa hat.

As soon as she saw you walking in, she pushed the red strands out of her face and cleared her throat visibly before launching into a practiced spiel.

“Welcome to the Sunnyside Inn, where every day is sunny!”

She was smiling from ear to ear. The effect was a little like that of the creepy twins in The Shining and bah, humbug, were you not in the mood.

“Can I have a room for the night, please?”

You were made to feel guilty by the sudden fall of her face. But clearly Carol—you had to do a double take. Was her name really Carol? At-Christmastime Carol?—had gone to one hell of a customer service training program. Instead of letting your frown turn her smile upside down, she tacked it on with impressively greater fervor. The bell at the end of her hat rattled as she cleared her throat again.

“You’re in luck! We have one vacant room left in the entire hotel—continental breakfast included!”

“I’m sorry,” Tyler butted in, “did you say only one room?”

“Yes, er…” She looked between you, biting her glossed lip. “Is that a problem?”

“We’re not together,” you said, refusing to look in Tyler’s direction.

Carol blushed. She was so pale that you thought it might be her actual blood you were seeing rising to her face and turning a shade of Veruca Salt. Or was it Violet Beauregarde?

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I thought—well… you arrived together.”

“We arrived separately.”

“That’s not what it looked like.”

She blinked owlishly. Your own face was heating up as you felt Tyler putting his hand on his hip and sending you a shit-eating grin. You wouldn’t hear the end of this. You could practically hear him bringing it up at a later date, saying, “You’d be so lucky.”

You felt your jaw lock and your dentist cry. Lips together, teeth apart! She’d obviously never met anyone like Tyler Owens before.

“I can assure you, that's what it is,” you said in a steel-laced voice.

Carol might be an A+ at the customer service thing, but you were an A+ at staring people down until they begged for mercy. The only person you knew who was better at it was Margo, and the only person immune to it—though it drove you crazy to no end—was standing next to you, all six feet of him, in a jacket with snow at the shoulders that had quickly melted and rolled off the fabric. Shoulders… his annoyingly broad shoulders, which you’d had occasion to see with more frequency than you would’ve liked, dressed in what Samantha, one of your colleagues, described as his “slutty little white tees.”

It wasn’t enough for him to be a perpetual thorn in your side, he had to be attractive too, thereby proving that there was no God or that, Whoever they were, they must have an evil sense of humor.

“I’m so sorry.” Carol hung her head. Her hat drooped, the glitter-paper trimming on her suit drooped—there was a high chance that she was actually an elf and you’d just worked your way onto Santa’s Naughty list. Come midnight, you’d be visited by the ghosts of all your ex-lovers and Sarah DeAngelo, your high school nemesis.

Meanwhile, Tyler swooped in like the big hero.

“No worries, I’ll just stay at the next place,” he said. “What is the next place?”

“That would be the Cozy Roadside! But they're all booked up, I’m afraid… It's the storm, you see. Everyone’s trying to hunker down for the night.”

“Right…”

Well, he was taking it better than you’d have done—though it was clear he wasn’t jumping for joy at the thought of turning around and trying his luck in the growing whiteout.

And that was if there weren't more road closures along the way.

“Are you sure you're not together? I’m just saying… it is the holidays.” Carol’s little damn bell jingled again. Could you be charged with assault if you snatched it off her head? you wondered.

You pinned her with a stare and she had the temerity to flinch like a little cartoon dormouse.

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning, it's a time to let bygones be bygones! You make such a lovely couple…” Her laugh was high-pitched, nervous.

You might have ruffled like an angry bird of prey. “We are not—”

“Absolutely not,” said Tyler.

“‘Absolutely’?”

It was the closest you’d ever come to seeing Tyler crack under the force of your EF5 stare. He looked sheepish, his hands in his pockets, giving a little hunkered down shrug that might have been read as boyish and kind of adorable to someone else.

“Listen”—turning to Carol before you could rip him to shreds—“do you know of anywhere I could stay until the roads open up again?”

“I’m sorry, no.”

“What about the lobby?”

“I would if it were up to me, but it's against hotel policy. I could get a write-up.”

This hotel has a policy? You stopped yourself from blurting out the words. There was still a chance this Strawberry Shortcake of a person was one of Santa’s little helpers and, if you kept up being a meanie, you’d end up going to the Bad Place—the Bad Place being the seat next to Margo’s sister-in-law at dinner.

You sighed. “Does my room have a couch?”

“It has a chair,” Carol offered.

You exhaled through your nostrils like an angry bull—would the creature metaphors ever cease? Turning to Tyler, you held up a finger and said, “You’re gonna owe me big time,” and fished your wallet out of your bag.

You slammed your card onto the stand and waited for Carol to check you in. She took out a book from a little cubby and took down your name and ID number, then fiddled with one of those old-school credit card imprinters, the ones you had to use actual elbow grease to use.

“I can have extra linens sent up! And I’ll give you our Friends and Family rate—in honor of the season!”

You have got to be kidding me…

Tyler put his hand on your elbow, stopping your words.

“Thank you, Carol, you've been a real gem.”

Carol flushed again, preening under Tyler’s cowboy charm. I’m gonna be sick, you thought, grabbing your suitcase by the handle and wheeling towards the stairs before you could say anything else.

Your case banged against each carpet-covered step. Tyler was behind you, carrying his without sounds of trouble. You supposed that was a benefit to having arms the size of tree trunks, but you’d rather drop dead on this commercial grade floor than ask him for help.

To drown out the sound of the obvious weakness in your upper half, you adopted a high-pitched baby voice that was nothing like Tyler’s and said, “‘You’ve been a gem, Carol,’” just to mock him.

From Tyler came a huffed-out laugh. “Why, ’re you jealous?”

“As if. I hope your chair has bedbugs,” you called over your shoulder, arriving at the landing and looking for room 227. You unlocked the door without waiting, tossing your bag and coat onto the bed to stake your claim.

In the open doorway, Tyler paused to stare at the promised bit of furniture.

“Oh,” came out of his throat. “When she said chair, I thought she meant…”

You followed his gaze. Like Tyler, you’d pictured a dusty old recliner when Carol guilted you into sharing a room with him. The relic actually taking up space across from the queen-sized bed was a chair that might have come out of your high school principal’s office. The seat was covered in a similar material to the carpet, deep purple, not falling apart at the seams, but still just a chair.

Not in your wildest dreams would you think of making an enemy sleep on a thing like that. And here you were, poking fun at sweet, freckle-faced Carol… sweet, sweet Carol who had done you a bigger solid than you could’ve ever imagined.

Tomorrow at check-out, you were going to leave her a $50 tip. You might name your firstborn after her.

You looked at Tyler. He looked at you. The poor man was aghast, and the more he glanced despondently at his abode for the next eight hours, the funnier it got until you were cackling, actually cackling like a Disney witch.

You unzipped your suitcase and took out your toiletries bag, still laughing as you stepped into the room’s bathroom and sent him a little wave.

“Sweet dreams, Owens!”

Hell, it was Christmas—you’d be leaving Carol an even $100.

You made a point of taking your time in the shower, luxuriating both in the steam and the dejected look on Tyler’s face. A chair! An actual chair! After finishing, you took the robe hanging off the hook, figuring it was your prerogative as a lady, and opened the door just the tiniest crack to see what Tyler was up to. What you saw made you snatch your phone off the counter and leap from your hiding place like a fearless war photographer.

The shutter clicked, a series of lightning-quick flashes that caught Tyler’s attention. By the time he whipped his head to the side with a glare and a command to “delete that!” you’d snapped half-a-dozen photographs of his position on the makeshift “bed.”

Carol must have sent up linens while you were in the shower because he’d pushed the chair up against the coffee table in a futile attempt to be more comfortable; his legs stuck out to a truly comical degree and he was covered in a floral blanket that could only be described as grandmotherly. Your phone—bless it—had captured the exact moment of shock mixed with absolute indignity.

There was no way he’d be able to sleep without falling over. You only hoped that when he inevitably fell on his ass it happened with enough volume to wake you from the sound sleep you’d be having in bed by yourself.

You tucked your phone in your pocket, smiling like one of Hell’s angels.

“Absolutely not,” you said to his request. “Shower's yours.”

Tyler grabbed a bundle of things off the floor.

“Let me guess, you used up all the hot water.”

“You wound me,” you lied. “I’d never be so petty.”

He scoffed, gestured to his eyes in the universal symbol of I’m watching you and moved past, locking the bathroom door with a resolute click.

A few moments later, you heard the sound of the shower turning on and settled into bed—your lovely, only-yours bed—pleased that the sheets were clean, the mattress soft, the pillows comfortable, and debated whether or not to turn on the TV, but the shower taps squealed sooner than you expected.

Huh. Guess Tyler isn’t a fan of an ice-cold rinse.

You rushed to turn off the bedside lamp, adopting a deep-sleep pose. You barely managed in the time it took him to pad out into the main room, bringing with him a warm, clean, soapy smell.

You held your breath, imagined he could tell you were faking—especially when he paused his movements at the foot of your bed. But then his footsteps moved towards his sad little chair and he turned off his own light.

All you heard for a while was the rustling of sheets, the creaking of the chair beneath his weight. There was a moment of total silence when you almost fell asleep. Then he tossed and turned. The chair protested. You heard him groan.

“Y’alright over there?” you asked, hoping the answer was no.

Tyler’s words were laced with sarcasm.

“Who, me? Just peachy.”

“Nighty-night, then.”

You sighed contentedly and dozed, thinking about Tyler’s future back pain and the satisfaction of winning Carol over to your side with a generous tip. Take that, Tyler’s dimples! The problem was, you actually wanted to get a few hours’ sleep; there was still a fair bit of driving left for you to do, and Tyler just wouldn't shut up.

You heard every creak, shift, and sound of frustration.

Finally, you sat up and growled, “Could you try being more quietly uncomfortable?”

“Hey, I’m just trying to sleep.”

“I can hear your breathing all the way over here!”

“That's not my breathing,” he said, “that’s your guilty conscience.”

You glared into the dark. I will not let him get the better of me. You took a fortifying breath and kept your voice light—viciously light.

“You know, there’s still time for you to sleep in your car. You’ll be the first person ever to be cryogenically frozen.”

“That's not how cryogenics works, you muppet.”

You launched a pillow in his direction, pleased when it made contact. He sat up and protested, “Hey!”

“Did you just call me a muppet?! You know, if you disappeared I could always blame the storm.”

“Carol would remember me,” he rejoined.

“Maybe I’ll disappear Carol too.”

“Wow, two bodies? Sounds like you'll have your work cut out for you.”

“I’m very resourceful.”

“Oh, I bet you are…”

Argh! Slamming your fists down, you ground out the words you’d been holding back ever since you saw his grinning rodeo-ass face in New York:

“There is no way I’m letting you win that Heller Grant!”

Your nostrils flared, chest heaved, eyes all but emitted laser beams. Tyler, for his part, remained annoyingly composed.

“I don't think that's up to you. But,” he added, “I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you.”

“Really? And why’s that?”

“No reason, just a friendly head’s up.”

“Something tells me there’s nothing friendly about it.”

He paused. “Hey, what’s a little harmless competition between meteorologists, right?”

“…Did you really just ask that question?”

You both knew scientists were messy as fuck. Denying that they could be egotistical, overly dramatic, delicate with their egos, and especially prone to schadenfreude was a cheap attempt on Tyler’s part.

He chuckled, as if admitting it was true.

“Fine, touché. But it’s really not personal. It's a grant—everyone wants to win it. It’s not like we’re trying to run you out of business or anything.”

“Oh, believe me, we aren’t worried about that,” you shot back. “Everyone knows Kate Carter is the ace up your sleeve. But that’s it—one ace.”

“One ace is all you need.”

“Not in this economy it’s not.”

“It’s about the storms!” Tyler said. “You do get that, don't you? Saving lives, limiting damage…”

“Right, I forgot—you're Saint Tyler, the Tornado Wrangler for profit!” you mocked.

There was a silence in the room, accusatory. Deafening. After this, you were definitely going on Santa’s Naughty list, you thought, not only this year but for at least fifteen to life.

“Sorry, that was shitty,” you admitted, swallowing your pride.

“Yeah, it was. You have no idea why I do what I do. And obviously I have no idea why you’re such a—”

“Bitch?” you supplied.

“I wouldn't use that word. I wouldn't,” he reiterated seriously. “I was going to say ‘why you’re such a bee in my bonnet.’”

You let out a snort. “Shut up.”

“Has anyone ever told you you're unreasonably distrustful?”

“Only about three-point-five therapists.”

“Why the point-five?” he asked.

“One was a grad student.”

He laughed. “Guess weather research doesn’t pay—even if you do wear fancy suits.”

That made you smile. You and Tyler were as diametrically opposed as two could people get, even down to your clothes.

“Let’s just agree,” you said, remembering the spirit of the season, “that we rub each other the wrong way and leave it at that.”

“Hey, I’ve never had a problem with you. I mean, yeah, we’re always up against each other for funding. It’s a race to the top—winner takes all, whoever publishes first gets the bragging rights. But that’s the game—I know that. Now, if you have a problem with me, this seems like as good a time as any to clear the air because I really have no idea what I could've done to make you hate my guts like this.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, sure, be the mature one, take the high road… Tell me, Owens, does it ever get exhausting being so fucking perfect all the time?”

Another pause.

“What the hell are you going on about?” The chair creaked. “‘Perfect’? I’ve never said I was—FUCK!”

You perked up, reached an arm to turn on the light. Tyler was sprawled on the floor. The coffee table and chair were no longer attached and he was nursing what looked to be his hip while kicking at the granny blanket tangled round legs.

“Did you just fall into the gap?” you said eagerly, trying to record the image in your brain.

He wrestled the blanket until he finally won, then stood resentfully, his hair mussed, a crazed look in his eyes.

“Yes, I fell into the gap! But there was no video evidence,” he said pointing. “You can’t prove it. At this rate, it might be smarter to sleep on the floor.”

“Looks like it.”

You watched him kick the chair away with his foot and lay the blanket on top of the coarse brown carpet. He tossed his pillow down and picked up the sheet, holding it in front of his body and looking like he might actually prefer to try his luck in the parking lot than on the inhospitable floor. You observed him with interest, biting your thumbnail and watching his throat move with a sigh, the dejected set of his shoulders, the strong jaw set until it looked like it would break glass.

“Oh, fine!” you said. “You look like my senior dog trying to decide where to lay down!”

“You have a dog?” he asked with enough skepticism to be insulting.

“She lives with my sister.”

“What’s her name?” His jaw relaxed, eyes softened.

“Doppler. Don’t laugh!” you exclaimed, though it fell on deaf ears.

“That’s kind of… really nerdy.”

“Do you want to sleep on the floor?”

“I’m sleeping on the floor anyway.”

You whipped the covers off the left side of the bed. Tyler’s eyes almost bugged out of his head.

“No.”

“Come on, Owens, I don't have cooties.”

“It’s not about the cooties, I’m trying not to get killed Basic Instinct-style!”

You knew the scene: Sharon Stone fucking her rock star boyfriend before stabbing him to death with an ice pick. Unbidden, your mind filled with images of Tyler underneath you, his throat bared to you as you rode him.

“You wish!”

Tyler looked at you sternly.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“We’ll make a divider out of pillows!” you suggested, starting the master feat of engineering by plopping all your extra ones vertically down the center of the bed.

You didn’t know where this sudden stroke of generosity had come from. Only ten minutes before you would’ve been perfectly fine—nay, ecstatic—to know that Tyler was about to spend six hours in pain and discomfort.

Maybe it was your guilty conscience. Maybe he’d convinced you that this vendetta you had against him was one-sided and kind of silly. Maybe you just wanted to get some damn sleep without feeling like you were racking up bad karma by not offering to share the bed.

He eyed your attempts like a skeptic, his hands on his hips.

Damn, they were slutty little white tees… you thought.

“This is ridiculous,” he pointed out. And yet he’d dropped the sheet and stopped all attempts at sleeping on the floor like an imprisoned martyr.

“Ridiculous” was a good way to describe what the start of this holiday was turning out to be. If you’d told your past self that come December 23rd you’d be sharing a hotel room, even a bed, with Tyler Owens, you’d have laughed in your own face. But here it was—courtesy of the weather, a possible redheaded Christmas elf, and a series of minor coincidences that had all resulted in this: you shrugging and saying, “Tell me something I don’t know. Tick-tock,” you added with a clap for emphasis, “my goodwill has a time limit!”

“Very festive of you. Are you sure this is okay?”

He approached you with a cautious air, turning down the covers like you might yell “psych!” and attack him at any moment. Even when he laid himself down, it was at the very edge of the bed, and you thought he might end up on the floor anyway given a hasty mid-sleep roll, but then, that would be his own doing and he’d have nothing else to blame but his own clumsiness.

“Just keep your hands to yourself,” you decreed.

“Obviously.”

You turned the light off.

This isn’t so bad, you thought. If you closed your eyes, you could almost forget he was there. You hummed to yourself, snuggling down, finally making headway on the quest for rest and relaxation. Twenty minutes passed, maybe an hour. Hell, it might have been two—all you knew was that Tyler was not keeping up his end of the bargain.

“You’re encroaching on my space!” you hissed, pushing back against pillows that had moved to your side of the bed.

Tyler turned, not remorseful in the least. “I’ve got, like, half-a-foot on you! What do you want me to do?”

“That’s sizeist,” you sniffed.

There was a sound from his direction.

“Are you laughing?” you accused.

“Yeah, I’m laughing… You’re funny. And that’s how I know I don’t have a problem with you.”

You were unexpectedly pleased, despite his bed theft and the rehashing of your previous conversation. No one had ever called you funny before, though you’d always thought you were.

Tyler Owens thinks I’m funny?

So sue me—you were only human and not above hoarding little compliments.

“What did you mean,” he started to ask, shifting so that he could lay on his back, “about me being ‘perfect’? Not that I don’t find it flattering, it's just not true at all and it didn't sound like a good thing, by the way that you said it.”

You kept silent, staring at the A/C unit attached to the wall.

“I know you’re not asleep!” he declared, poking you in the back.

“And how would you know what I sound like asleep?”

“Well, it wouldn't sound like speaking, now would it?”

Shit. He had a point.

You let out a sigh, regretting your magnanimity now that you were in a dark room side-by-side with the man and couldn't avoid his charm or the ease he inspired like magic.

You’d always found that the most unsettling thing about him.

“You’re gonna get the grant,” you admitted with more sincerity than you meant. In your voice you could hear the layers of frustration and insecurity and anger and disappointment that you couldn’t face in the day, when you had people counting on you and a reputation to uphold.

Tyler was quiet a moment.

“You don't know that.”

“Yeah, I do. I’m not good with the whole… schmoozing thing. Not like you are.”

“Schmoozing?” he asked.

“That’s what it is! You’re good with people.”

“So are you.”

“No, I’m not,” you laughed bitterly, craning your neck to say it over your shoulder. “I’m prickly.”

“That’s bullshit,” Tyler said. “And, anyway, this is research, not a personality contest.”

“Ha!”

“You do know there are plenty of prickly scientists out there getting people to throw money at them all the time? Sometimes, it’s the pricklier the better—people think that if you're really a genius, you should treat everyone around you like the bottom of the garbage pail.”

“It’s different for you,” you pointed out.

“How so?”

You sat up, eyeing his shadowed form.

“Well, sweetie, there’s this thing called discrimination—it’s what happens when having certain anatomy makes people more inclined to think you know what you're doing.”

“Very profound… That’s not what you meant.”

He was right. While sexism did come into funding, as it came into a lot of things where it had no place, your main gripe about Tyler had nothing to do with him being a man and everything to do with him being, well, him.

You raked a hand through your hair.

“All you have to do is walk into a room and get pally with the panel,” you confessed. “I can’t compete with that.”

Somehow, through the dark, his eyes found yours. His expression was unreadable, but you could feel his attention on you, his scrutiny—thoughtful, patient, wanting to understand.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said at last.

“Seriously? You’re gonna make me be honest with you and then leave me holding the hot potato of awkwardness?”

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” he laughed. “I just… It’s not like I get up in the morning thinking, ‘Hm, what grant can I possibly steal from you today?’”

“Right,” you drawled, “you just can’t help being you.”

“I can’t!” he insisted, rising up on his elbows. “I like people. I like meeting them… talking to them—even the buttoned-up ones that look like they haven't been outside of an office building in months. I can't apologize for that. But it is a little unfair of you if your sole reason for being mean to me all the time amounts to two cents and a bit of pocket lint.”

“I am not mean!” you protested.

Tyler cocked his head.

“Okay, maybe I’m a bit brusque,” you allowed. “But I let you sleep in my bed!”

“For which I’ll be forever grateful…”

You opened your mouth.

“…but not enough to turn down the grant.”

You shrugged, not expecting him to hand you the award on a silver platter.

“It was worth a shot,” you said. Another joke.

Tyler gestured with his hands; you could see them fluttering around expressively in the near dark.

“You’ve just gotta stop approaching people and automatically assuming that they’re not on your side,” he said gently, and because you were a contrarian, you chose to take at least one-sixteenth of offense.

“Are you mansplaining relationships to me?”

“Not mansplaining, just a friendly bit of advice. Take it or leave it,” he tacked on, shrugging his shoulders—damn his shoulders…

“Thanks.”

You were trying to wrestle your brain away from the thought of his bare chest again.

His bare chest… the expanse of his chiseled abs, the dip of his hips…

You looked away, your face as hot as your shame. You would not have sex thoughts about a man you were sharing a bed platonically with. You would not admit to yourself that your traitorous gaze had wandered down to the outline of certain parts while he was standing there in gray sweats and a white T-shirt that left little or nothing to your debauched imagination.

You would not.

Santa, come get me before I forfeit all brownie points for life.

“Now this is awkward.” The words slipped out of your mouth. You pulled the sheet up to your chin as if it were a straitjacket and Tyler chuckled to himself, probably thinking that you meant awkwardness at having a moment of vulnerability rather than red-hot lust.

“Go to sleep,” he said kindly, turning back on his left side.

“Alright. Night.”

“Night.”

Later, you would swear it didn't happen on purpose. At some point in the night, after Christmas Eve had settled well and truly over this random Oklahoma town, the pillow fort was forgotten as you and Tyler fell asleep, succumbing to the fatigue of the day’s travel and your late-night conversations.

The first inkling you had was that your pillow was far too warm against your cheek—and it moved, up and down, like the gentle swaying of a boat upon a calm sea. When you regained enough consciousness, you realized that the “pillow” kept a beat, and that's when you realized your pillow wasn't a pillow at all but the cradle of Tyler’s chest.

He’s quite comfortable, you thought, still half-asleep. He had his arm thrown around you and the tips of his fingers rested against a patch of naked back where your shirt had ridden up.

So far, so good; you couldn’t complain about the weighted blanket treatment—at least not in your hazy, sleep-softened state. You sighed happily, snuggling further into his shirt.

You felt his arms tighten.

His breathing shift.

You were straddling the line between dream and wakefulness when you noticed his legs tangled up in yours…

…and the hard protrusion pressing right against your stomach.

You opened your eyes. Tyler was awake and springing out of bed like he had a whole swarm of bees in his bonnet.

“Oh god,” he exclaimed, “I am so sorry! That is not… I did not—”

“It’s fine,” you tried to say.

“No! No, it’s not.”

“Tyler, would you stop acting like a virgin with the vapors? It’s cold, I’m not the stillest of sleepers, nothing was meant by it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, then put it on his hip, then pointed—you didn’t know at whom, he was simply unable to be still, and the more he panicked the more you thought it was silly how he was making such a big deal out of nothing.

(Okay, so maybe it wasn't nothing, but one of you had to be the adult about it.)

“I was not trying to put the moves on you,” he emphatically declared.

“That was made abundantly clear by what you said to Carol. Also by the drool on your pillow.”

“The—”

His gaze darted. His face took on an added hue of pallid as he bent over his pillow and straightened, eyebrows battened, finding nothing there.

“See, that was mean.”

“No, that was funny,” you laughed.

The whole time, you did your best to keep your eyes trained above his shoulders, though you had a bone-deep curiosity now that you’d felt the impression of his dick against your skin.

If your periphery was to be trusted—which, your doctor said you had excellent vision in that regard—he was as well-endowed as he was rumored to be, sometimes with envy, sometimes pejoratively and in relation to his ego. Now that you’d spent an entire day crossing paths, you weren't so sure about that last bit. But you were sure that in the privacy of your own thoughts, you’d have a bitch of a time unknowing that Tyler Owens was, in every regard, unfairly blessed.

“Back to neutral corners?” you asked, patting the bed.

Tyler stared at the mattress with something like horror.

“You are not being normal about this!” you exclaimed.

“Maybe I oughta sleep on the floor.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, it’s just for a few hours more.”

You sighed.

“Tyler James Owens, now you are the one being a muppet.”

“Take that back! And how do you even know my middle name?”

“It’s called Google. Now stop acting like a muppet and I’ll stop calling you one!”

Drat… You were so close, but your eyes snagged on the bulge in his pants at the exact moment Tyler was looking at you. There was no way to deny it.

You wiped your face of all expression.

Tyler pleaded, “Do not make this worse for me than it already is.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You don’t have to, it's written all over your face.”

Me? My face? You pointed at yourself.

Tyler huffed, “You aren't letting me forget this for as long as I live, are you?”

“Not in your dreams…” you fessed up. “Need me to pace around the hall for ten minutes, let you take care of business? I have a spare sock you can hang on the door.”

“You’re evil.”

“Nooooo, where are you going?” you needled, watching him head to the bathroom with a scowl on his face. “I was having so much fun!”

“Mind your own business!” he yelled back.

“But Tyler, it’s perfectly natural!”

He locked the door.

Only then did you cover your mouth and really let yourself have a laugh.

He took exactly 23 minutes. You knew because you timed him, a childish impulse you indulged in trade for not probing the question of what he might be thinking about as he got off. Obviously, you knew enough biology to not flatter yourself into believing that his morning wood was down to you; still, you allowed yourself to believe it just the tiniest bit. It made you feel better—to think he was affected by you. To believe you weren’t alone in being provoked to unexpected places.

He came up to the bed with a wary glance. On purpose, you pretended to be uncommonly interested in your nails.

“I thought you’d be asleep.”

“Didn’t feel like it,” you said, buffing a nonexistent spot on your shirt. “All good?”

“Don’t start.” He took his pillow and made for the chair.

You clicked your tongue. “You really don't have to sleep on the floor, you know…”

Which was kind.

“...I thought that was the whole point of Tyler’s Special Solo Time.”

Which wasn’t.

He rounded on you with his finger outstretched.

“Do not call it that!”

“Okay!”

“Never again!”

“Fine!”

“And for your information—that isn’t what I was doing in there.”

“Oh!” you said, genuinely surprised, “I just assumed…”

“Well, you know what they say about assuming.”

You make an ASS out of U and ME.

Color me surprised—you genuinely thought Tyler had been in the bathroom rubbing one out.

Could it be that he was too much of a gentleman to do it with you the next room over? That seemed like the likeliest explanation.

You were touched. Weirdly, inappropriately.

Also let down by the fact that you weren’t sexually irresistible enough to make him lose all sense of propriety—granted, you hadn’t been trying to be sexually irresistible at the time, more like drooling into his shirt.

“God, what?” he asked, eyes boring into yours like he was trying to crack open your mind and read it like a book, pushed to the brink when he couldn’t figure out what you were thinking or if you believed him about not masturbating in the bathroom.

“Nothing! Why are you chewing me out just because you got an erection?”

“Don’t say ‘erection’!”

You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not gonna call it a boner—I’m not in middle school anymore!”

“You have gotta be kidding me…”

He face-planted onto the bed, not consciously, you didn’t think, more like the natural result of a situation that’d understandably fried his brain.

You could relate… and it was supremely satisfying to hear him say the words you’d been thinking for over a day: you have got to be kidding me, indeed.

“This is the weirdest fucking Christmas I have ever had,” he mumbled into the mattress.

You laughed, feeling not an ounce of animosity as you watched his prone form. He was funny, and he’d been nicer than you deserved. You no longer believed that he had kicked you in the back during your flight on purpose.

“What are your plans for the holidays?” you asked him, letting him off the hook about his penis.

He turned his head and searched you for any trace of nefarious intent. He answered when he was sure you weren’t going to keep messing with him.

“The team and I are going to Kate’s. Then I’m spending the start of the New Year at home, hopefully, if there isn’t another fire to put out.”

“You’re from Arkansas,” you said.

“Mm.”

“‘Regnat populus.’”

He quirked his brow.

“‘The People Rule,’” you explained. “You don't know your own state’s motto?”

“Nobody knows their state’s motto.”

“I had to learn them all for school.”

“High school?”

“Elementary.”

“Oh,” he laughed, “so you grew up rich.”

“Shut up.”

He sat against the headboard next to you, crossing his ankles.

“What made you want to become a meteorologist?”

“Seriously?” you asked.

“What?”

“It’s a cliched question.”

“It’s a getting-to-know-you question!”

You frowned.

“Why would you ever want to get to know me? I’ve done nothing but fight you since the day we met.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

Plain, simple.

The lamplight made it impossible to hide a thing. There was a line between his brows, as if he couldn’t for the life of him understand why you couldn’t understand. “I like people.” You’d thought it trite at the time, you didn’t trust it, but you were thinking maybe it was true. Instead of judging you by the way you challenged, harangued, goaded, mocked, judging him, he’d kept trying to figure you out. It was one of the reasons he was good at his job—the merging of both science- and people-smarts.

If you had a brain in your head, you might learn from him. But to do that you’d have to get your head out of your ass and stop seeing him as the enemy.

Except you didn’t.

Sometime between the Heller offices and this moment in the Sunnyside Inn, your feelings towards him had changed. The animosity? Gone. All that was left in its place was a newfound respect, fresh like the layer of snow sitting over the world outside the walls of your hotel room, and, if you were being brutally honest, an attraction that was hard to ignore.

You held your breath.

His hair, glinting bronze, was sleep-mussed—the detail intimate, arousing, just like the stubble on his cheeks and the rugged line of his throat leading to the curves of those shoulders you couldn’t stop thinking about. What was that one corny-as-fuck phrase some fuckboy musician had once said?

Sexual napalm.

Tyler Owens was sexual napalm and you weren’t immune.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you said.

It was Projection 101, but in this case you weren’t entirely wrong.

Tyler’s eyes wandered down to your mouth, seductive without even trying. He was breathing as fast as you, his lips parted, tongue peeking out to wet them when he said, “Can’t.”

And that was all it took. One second you were staring at each other with twin fuck-me expressions and the next you were in his lap, your hands buried in his hair. The kiss was eager—messy—uncaring of finesse, indifferent to perfection. It was the exact opposite of the way you’d been living your life and it was mostly down to him. Even when he’d been driving you absolutely insane, there was no denying that Tyler brought out in you something hard to control. He made you ambitious, competitive, unfiltered—sometimes to an unflattering degree—but God, did it feel good.

He tilted his head and delved his tongue into your mouth. You groaned, pulled him back by the hair until you felt a rumbling sound in his throat which you decided to chase on instinct, latching your mouth onto that part of him you’d been obsessing over for the last few hours, sucking, biting, laving your way down to his clavicle.

“This is not how you get to know someone,” you joked, feeling him get hard again underneath you.

“Yeah, it is…”

“Don’t say 'biblically.’”

He laughed—it was a giggle that made you smile and peer into his face.

“You said it, not me. Are you gonna kick me out of bed later?” he asked, stroking a hand up your thigh.

“No. Are you gonna run for the hills like I soiled your virtue?”

He balked. “That is not what I did.”

“Yeah, it is!”

“Well”—he nipped your jaw, hand slyly making its own path up to your breast, which he stroked open-palmed so that you rocked your hips against his—”I promise not to be virtuous at all for the next…” He glanced at his watch. “Three hours.”

“Three hours?”

“What can I say,” he shrugged. “I’m a people pleaser. It’s my curse.”

Suffice to say, by the time 10:00 o’clock rolled around and you and Tyler made your way down so you could settle up the room with Carol, you were feeling like a million bucks. Not even a full spa day could have infused you with this much energy.

There was a pep in your step, a smile plastered to your face, and when Carol said, “Happy holidays! It was nice having you with us!” you were so smug that you slipped the tip in her hand and said, “Thank you, Carol, you sure made it sunny!”

Tyler cackled, but tried to do it subtly. (And failed.)

Right on the money, the snow had stopped falling during the night. It’d be a white Christmas, all right, but you should be able to drive home safely and arrive in time for lunch.

Tyler loaded your suitcase into your car, gallant as ever.

“So,” he said.

“So.”

You exchanged shy glances, which was new for you. You’d never had reason to feel shy around Tyler before, but then, you’d had him inside you not too long ago and the memory of the things you’d done, the things you’d said, which you wouldn’t admit even under threat of perjury, were enough to make you almost blush.

“We should hit the road,” you said dumbly, schooling your features into an unbothered mask.

“Yeah. I’m sure the others have already made it to Ms. Carter’s farm.”

“Well… merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, merry Christmas.”

You opened your door, settled into your seat. You were about to pull the door closed when Tyler stopped it, hand closed around the top.

“Can I call you, after the holidays?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

“Cool.”

He laughed. “Who’s holding the hot potato now, you or me?”

“I think we’re sharing this one,” you replied.

“I don’t mind that.”

“Yeah,” you said, “neither do I.”

He smiled at you for a while, then closed your door and watched you drive off. You followed his movements in the rearview until your paths diverged, then turned up the radio.

“Merry Christmas Eve, one and all! It’s a gorgeous one out there—we couldn’t have asked for better weather. Here’s one just for you. I’m sure you know it, so sing along: it’s Dean Martin and it’s our ‘Winter Wonderland,’ right here, in the heart of good ol’ Oklahoma…”

#rosie.fic #tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #glen powell x reader

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serejae · 7 months ago

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stay a while | s.hanbin

pairing : hanbin x reader

genre: fluff , being hanbins passenger princess

warnings : kissing, very self indulgent ugh i need him

-the members would mess up your seat but hanbin knows where you like your sest exactly

- always has your essential in the glove box

-the radio is yours, doesnt care what hes listening to as long as its you

-during roadtrips he never needs caffeine or anything, just talk and that keeps his energy up

-when you two are ordering food through the drive through, he lets you order. you’ll lean over his seat to which he admires you, you look at him staring only for him to lean in for a kiss (self indulgent)

-drives you anywhere you want, no complains, no matter where it is or the time

-in his backseat he has your plushies, blankets, anything you need to sleep peacefully

-and forbid any of the members mess up your plushes or “hurt” them, hes kicking them out of the car (jk)

-he knows the exact temperature you like the car, and he goes with it no matter if its too hot or cold for him

-your seat would have those special head pillows or neck pillows just for it to be comfy for you

-in the sun visor mirror (the little flappy thing infront of the drivers and passenger seat with the mirror) he has your initials next to the mirror made with rhinestones

-has a polariod of you and him on his dashboard as well and a plush that reminds him of you

-im sick. he would open ur car door and if you were trying to get out, he’ll run out the car before you could open your door to open it from the outside for you

- he drives with one hand. i repeat with ONE HAND. the other hand is on your thigh or holding yours

-as he pumps gas, if he sees you look at him hes gonna send a flying kiss to you in the car

-will always buckle your seatbelt for you doing that leaning over thing 😐

-if one store didnt have what you were craving, he’ll drive to another no complaints and if you were too tired to go in he’ll go in and scan the store for you

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literaryvein-reblogs · 2 months ago

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Some Gemology Vocabulary

for your next poem/story (pt. 4)

Gemology—the scientific study of gemstones

Common Gemstone Shapes:

Negative crystal - A crystal-shaped cavity within a crystalline gemstone. The cavity usually shows a combination of forms which occur in the host crystal and may contain liquid, gas or solid.

Ornamental stones - Minerals and rocks which normally lack transparency and are valued for their colour and pattern e.g. turquoise, lapis lazuli, malachite, agate. Although they have beauty, not all of them are rare or possess durability.

Scintillation - The multiple and alternating reflections or twinkling of light from the facets of a polished gemstone when there is relative movement between the observer and the light source or gemstone.

Sheen - A special visual phenomena observed in gem materials due to reflection of light from the internal structure of the stone.

Skull melting - A technique used to synthesise cubic zirconia. Zirconia powder is contained within a skull of water cooled fingers, then heated by radio frequency radiation. The molten material confined within a crust of itself is then slowly cooled , forming columns of crystals.

Striations - Parallel markings on the surface of crystals resulting from oscillating growth between two crystal forms.

Syngenetic (inclusions) - Mineral inclusions formed at the same time as the host crystal and enclosed within it e.g. healed fractures in quartz, olivine in diamond.

Tenacity (toughness) - The ability of a mineral to absorb energy without breaking or cleaving. Terms used are brittle, sectile, malleable, flexible, elastic.

Translucent - Allows transmission of light but does not show a clear image of an object.

Transparent - Transmits a clear, undistorted image of an object. Most faceted gemstones are transparent.

Source ⚜ More: Word Lists ⚜ Gemology

#gemology #terminology #word list #writing reference #dark academia #spilled ink #writeblr #studyblr #langblr #literature #writers on tumblr #writing prompt #poets on tumblr #poetry #creative writing #light academia #writing resources

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theonottsbxtch · 3 months ago

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PREACHER'S DAUGHTER PT3 | MV1

an: we delve into the rest of their lives, god i would commit actual crimes for these two i hold them so close to my heart bro, next part will be angsty a bit bad have some special topics

wc: 6k

part one | part two |

The road stretched endlessly before them, the sun low in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of gold and pink. Max’s work truck rumbled along the highway, the familiar hum of the engine filling the cab as he drove, one hand on the wheel and the other resting casually on the gearshift. Beside him, she sat cross-legged, her hair pulled back loosely, a soft smile on her face as she looked out the window.

The truck was old, the radio temperamental, so she had plugged in her phone and played something softer than what Max would usually listen to—some sweet, folksy tune that felt right for the quiet between them.

They were headed out of town, chasing down a car part he needed for a project at the garage. He hadn’t planned to bring her along, but when she’d looked up at him this morning, her eyes bright with curiosity and her voice soft as she asked, “Can I come with you?” he hadn’t been able to say no.

Max glanced over at her as they drove, the sunlight catching the curve of her cheek, her profile etched against the golden backdrop of the open road. She was so effortlessly beautiful, and even now, almost a year into being together, it still took him by surprise.

“What are you smiling about over there?” she asked, catching him staring.

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug, but the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth gave him away.

She rolled her eyes playfully and leaned back in her seat, humming softly to the music.

They had been driving for just under twenty minutes when she suddenly straightened, her hand tapping his arm. “Max, slow down,” she said, her voice excited.

He raised an eyebrow but eased off the gas as she pointed to something up ahead. “What’s up?”

“Over there,” she said, motioning toward the side of the road.

Max followed her gaze and saw it—a small chapel nestled beneath a canopy of trees, its white paint faded but charming, with a little steeple that seemed to reach for the sky. A sign out front read St. Mary’s Chapel—Open for Visitors.

“I want to see it,” she said, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Max frowned slightly, glancing from her to the chapel and back again. “Why? It’s just a little church.”

“Please?” she asked, her voice soft, her hand brushing his arm.

He sighed but turned the wheel, pulling the truck onto the gravel drive that led to the chapel. She was already unbuckling her seatbelt before he had even stopped, practically bouncing in her seat.

Max parked and watched as she climbed out, her eyes fixed on the little building like it held some kind of magic. He leaned back in his seat, arms resting on the steering wheel as he watched her wander toward the chapel, her movements slow and reverent.

She stopped at the bottom of the steps, looking up at the steeple, and then glanced back at him, her smile warm and inviting. “Aren’t you coming?”

Max sighed again but climbed out of the truck, shoving his hands into his pockets as he followed her.

The closer he got, the more he noticed the little details—the peeling paint, the way the flowers around the building had grown wild, the faint smell of old wood that wafted through the open doors.

“It’s cute,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him as they stepped inside.

The chapel was small and simple, with rows of worn wooden pews and a modest altar at the front. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting colourful patterns on the floor. It was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt sacred.

Max stood beside her, watching as she walked down the aisle, her fingers grazing the back of one of the pews.

“What do you think?” she asked, turning to face him.

Max shrugged, but there was a softness in his eyes. “It’s nice.”

She smiled, her gaze drifting back to the altar, but Max didn’t move. He stood there, watching her, something stirring in his chest. The way she looked in this moment—peaceful, content—made something click into place in his mind.

He took a deep breath, his hand reaching for the chain around his neck, where her ring hung.

“What do you say about making it official?” he said, his voice low and steady.

She turned to him, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Max stepped closer, lifting the chain from beneath his shirt, the ring catching the light as they swayed between them. He let the necklace dangle between his fingers, his eyes locked on hers.

“We’ve got everything we need,” he said, his voice soft but filled with conviction. “You. Me. This place. It doesn’t have to be fancy, angel. It just has to be us.”

Her lips parted, her eyes widening as his words sank in. “You mean... here? Now?”

Max nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Why not? I’ve known I wanted to marry you since the day you said yes. Why wait?”

Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes shimmering with emotion. “Max...”

He stepped closer, cupping her cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing against her skin. “You’ve already given me everything, angel,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “You made me believe in a life I never thought I could have. You made me believe in us. I don’t need a big wedding or a fancy party. I just need you.”

Tears filled her eyes, but her smile was radiant. “Are you sure?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Max smiled, leaning in so their foreheads touched. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Her answer was a soft, breathless laugh, followed by a single word.

“Yes.”

Max barely had time to process her "yes" before she tilted her head, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “We ain’t dressed nice,” she teased, gesturing to her skirt and sweater, and his well-worn flannel over a white t-shirt.

He blinked at her for a moment, and then dramatically rolled his head back, groaning like a man being asked to do the impossible. “Angel,” he drawled, “do we really have to get all dressed up? It’s just us.”

Her laugh was soft, melodic, and far too endearing for him to resist. “It’s my wedding day, Max,” she said, raising an eyebrow, her tone sweet but firm.

And just like that, she had him. Because it was her.

Max sighed deeply, though his lips twitched into a smile, and he reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a wad of cash held together by a rubber band. He held it up and wagged it in her direction. “Fine. You win. Let’s go.”

Her face lit up, and she took his hand, pulling him back to the truck.

They found a small boutique a few streets over, a little shop with lace dresses and secondhand suits in the window. Max held the door open for her, stepping in behind her as a bell jingled overhead.

She wandered toward a rack of dresses, her fingers trailing over the fabric until she found a simple knee-length white dress with delicate embroidery along the hem. She held it up to her chest and turned to him, her eyes sparkling. “What do you think?”

Max leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his smile soft and slow. “You look perfect,” he said, and he meant it. She could’ve worn anything—or nothing at all—and she would’ve still been the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

She grinned and disappeared into the dressing room. Max turned toward another rack, reluctantly picking out a plain white button-up shirt to pair with his jeans. “This’ll do,” he muttered under his breath.

When she came out in the dress, Max froze. She looked... ethereal, like she belonged in one of those fairytales she loved so much. “Angel,” he said softly, his voice low and reverent. “You’re gonna kill me looking like that.”

She rolled her eyes, blushing, and tugged him toward the counter to pay.

They drove back to the chapel, the dress and shirt tucked into a bag, and found an older gentleman standing near the altar. He introduced himself as Pastor Reaves, his smile kind and a little amused when they explained their impromptu plans.

“Well,” Pastor Reaves said, chuckling as he gestured to the empty pews, “it’s just the three of us here, and you’ll need a witness to make it official.”

Max rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at her as if to say I’ll fix it. He pulled out his phone and dialled Danny.

It rang a few times before a groggy voice picked up. “Max? What the hell, man, it’s barely noon.”

Max smirked. “Hey, Danny, you awake?”

Danny groaned. “You just woke me up, so no, not really.”

“Well, wake up for real,” Max said, his tone casual but tinged with excitement. “I need you to be my witness.”

Danny yawned on the other end. “Witness for what? You in trouble or something?”

Max glanced over at her, grinning as she adjusted the skirt of her dress. “Nah, man. Witness for my wedding.”

There was silence on the line, followed by a sharp intake of breath. “Wait, what? You’re getting married?”

“Yeah,” Max said, his grin widening. “Right now.”

Danny’s voice shot up an octave. “Right now? You’re getting married now?”

“Yup.”

“Jesus Christ, Max, give a guy some warning, will you? Where are you?”

“St. Mary’s Chapel,” Max said, his tone easy.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t start without me,” Danny said, his voice a mix of exasperation and excitement.

Max chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He hung up and slipped his phone back into his pocket, turning to her with a shrug. “He’ll be here soon.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You didn’t even tell him you proposed?”

Max gave her a sheepish smile, running a hand through his hair. “Guess I forgot. He’ll get over it.”

Her laughter filled the quiet chapel, and Max couldn’t help but watch her, his chest tightening with a feeling he couldn’t quite put into words. She was his, and in just a few minutes, the whole world would know it.

True to his word, Danny arrived in just under ten minutes, screeching his old car into the gravel lot in a cloud of dust. Max heard the clatter of a door slamming and turned to see his best friend barreling toward the chapel.

Danny was a sight. His usually tousled hair was messier than normal, as though he’d tried to fix it on the drive and given up halfway. He’d thrown on a wrinkled suit that looked like it had been yanked from the back of his closet, and his tie was hanging awkwardly around his neck, the knot halfway done. He was still tucking his shirt into his pants as he jogged up the steps, looking harried but determined.

“You’re lucky I love you, man,” Danny panted as he reached Max, clapping him on the shoulder. Then his eyes darted to her, and he froze.

“Oh, wow,” Danny said, blinking as he took her in. His expression softened, and he gave a low whistle. “You look... amazing.”

She smiled, blushing slightly. “Thanks, Danny.”

He cleared his throat and looked back at Max, his voice gruff. “You really don’t deserve her.”

Max smirked. “Yeah, well, she said yes anyway.”

Danny huffed a laugh but didn’t argue.

As they stepped inside, Danny fumbled with his tie again, muttering something under his breath about damn knots. She noticed and stepped up to him, her hands gentle as she reached for the tie. “Let me,” she said, her tone light and teasing.

Danny froze, his face going red as she expertly fixed the knot. “You didn’t have to, uh, I mean—thanks,” he stammered.

She smiled up at him, her laughter soft. “I appreciate the effort, Danny. You clean up nicely.”

Danny rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “Didn’t want to embarrass Max on his big day.”

Max snorted from where he stood near the altar. “Pretty sure you do that just by existing, man.”

Danny shot him a glare but didn’t argue, instead stepping back to admire her handiwork. “All set?”

She nodded, and the three of them turned toward Pastor Reaves, who stood patiently at the altar. “Shall we begin?” the pastor asked, his smile kind.

The ceremony was short and simple, but no less emotional for it. Pastor Reaves spoke of love and commitment, his words resonating in the small, quiet chapel. Max held her hands the entire time, his grip firm but gentle, his eyes never leaving hers.

When it came time to exchange vows, Max took a deep breath, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “I don’t have anything fancy to say, angel,” he said, his thumb brushing against her knuckles. “Just that you’re my whole world. You’ve given me a reason to believe in something bigger than myself—bigger than either of us. I promise to love you, to take care of you, and to never take you for granted. You’re it for me. Forever.”

Her eyes shimmered with tears, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she whispered, “Forever.”

When it was her turn, her voice trembled but never wavered. “You’ve been my safe place, Max. My anchor. You make me feel brave, like I can do anything as long as I’m with you. I promise to stand by you, to love you, and to keep believing in us—no matter what.”

By the time they exchanged rings, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Even Danny, who had been trying to keep it together, sniffled loudly and swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Man,” Danny said as Max pulled her into a kiss, his voice cracking. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Max laughed against her lips, pulling back just enough to look over at his friend. “Didn’t think I had it in me, huh?”

Danny shook his head, grinning through his tears. “Not in a million years, man. But—” His voice wavered, and he cleared his throat, his smile softening. “You look happy. Happier than I’ve ever seen you.”

Max turned back to her, his hand cupping her cheek. “That’s ‘cause I am.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes bright and filled with love. “Me too.”

As they stepped out of the chapel, the sun warm against their faces, Danny cleared his throat, his hands stuffed awkwardly into his pockets. “Not to kill the vibe or anything,” he started, glancing between the two of them, “but you know you’ll still have to go to the courthouse when you’re in town to make it all official in city terms, right?”

Max raised an eyebrow at him. “Why you gotta ruin the moment, Danny?”

Danny shrugged, smirking. “Just doing my civic duty, man. Didn’t want you thinking this was a done deal without a little paperwork.”

She laughed softly, squeezing Max’s hand. “Guess we’ll have to take care of that soon, huh?”

Max sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll handle it.” Then, with a teasing smirk, he added, “You gonna come hold my hand for that too, Danny?”

Danny snorted. “Only if you cry.”

Max flipped him off, and she laughed again, the sound light and full of joy.

As they walked back to the truck, Max paused and glanced at Danny. “You wanna join us? We were headed out to pick up a car part.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “You inviting me on your honeymoon, man?”

Max groaned, but she elbowed him playfully and turned to Danny with a smile. “Come on, Danny. We’d love the company.”

Danny glanced between them, clearly debating, but finally nodded. “Alright, but only ‘cause I don’t trust you to drive responsibly now that you’re all giddy and married.”

Max rolled his eyes but waved him toward the truck. “Get in the back, smartass.”

The drive started off quiet, the hum of the truck’s engine and the warm breeze filling the cab. But it didn’t take long for Danny to start digging into Max’s past, clearly relishing the opportunity to embarrass him in front of his new wife.

“Did Max ever tell you about the time he got his head stuck in the railing at the park?” Danny asked, leaning forward from the backseat, a grin plastered across his face.

Max groaned, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “Danny—”

“Oh, do tell,” she said, turning in her seat with a wide grin.

Danny laughed, ignoring Max’s protests. “So, we were like nine, right? And Max here decides he’s gonna be some big hero and climb up to get this kid’s toy truck that got stuck in a tree. He gets the truck, no problem. But on the way back down, he slips and falls into the railing. Head first. Got stuck there for a good twenty minutes until our teacher had found us and came with butter to grease him out.”

She burst into laughter, her hand flying to her mouth as she tried—and failed—to stifle the sound. “Oh my gosh, Max, that’s adorable.”

Max groaned again, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying his amusement. “It wasn’t adorable. It was humiliating.”

Danny cackled. “Yeah, but you were a hero, man. The kid got his truck back.”

Max shot him a glare in the rearview mirror. “Keep it up, Danny. See if I don’t leave your ass on the side of the road.”

Danny just laughed harder.

The teasing continued for most of the drive, with Danny pulling out every embarrassing childhood story he could remember. She soaked up every word, her laughter filling the cab and making Max’s heart swell despite his mock protests.

By the time they reached the shop to pick up the car part, Max was thoroughly red-faced but couldn’t stop smiling.

As he parked, Danny leaned forward, slapping him on the shoulder. “Man, I gotta say, I never thought I’d see you like this. Happy. Settled.”

Max glanced at her, his hand automatically reaching for hers. “Guess it just took the right person.”

She squeezed his hand, her smile soft and full of love. “Guess it did.”

Danny groaned from the backseat. “You two are gonna make me puke with all this lovey-dovey crap.”

Max smirked. “Good. Maybe then you’ll stop talking.”

But even Danny couldn’t hide his smile as they climbed out of the truck, all three of them laughing and ready to tackle whatever came next—together.

As quick as they came, Max and Danny loaded the car part into the bed of the truck, back on the road before she’d had proper time to stretch her legs.

When the truck pulled back into town, the warm glow of the setting sun washed over everything. Max eased the vehicle to a stop in front of the chapel where Danny’s car was still parked. Danny hopped out, looking a little more put-together after the ride back, though the loose tie still hung crookedly around his neck.

“Thanks for the lift, lovebirds,” Danny said, leaning in through the open window on Max’s side. He gave Max a sly grin. “Try not to celebrate too hard, alright? Don’t wanna see you dragging tomorrow at the shop.”

Max rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched with a grin. “Get lost, Danny.”

Danny smirked and gave a casual salute. “See ya tomorrow.”

He turned to her, his grin softening. “And congrats again. He’s a lucky bastard.”

She smiled back, warm and genuine. “Thanks, Danny. Drive safe.”

Danny waved as he walked to his car, and Max put the truck in gear, heading for their new apartment uptown.

The place still smelled faintly of fresh paint and new carpet. It wasn’t much—just a one-bedroom unit in a modest building—but it was theirs, and that made it feel like a palace. The furniture was sparse: a cheap bedframe, a small dining table with mismatched chairs, and a single couch in the living room. Boxes were still piled against the walls, waiting to be unpacked, but neither of them minded. They were building their life together, piece by piece, and that was all that mattered.

As soon as they walked through the door, she kicked off her shoes with a sigh of relief and made a beeline for the bed. She flopped down, stretching out and burying her face in the pillow with a contented groan.

Max chuckled, shutting the door behind them and tossing his keys onto the counter. “Tired already?”

She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him. “It’s been a long day, Mr. Husband.”

He grinned at the title, leaning against the counter. “Don’t get too comfortable. I gotta head to the shop for a few hours, at least long enough to check the piece works.”

Her brows furrowed, and she sat up. “Don’t you want to celebrate?”

The words were innocent enough, but the way she said them—soft and teasing, with a hint of something more—made his throat go dry.

He ran a hand through his hair, giving her a sheepish grin. “Angel, you can’t do that to me when I’m about to head to work.”

She tilted her head, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. “Do what?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but the words died in his throat as she stood, smoothing her dress. Then, without a word, she reached behind her, unzipping the back of her dress and letting it slide off her shoulders.

Max froze, his eyes widening as she stepped out of the fabric, now standing in just her slip. She didn’t look at him, didn’t say a word, just walked casually toward the bathroom, the sway of her hips deliberate and maddening.

He groaned, his head falling back against the cabinet with a soft thud. “You’re killing me, angel.”

From the bathroom door, she turned to look at him over her shoulder, her smile innocent. “What did I do?”

Max pushed off the counter, crossing the room in three long strides. She gasped softly as he pinned her lightly against the doorframe, his hands bracketing her waist.

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as his lips found hers in a heated kiss. Her hands slid up to his chest, clutching at his shirt as he deepened the kiss, his fingers tightening slightly on her hips.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his breath ragged. “Behave,” he warned, his voice teasing but strained. “I’ll deal with you when I’m home.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. “I’ll be waiting, husband.”

He groaned again, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before stepping back. “You’re trouble, angel.”

With one last look at her, he grabbed his keys and headed out the door, muttering under his breath about how he was supposed to get anything done with her around.

She watched him go, her heart fluttering in her chest. This was their life now—simple, chaotic, and full of love. And she wouldn’t trade it for anything.

In the eight months that followed, the two of them built up a good routine. When she finished work first, she’d wait on his work bench and they’d go home together. On days he finished first, he’d wait for her outside and pick her up.

Max leaned against the side of his truck, his leather jacket zipped up against the evening chill. The familiar sound of her heels clicking against the pavement caught his attention, and he turned, smiling as he watched her approach. Even after months of marriage, she still had the power to take his breath away.

“Hey, angel,” he greeted, opening the passenger door for her.

She smiled back, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hey.”

Sliding into the seat, she let out a small sigh, her hand instinctively rubbing her temple. Max climbed in beside her, his brows furrowing as he started the engine. “You feeling any better today?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, though her pale complexion and tired eyes told a different story.

Max glanced at her as he pulled onto the road. “You’ve been ‘fine’ for days now, and you’ve looked like you’re ready to pass out every time I see you. Maybe it’s time to take a day off, huh?”

She shook her head. “I can’t. They’re already short-staffed at the clinic. I don’t want to let anyone down.”

Max sighed but didn’t push further. He knew how stubborn she could be when it came to responsibility. Instead, he reached over, resting a hand on her thigh and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Alright. But when we get home, you’re putting your feet up, got it?”

Her lips curved into a faint smile. “Got it.”

The apartment had transformed in the months since they’d gotten married. Thanks to her trust fund she finally received, they’d been able to furnish it properly—soft rugs, cosy furniture, and a dining table that didn’t wobble. The space felt warm and lived-in, with her personal touches visible in every corner: photos of them on the walls, a vase of fresh flowers on the table, and a bookshelf that seemed to grow fuller every week.

Max dropped his keys on the counter as she slipped off her shoes, heading straight for the kitchen. “You sure you don’t want to just order something tonight?” he called after her.

“No, I’m cooking,” she replied firmly.

He sighed, following her into the kitchen. “Angel, you’ve been queasy all week. Maybe tonight’s not the best night for—”

“I’m fine, Max,” she interrupted, pulling out a couple of fillets of fish from the fridge. “It’s just a little nausea. It’ll pass.”

But as she stood at the counter, the smell of the raw fish hit her, and her stomach lurched. She gagged, clapping a hand over her mouth as her other hand gripped the edge of the counter for support.

Max was at her side in an instant, his arm wrapping around her waist. “Angel,” he said softly, guiding her to sit at the table. “You can’t keep ignoring this.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted weakly, though her face was pale and clammy.

Max crouched in front of her, his hands resting gently on her knees. “You’re not fine,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “You’re throwing up every morning, you can’t even stand the smell of fish—hell, you’re gagging just thinking about it.” He paused, his dark eyes searching hers. “Have you considered that you might be pregnant?”

Her eyes widened, and she blinked at him, clearly caught off guard. “Pregnant?”

He nodded slowly, his hands sliding up to hold hers. “Yeah. I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Nausea, exhaustion…”

She shook her head, her voice quiet. “No… I didn’t even think about it.”

Max tilted his head, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “Why not?”

Her gaze dropped to their hands, a faint blush creeping up her neck. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “My mum never really talked to me about… you know, any of this. I don’t even know what pregnancy symptoms are supposed to feel like.”

Max’s chest tightened at her words, a wave of tenderness washing over him. He reached up, cupping her cheek and tilting her face so she’d look at him. “Hey, it’s alright. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

She nodded, leaning into his touch.

“First thing tomorrow,” he said gently, “I’ll run out and grab some tests. We’ll take it from there.”

She hesitated, then gave him a small smile. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoed, standing and pulling her into his arms.

Max woke before dawn, the faint light of the rising sun filtering through the curtains. He turned his head to look at her, still sound asleep beside him, her face relaxed and peaceful. Her soft breaths were the only sound in the room, and for a moment, he just watched her, his heart full.

Then he slipped out of bed as quietly as he could, careful not to wake her. Grabbing his phone, he stepped into the hallway and dialled her clinic, for once he was glad it was a 24h clinic.

“Hi, this is Max Verstappen. I’m calling about my wife—she’s not feeling well, so she won’t be coming in today.”

The receptionist, someone he’d met once or twice, was understanding. “Of course. Tell her to rest, and we hope she feels better soon.”

Max hung up, feeling a small sense of triumph. He hated seeing her push herself when she clearly needed a break. Returning to the bedroom, he silenced her alarm before it could go off, then grabbed his jacket and keys.

When he returned an hour later, he had a small bag from the pharmacy in one hand and a coffee for himself in the other. Quietly letting himself in, he set the bag on the counter before heading to the bedroom.

She was still asleep, curled up on her side, her hair fanned out across the pillow. Max slid back into bed beside her, leaning over to press a soft kiss to her forehead. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open.

“Hey,” she murmured sleepily, a small smile forming on her lips.

“Hey, angel,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I called in sick for you. Figured you could use a day off.”

She blinked at him, her smile widening. “You did?”

He nodded. “Yep. You’re officially off duty.”

Her hands slid up to his shoulders, pulling him down into a lazy kiss. “Thank you,” she whispered against his lips.

“Anything for you,” he said, his voice soft and full of affection.

She started to sit up, but her face suddenly paled, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, no…”

Max was up in an instant, helping her out of bed and guiding her to the bathroom. She barely made it to the toilet before she began to throw up, and he knelt beside her, rubbing her back and holding her hair.

When she finally sat back, her face flushed, he handed her a glass of water. “You okay?”

She nodded weakly, rinsing her mouth. “I guess we should take the test now, huh?”

“Yeah,” Max agreed, his voice gentle. “I picked up a few, just in case.”

Minutes later, they were sitting together on the floor of the bathroom, the test resting on the counter above them. Max held her hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over her skin as they waited.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, her voice quiet. “What if it’s not positive?”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Then we’ll figure out what’s going on. But if it is…” He smiled, his heart thudding at the thought. “If it is, we’re gonna be the luckiest people on earth.”

The timer on her phone beeped, and she sat up, her breath catching. Max reached for the test, holding it up so they could both see the result.

Two lines.

She gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. “Oh my God…”

Max stared at the test for a moment, his own eyes shining, before he turned to her. “Angel, we’re having a baby.”

She nodded, laughing through her tears. “We’re having a baby.”

Max’s knees gave out, and he sank to the floor in front of her, his hands gently resting on her waist. His lips pressed to her stomach, reverent and full of love.

“Hey, little one,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s your dad. Can’t wait to meet you.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, her own tears falling freely. “Max…”

He looked up at her, his face lit with pure joy. “You’ve given me everything, angel. I didn’t think I could ever feel this much… and now we’re gonna have a family.”

She leaned down, cupping his face in her hands and kissing him deeply. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you more,” he replied, pulling her into his arms as they held each other, their hearts full of hope and love for the future.

By seven months she felt like she was carrying a whale.

The apartment was warm, sunlight streaming through the windows, and the faint scent of lavender from a nearby candle filled the air. Max walked through the kitchen, spotting her by the sink with her belly pressing against the counter as she washed dishes. Her movements were steady but slow, and he could see the strain in her back even from across the room.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Angel,” he called, leaning against the doorway.

She didn’t look up, just hummed in response, her focus on scrubbing a stubborn spot on a plate.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop doing this? I can handle the chores.”

“Max,” she said, glancing at him with a playful smile. “I’m pregnant, not an invalid. I can still wash a few dishes.”

He shook his head, walking over to her and turning off the faucet. “Nope. Not today.” Before she could protest, he scooped her up into his arms with ease, ignoring her laugh of surprise.

“Max! Put me down!” she exclaimed, her arms looping around his neck instinctively.

“Not a chance,” he replied, grinning as he carried her to the living room. “You’re done for the day.”

He gently set her down on the sofa, pulling a blanket over her lap and kneeling in front of her. She was laughing, her cheeks flushed, one hand resting on her swollen belly.

“You’re impossible,” she said, shaking her head.

“And you’re stubborn,” he shot back, smirking. “But I’m winning this one.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Well, if you’re going to be so chivalrous, you might as well give me a foot massage.”

His grin widened. “Deal.”

He grabbed a pillow and placed it under her feet, gently pulling one foot into his hands. His thumbs began working over her arch, and she let out a soft sigh of relief, sinking further into the cushions.

“You’re good at this,” she murmured, her eyes half-closed.

“I’ve had practice,” he teased. “Keeping you happy is a full-time job.”

She chuckled, her hand idly rubbing her belly. After a moment, her expression grew thoughtful. “Max, can I ask you something?”

He glanced up, his hands still working over her foot. “Anything.”

“Have you thought about baptism?” she asked.

He paused, tilting his head as he considered her question. “Not really. It’s not something I grew up with, but I know it’s important to you. Whatever you want, sweetheart, I’m on board.”

She smiled at his easy acceptance, but there was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

“It’d probably be best to do it at the church in town,” he continued gently. “But… that means your dad would find out.”

Her smile faded slightly, and she nodded, her fingers playing with the edge of the blanket. “I know.”

He shifted closer, resting his hands on her knees. “You don’t have to do it there if you’re not ready. We can find another place.”

She shook her head, her voice steady. “No, it’s okay. I can do it. I need to do it.”

Max’s heart swelled with pride. He leaned forward, cupping her cheek and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “You amaze me, you know that? You’ve come so far. I’m so proud of you.”

Her eyes shimmered with emotion, and she reached up to touch his face. “I’m equally proud of you, Max. You’ve built such a good life for us… for our baby. You’ve come so far too.”

He smiled, resting his forehead against hers. “We’ve done it together.”

She nodded, her hand moving to cover his where it rested on her belly. “Together."

taglist: @sinofwriting @le-le-lea @vanicogh @iamred-iamyellow @rayaskoalaland @spookyanamurdock @iimplicitt @hellowgoodbye @maximuminfluencerstarlight @lottalove4evelyn @piceous21 @ladscarlett @leclerc13 @linnygirl09 @labelledejourr @cmleitora @fortunapre @felicityforyou

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t34-mt · 7 months ago

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im not finishing it / fixing the wonky parts sorry, sketch featuring on'maa, ref for AF 2024

Diesel bicycles, "motorbikes" if you want, were a thing in GA for courier carriers.although models being stolen and used by civils and resistance movements was also a thing. usually being customised with special symbols, paint, or even ribbons depending on the culture the resistance group were from.

altuyur has no roads, so cars weren't a thing, but small engines like these powered by diesel were for a short time. After GA the diesel bikes weren't produced anymore, and weren't going to be for several decades after (and when they are id like to find an alternative to diesel fuel).

Models dating back from GA were left to rot in the wild or in someone's home, engineers who knew how to take care of them were few and finding and contacting one could be near impossible. Reminder, there is no industrial revolution things like these would take 5-10 years to be made, there is no phone, no internet, not even electricity. However, GA does birth radio communication through selectively breeding mycelium specimens and the making of immense linked mycelium networks.

motorbikes for kyhuines are just smaller, mierthri kyhuine species cannot ride the bike of land kyhuines because of their anatomy, small size and proportions

programs used: ms paint sketch, then FA for coloring quicker

#repost #i felt like writing actually #digital art #my art #oc #artists on tumblr #worldbuilding #speculative zoology #altuyur #maanul #speculative biology #2024

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fairyrcts · 5 months ago

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R U MINE ? , M.S.

by fairyrcts contents - intended lowercase , 3rd person , use of y/n , unprotected sex (not recommended) , semi-public sex ¿ , more (?)

an - just made this is 20 mins while my bf got me mcdonalds :)

taglist - @pvssychicken , @gothiccvnt6996 , @emely9274 (header by @issysh3ll )

there weren't any words to describe what y/n felt currently. at the moment, she was getting dressed to see her friend/situationship or whatever the hell he was.

he'd only texted her half an hour ago to get ready and to look nice. she had no idea what he had in store for her.

matt and y/n had met at a party around 3 months ago. to say he was amazing was an understatement. but no matter how much he acted like it, he wasn't her boyfriend.

he'd bring her lunch every day at work, check up on her constantly, compliment her, call her cute names that only belonged to her, buy her things 'just because', but putting a lable on it? no, not happening.

y/n never wanted to upset him by bringing up the fact that she wanted commitment, because she had a good thing going for her. so now, he was clearly taking her somewhere special.

usually, their dates were simple like to a coffee shop or a record store, but now he's telling her to get ready and to look fancy.

was he gonna finally ask? no, she didn't wanna get her hopes up.

she was shooken out of her thoughts by the doorbell ringing. y/n walked down the stairs of her home, her black silk dress going up her thigh just slightly.

she opened the door to matt holding a bouquet of red and white roses tied up in a black bow. her smile went from ear to ear as she saw the sight in front of her.

"well, don't you look gorgeous. here, sweetheart. put em' somewhere nice." matthew handed her the bouquet with a smirk playing on his lips.

"you seriously didn't have to get me these, y'know." she giggled, placing them in the vase just beside the front door.

"of course i did. now, c'mon. we can't be late." his voice was low as he grabbed her hand and walked her to his car, opening the passenger door for her.

after getting in himself, he turned the radio up slightly so it'd play faintly behind their conversation.

"so, what's surprise you've got planned, hm?" y/n hummed, the beach by the neighborhood playing quietly under her words.

"if i told you, it wouldn't be much of a surprise, now would it?" he obviously had a point, but the nosiness couldn't help but get the best of y/n.

"okay, but i wanna know. please?"

matt simply shook his head 'no' as his fingers tapped on the steering wheel.

"pleasee, matt. y'know i hate surprises." y/n's whiney voice only made matt harder than it was when he saw her open that door.

"you're gonna have to beg better than that if you really wanna know, darling." he turned his head to flash her a smile, only making her groan.

of course she acted annoyed, but she was more wet then ever. she squeezed her thighs together to at least make an attempt for her to stop thinking about it.

"please, matt. c'mon, it's not fair. please? i'll be good the rest of the ride."

rest of the ride? matt was damn ready to pull over and fuck her right then and there.

"keep talking like that and there might not be a 'rest of the ride'." he warned. although he didn't even try, his voice just caused a pool in her panties. but then again, anything matt did had that affect on her.

just for shits and giggles, y/n decided to keep it going by teasing him just a bit more.

"oh yeah? and what's that supposed to mean, hmm?" she moved her body so she was leaning on the middle console.

her boobs were basically in his face. he let out a shaky breath, his dick growing by the second.

his eyes wandered her body, fighting to keep his sight on the road.

as he saw the glow of a gas station sign and made the choice to pull over.

he parked his car in a spot around the back, immediately turning his head towards her.

"the fuck made you think you can talk like that? backseat, now." his tone was demanding while the soft sound of arctic monkeys filled the car.

her eyes, filled with lust, narrowed at him before making her way to the back.

matt did the same, only getting out to do so. his hands made it's way to her neck as he began kissing her aggressively.

his movements were harsh, his tongue swirling around in her mouth while she moaned against his mouth.

he took the hand off her throat and started unbuckling his pants. y/n pulled away to assist him.

she pulled his black pants down to his ankles, leaving him in his boxers while he unbuttoned his shirt. y/n took off her dress, leaving her in her black lace bra and panties.

matt's dick got hard at the girl in front of him. he started palming himself through his boxers while he mumbled compliments to her.

y/n pulled off his boxers, his cock standing up. her eyes widened as she let out a gasp.

"fuck, c'mere." matt's voice was hurried while he took off her lingerie.

the car floor was now covered in discarded clothes.

y/n moved herself on top of his dick, already lubricated in his pre-cum. matt pushed her hips down on top of him, the two moaning loudly.

he began leaving messy hickeys on her neck while moving her body up and down on his dick.

he muttered small things in her ear, making her moans gradually get louder.

"yeah, nobody fucks you like this but me, ain't that right?" he spoke as his dick unintentionally hitting her g-spot consistently.

"mm f-fuck! only you, m-matt!" y/n moans were music to matt's ears.

he kept pounding his dick inside of the girl riding him. he could feel himself getting close.

"fuck, oh yeah. who's are ya? are ya mine?"

y/n couldn't even form coherent sentences. "i- i mhm. i'm y-yours! fuck!" she knew she was about to cum. the feeling of his cock balls-deep in her cunt was almost unbearable.

her face contored as she came on his dick. her juices coating him only pushed him over the edge as he released inside of her.

"shit, 'm sorry." he panted, breathless. the two of them began catching their breath again as y/n slowly moved off his dick, wincing in the process.

matt picked the clothes up from beneath them, handing y/n hers.

"sorry i made us miss whatever we had planned." she mumbled as she shimmied back into her dress.

matt chuckled. he hadn't even thought about their date.

"it was a reservation to some fancy japanese restaurant."

y/n laughed dryly.

and the rest was a blur. all of her worries had washed away. she was happy to have him, whether he was hers or not.

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #christopher sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo fluff #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fanfic fluff #sturniolo triplets imagines #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo smut #smut #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo fluff #matt x reader #matthew sturniolo imagine

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yaegeram · 25 days ago

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Trial environment ideas for Volker. I have the objectives for the trials thought out, I only have to draw more concept art for the map itself.

The idea is, that it all takes place in a war hospital (a "Reserve Lazarett' as it's called in German back during WW2) and the trial objective (and name) would be to "Cauterize the Wounds" of the patient. The patient has 4 wounds carved into his body. (Knees, Groin, Chest, Head) Your objective is to find 4 branding irons and brand over them. That's what the hydrolic press thing is for.

First you'd have to turn on the cremators in the crematorium by either turning a valve or by rolling large gas flasks into the basement to be able to turn a valve or something.

Then you'd have to find 4 branding irons in the hospital wings. They'd all unlock one after another starting with the one needed for his knees. You'd get a handheld radio decoder and would have to find different signal stations where you'd get a 4 digit code via something akin to morse code. Like one beep for 1, four beeps for 4, etc. I'm toying around with the idea of having to figure out the frequency as well, similarly to the Cleanse the Oprhans trial.

You'd then have to bring the iron to the cremator and heat it up and then bring it to the patient and press. However the iron cools down again. So you'd have to be quick with it and pick the shortest path. Then you'd put it in from above and pull a lever to lower it onto the patient.

Once that's completed I'm still unsure of wether the patient would just die from his head getting branded or whether you'd have to wheel him to another area of the game on his stretcher, the front lines, where he'd have to "go to war" again. Maybe mechanical mannequins would kill him one way or another or you'd have to fire a gun to kill him, not sure yet.

As for his soundtraps and special traps: he'd have empty IV bags, scalpels, scissors and pill bottles hanging from the ceiling as soundtraps. His special trap would be poisoned medicine, you'd only be able to guess it's poisoned by either drinking it or spotting minor differences to normal medicine bottles or maybe by checking it with your night vision device for impurities. There'd be an increased amount of First-Aid lockers on the map just to confuse the player more.

As for Volker, he'd be on the map for the duration of the entire trial like Franco, idk I'm not a big fan of the PAs only spawning in during the end or something.

That's all the thoughts I have at the moment, there'll probably be more or even some changes to it in the future as nothings set in stone yet 😋👍

#fanart #yae speaks #outlast #traditional art #outlast trials #the outlast trials #prime asset #prime asset oc #volker brandt #artist

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taigarrryen · 1 month ago

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i really love your sattelite hermits au! also i have a question for you.

i wonder if there's job divisions between them. or were there so few people they just went around and did everything they could?

Hi! Thank you for the ask :]

The expedition consists of engineers, builders and scientists of all kinds. Nowadays there is some division: obviously the scientists are there to focus on science stuff, not to spend their precious time doing heavy lifting — they've got the rest of the gang to do the job. However the first couple of years were wildly busy, since literally everything had to be mapped out, established and made on the spot, before any kind of deeper scientific studies could take place. Livable bases, landing pads, water and oxygen generators, power generators, radio towers, basic roads... You name it. So yes, at that time it was exactly how you've described it! + everyone is responsible for expanding, upgrading and fixing their own stations and labs to this day. But they've got a very wide range of specialists available, so there's rarely a problem that couldn't be fixed with a radio call or a helping hand.

There are also two admins at play: social [Grian] and tech [Xisuma]. Their job is making sure everything works, be it vital systems or interactions within and outside of Minecrea. If there's any kind of problem, it's their responsibility to find a way to solve it and keep the wheels turning. It was all on Xisuma at first, but it quickly became apparent this was way too big of a task for a single man to handle, so when Grian (who had previously had an experience of leading the Europa-Jupiter II expedition for a bit) came along, they've split it.

And, of course, every scientist has their own field of research, as well as every builder or engineer has their own specific work plan. I plan on touching on it in character info posts individually, but here are some examples:

Cleo is a biologist who specializes on extraterrestrial zoology and does research & taxidermy on wildlife

Zed is a planetologist and studies basically anything he can lay his hands on

Cub is an astrophysicist observing HC-1304 (gas giant which Minecrea orbits) and its moons

#sorry for taking this long to respond :'D #been pretty busy lately #I still have an ask in my inbox that I need to draw something for to respond properly >#don't worry I see u! I remember u and appreciate u reaching out #taigaskyen #satellite hermits au

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clareguilty · 3 months ago

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Ghost/Soap/Reader | Sex Pollen, Breeding kink

This fic was written for Kinktober 2024! Let me know what you think <3

Ghost/Soap/F!Reader | Sex Pollen, Breeding kink, strength kink, dacryphilia Rating: Explicit | WARNINGS: EXTREMELY DUBIOUS CONSENT Word Count: ~3400

The last thing you expected when you answered the knock on your office door was the sight of two uniformed soldiers, both broad enough to fill the entire doorway each, expressions grave. You ushered them inside your small, cluttered office tucked away in the biochemistry wing of the university building. Being the head of the pharmacology department did not come with a sprawling mahogany desk and glorious window views. You were lucky to have a desk and a window at all.

Still, you were the best in your field, and that had granted you tenure and funding to continue your research as well as a small team of graduate students and postdocs to boss around as you pleased.

One of the soldiers introduced himself as Captain Price, the other a corporal under his command. You cleared off space on your desk as the corporal opened a locked case and pulled out a laptop.

“Anything you are about to see is highly classified information,” the captain warned you. “Our intel pertains to ongoing operations to stop a dangerous organized terrorist group.”

You nodded along, but your focus was on the footage being played on the laptop. The drone shots and shaky handheld cameras, clips of lab workers handling samples while suited head to toe in protective equipment. There was footage of soldiers experiencing a variety of symptoms: aggression, paralysis, psychosis.

The corporal opened a file for you to scroll through. Pages and pages of reports.

“Biochemical weapons,” you murmured to yourself. “Inhalants?”

“Gas,” the captain confirmed. “Your security clearance is still in the system from your field work on that operation in Andorra. Our people are using your research as the blueprint.”

You were the leading expert on biochemical weaponry, much of your research was centered around synthesizing field antidotes. It had been a few years since you were last out in the field, taking samples from warzones and the sites of attacks.

“You need me out there?” You asked. But you already knew the answer. They wouldn’t be here in your office otherwise.

“You’ll be working with our top tactical operations team. The best men we’ve got. Whatever they’re making in these labs, we need to put a stop to it, and then we need to figure out how they’re doing it.”

You looked at the footage again - civilians this time - and felt your stomach turn at the sight.

“When’s the earliest we can leave?” You asked, closing the laptop to hide the horrifying images.

The body armor on your last field operation had been simple: a bullet proof vest with a mask and helmet. You had worn your civilian clothes and brought along everything else yourself.

“Alright, Dove, arms up,” the special forces sergeant, Soap, grinned as he dropped a heavy vest over your head. You dutifully raised your arms so he could fasten the tangle of buckles until you were secured.

“Thanks,” you glanced down at the overwhelming amount of gear that was now covering your front.

“You’ve got your radio,” he tapped the top left pocket, “Compass, shears, three mags of extra ammunition, scopes, batteries, and torch.” You watched him point out each item. “On your belt here you’ve got your pistol, knife, and canteen.”

Soap put his own gear on much faster than it had taken to kit you out. He carried even more equipment, but he somehow made it look easier.

You had been staying at the temporary base with Captain Price’s 141 task force for days now. Without access to quality lab equipment, you were working tirelessly to find answers about the biochemical weaponry using whatever was available. As impressive as your makeshift setup was, it wasn’t near precise or thorough enough to save lives.

It felt a little ridiculous. A researcher surrounded by a bunch of special forces giants. They were welcoming and friendly - except for the terrifying lieutenant with the skull mask, but you knew you were out of your depth surrounded by cases full of rifles and grenades. Sleeping on a cot and eating rations cooked off a gas burner.

Captain Price had done whatever he could to make you more comfortable. The encampment was a few secured buildings and several large tents. And while you were accustomed to the conditions after your previous field research, they had afforded you as much privacy as possible.

Underneath the teasing and jokes, Soap was kind and friendly. He’d nicknamed you their ‘peace dove’ on the first day, and you hadn’t been able to shake the moniker since.

Even Lieutenant Ghost had been considerate as you tried to keep up with the heavy military jargon and unfamiliar protocols. He slipped you candy bars that were definitely against regulations and sat with you after the countless briefings to explain all of the commands that had flown over your head rapid-fire. He was still scary.

The last military squadron you had worked alongside had mostly ignored you, frustrated with your inexperience and occasionally downright cruel. They hadn’t respected your expertise or your research despite your attempts to explain how vital it was to their safety.

There was none of that here.

After several days of monitoring intel and surveillance, Price had finally made the call to infiltrate the terrorist labs. The only way to stop these weapons would be to secure the materials themselves.

Soap and Ghost were assigned to clear out any hostiles, and your mission was to gather anything in the labs that would help to stop production of the weapons and synthesize antidotes.

It was difficult to keep up with them as they closed in on the lab. You had been instructed to hang back a ways while they engaged, but even then you were struggling to match their pace.

You had never known anyone who could make an assault rifle look small until these men. Like they were holding a toy. Despite their size, both the sergeant and the lieutenant were exceptionally fast even with all their gear.

As you approached the location of the terrorists’ labs, Ghost signaled for all of you to halt. He grabbed you by the shoulders and pressed you into a crouch inside a copse of brush where you would be able to keep cover.

“Stay here. We’ll engage the hostiles and bring you in as soon as the site is secure,” he ordered.

Both he and Soap immediately made to move in, but you managed to catch Soap by the hand. “Be careful,” you warned. “We have no clue what kind of shit they’re cooking up in there.”

“Don’t worry, Dove. We’ll do just fine,” Soap promised with a grin.

And then they were gone.

The silence that filled in after their retreating boot steps was excruciating. The sharp cracks of gunfire that rang out in short bursts were somehow even worse. You couldn’t radio in without risking the operation - the noise could give away their position - so you were left waiting until Ghost signaled the all clear. As the minutes dragged on since the last round of shots, you prayed you wouldn’t have to fall back on your contingency extraction: if you didn’t hear from either Soap or Ghost after two hours, you were to make your way to a designated pickup spot.

Your radio crackled.

“You there, Dovie?” Soap’s voice came through. He sounded uninjured.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” That was Ghost this time. “We’ve eliminated all hostiles. Give us ten more minutes to secure the site, and then I’ll send Soap to come get you.”

“Copy that.” An unbelievable amount of tension seemed to melt out of you at that, and you let out a heavy sigh.

Not even a minute later you heard a distant bang. Not gunfire. A small explosion.

“Lieutenant?” You immediately called over the radio. “What was that?”

“Fucking hell!” Soap shouted. “The lab was rigged!”

“Lieutenant?” You were already pushing to your feet, rushing out of the safety of your cover and towards the labs.

“We tripped something,” Ghost finally responded. “They had canisters set to burst if the lab was tampered with.”

“You mean you got dosed?” Your fingers were numb with fear as you fumbled with your radio. “Are you experiencing any symptoms? I’m on my way now!”

The radio was silent for a few moments, but you were sprinting as fast as you could toward the site. If you could get there quick enough, maybe you could find an antidote somewhere in the labs. They wouldn’t know what to look for, but if you could find out what was in those canisters, surely you could fix this.

“Wait, Dovie,” Soap’s voice was rough, breathy. “Stay where you are. Don’t come near here.”

“I’m the only chance you have at finding an antidote,” you shouted into the radio.

“Hold your position. Do not approach. That is an order,” Ghost snarled, but you were already at the entrance, flying through the path of carnage Soap and Ghost had left. The satellite images in the briefing had given you a rough idea of where you needed to go, and the trail of bodies confirmed you were on the right track.

As you came up on the entrance to the labs, someone tackled you into the wall, pinning you in place. You screamed, but a gloved hand covered your mouth.

“It’s just me,” Soap assured you. “But you shouldn’t have run in here without your weapon drawn. Shouldn’t have come in here at all.” He pulled his hand away so you could gulp down a breath.

“Whatever you were hit with, they might have an antidote. If I can get to it before it’s too late-“

Soap cut you off. “You’re worse than me at following orders.”

”Let me go.” You tried to squirm out of his hold.

Soap made a choked off sound in your ear. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s the gas. I swear. We didn’t know the lab was rigged.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“Jesus, Dove, you have to forgive me. Promise? I can’t fight it.”

“Whatever it is, you’ll be okay. Just let me go, Soap.”

He was pinning you in place with his entire body weight, panting against the back of your neck as he easily kept you still despite your attempts to break free.

Thankfully, you heard the sound of heavy boots approaching. That had to be Ghost.

He rounded the corner and you cried out. “Lieutenant! Please, sir!”

Ghost snarled when he saw you trapped beneath Soap. He crossed the room in three easy strides and ripped the sergeant off of you. Soap hit the floor with a groan, and you tried to back away.

Except the Ghost was closing in on you, knife drawn. He cornered you easily, and the fear had you freezing in place. You weren't a trained soldier. You weren't equipped to handle these kinds of situations.

You flinched as Ghost grabbed for you, squeezing your eyes shut and preparing for the worst, but there wasn't any pain - just the sound of tearing fabric and the sensation of your body armor falling away to a heap on the floor.

“Gotta get these off you,” he growled, crowding even closer against you. His voice wasn’t nearly as rough or as breathless as Soap’s. When you finally worked up the courage to open your eyes, Ghost was leant over you with his face in your neck taking deep inhales. Was he… smelling you?

They’d both been dosed. You had never seen symptoms like these before, but it wasn’t a typical toxin. Surely you could find an antidote if they just let you go.

And then Soap was back, pawing at the space between your bodies. “Please, Ghost,” he was begging, “feels like I’m about to die. Fuck. Need it so bad.”

Ghost pulled away from your neck, reached out to grab Soap by the jaw, holding him still. There was a moment of quiet save for both yours and Soap’s panicked breathing. “Alright, Johnny.” He finally assented. “You gotta go easy, you hear? Don’t wanna break her.”

You didn’t like the sound of that one bit, but struggling was absolutely useless when Ghost was holding a knife. You knew what he was capable of.

It was too quick for you to even register. Soap was fast. He snatched the knife from Ghost and cut your clothes away, taking you down to the ground with some sort of wrestling maneuver you were never going to escape from.

“I’m so sorry, Dove,” Soap was apologizing again. “Can’t fucking help it.”

He shoved his own gloves and gear away, fumbling to open his trousers before freeing his cock. He was achingly hard, and dripping. He was also fucking huge. His eyes fluttered shut in relief as he wrapped his hands around the length and gave a few lazy strokes, but you weren’t naive enough to believe that would be all it took.

“Please,” you begged, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Don’t fuss,” Soap placed a finger over your lips to quiet you, then he shoved it inside your mouth. You weren’t sure if biting him would end well for you. He grabbed your legs by the knees, raising your hips until your pussy was on display for him. “That’s a good girl.” He spit on his fingertips and began rubbing at your entrance, as if that would be enough lube.

He pressed two fingers inside of you, but you were so terrified that it didn’t feel right at all. It hurt. You screamed, and suddenly Ghost was there.

“This is the only way to help,” he said, and you noticed he had a silver canister in his hands. “I promise this will make it easier.”

You didn’t have enough time to react before he crushed the canister with just his gloved hands. A deafening hiss drowned out the sounds of your own sobs and your vision went white as the contents of the canister filled the air. You couldn’t hold your breath at all, not when you were sobbing with gasps of pain. The gas settled over your skin, inside your mouth and nose. You instinctively swiped your tongue against your teeth and cheeks. It tasted powdery and sour.

“Give her a second, Johnny,” Ghost ordered.

You were almost glad they had cut your clothes away because your skin was suddenly too warm. Too clammy. Your mouth went from bitter and dry to watering with saliva in a matter of seconds. Every sensation felt sharper, and the pain disappeared. Soap was just as warm where you were pressed against him, and his fingers inside you were now drenched in slick wetness.

How were they even able to think like this? They’d been dealing with these symptoms for longer than you and somehow still had control of themselves. You had been exposed to the gas for less than a minute and all rational thought had left you.

“That’s a good girl,” Ghost’s voice reached you through the drunken haze and you whined. “Spread yourself nice and open on Johnny’s fingers.”

Oh. You were fucking your hips against Soaps’ hand. He was watching the sight with his pupils blown wide as he pressed a third finger inside of you. The stretch felt amazing, but it wasn’t enough.

“Please,” you begged. “More. Please.”

Soap curled his fingers inside you and you cried out. He held your hips still with his free hand so he could fuck you harder on his fingers. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he had you gushing over his wrist in a matter of seconds.

“Gonna fuck you now.” He settled between your thighs. All you could do was beg because his finger hadn’t been enough. “Gonna breed you full, alright, Dove?”

“Yes. Yes, please,” you panted.

You would never have been able to take his cock if Ghost hadn’t dosed you with the gas. Even after the rough fingerfucking you still cried out at the stretch. But it didn’t hurt this time. You loved the way he filled you, the sensation of him sinking deeper inside.

He was too impatient at this point. Had been holding himself back for too long. The moment his cock bottomed out inside you it was like his final thread of control snapped. You were long past him, having never once stood a chance after Ghost crushed that canister.

“Jesus, Dove, you’re so tight. Feel so good on my cock,” Soap was panting against your skin as he fucked you. You were much less coherent beneath him, just a stream of sobbing and begging. You understood what Soap had said earlier: you felt like you were going to die if they didn’t fuck you. If they didn’t ruin you on their cocks.

“I’m already close.”

You were surprised Soap had lasted this long, considering how quickly you had come on his fingers. It was definitely the toxins in your system, but you needed him to claim you. Needed to be bred full. You must have begged for it, because Soap was soothing you as he picked up the pace.

“You’re okay. I’m gonna give you what you need. Just take it like a good girl, right Dovie?”

He forced his cock as deep as he could when he came, rocking against your hips to make sure it would take. You could feel it, so hot and sticky inside you, dripping out around his cock as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm.

You barely had a moment to catch your breath before a huge shadow filled your vision. Ghost. He shoved Soap aside, taking in the sight of you beneath him.

“Johnny made a mess of you didn’t he?” A gloved hand trailed over your tear stained cheeks, through the string of drool hanging from your lips. He forced your thighs apart to see Soap’s come dripping out of your used pussy. “Look at you, pretty girl,” he teased.

“Please,” you whined. The strange panic was taking hold of you again. You were scared what would happen if Ghost didn’t fuck you. “Please, sir. I need it.”

“Jesus, fuck,” Ghost swore under his breath. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. Should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to fight it off. Poor thing.”

He tossed his gloves aside, running warm, calloused hands over your sticky, sweaty skin. “I’m bigger than Johnny,” he warned. “But something tells me you’ll like that.”

All you could do was beg. How did Ghost have so much control? It was almost like he wasn’t affected at all.

He took mercy on you, dragging his cock against your pussy to slick the length of it before pressing inside. He was slower than Soap, more careful. And even under the effects of the gas, you needed it. Fuck. He was huge.

“You’re fucking noisy,” Ghost grumbled. And then there were two fingers pushing past your lips. You swirled your tongue around the digits to chase the salt and the sweat, and the relative quiet seemed to appease the lieutenant as he finally bottomed out inside you.

You had never been so full in your life, split open on the lieutenant’s cock like this. He groaned beneath the mask as he fucked you, rhythm faltering as you squeezed tight around his cock.

Even with his fingers in your mouth, you must have picked up your whining again because he leaned in to shush you. “Don’t worry, I’ll fill you up again. Breed you just like you need. We won’t let you go until you’re full of us.”

It should have sounded threatening, but all you could focus on was the promise that they would take care of you. That they would leave you dripping with their come.

The initial rush of the toxins had given way to a sort of timeless haze. You couldn’t focus on anything except the feeling of Ghost fucking you and his fingers in your mouth. It could have been hours. You just needed to be full.

“Here it comes, Little Dove,” Ghost warned you. “Better take every last drop.”

He pulled you so far onto his cock that a glance of pain managed to reach you in the haze, but it only left you craving more. You could feel his cock twitching inside you as he came, filling you even more than Soap had.

“Such a good girl.” He only pulled out after he was sure he had fucked his come into you as deep as possible. And when a few drops began to spill out, he swiped them up with the fingers he had just pulled from your mouth and forced them back inside your pussy again.

“Hey, LT,” Soap grinned where he was slowly stroking his cock. “Does this mean it’s my turn again?”

#kinktober #kinktober 2024 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/soap/reader #ghost x soap x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap/reader #ghost/reader

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