#vinyl mattress cover

[carterthug1]

How to prep for bedwetter.

Top pic bedwetters mattress protector.2nd pic bedwetters vinyl cover ripped.3rd pic new vinyl cover.4th pic new bamboo waterproof mattress cover.

Clean bed awaiting the bed wetter tonight

[foldingbedme]

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[loveshotzz]

I have to know what would we do to spoil our old man on his birthday 🥺🥺🥺🥺

we’d spoil him rotten 🥺

here’s semi spicy 18+ blurb about giving our favorite old man a massage on his birthday ♥️

(this blurb is for my au All I Really Want Is You but can be read as a stand-alone. Steve is 43 and fem!reader is 31 requested so long ago by @joekeerysmoles 💕) wc:600

The rose oil that covers your hands makes your fingertips glide over his broad freckled shoulders with ease. Eucalyptus hangs thick and heavy in the warm air, crackling from the wooden wicks inside the candles that provide the only light in his room. They help the nerves that still flutter even after a year of saying ‘I love you’.

Steve lays flat on his chest underneath you only in his boxer briefs, the gold Gucci emblem around the waist band shimmers in the low light. Your knees sit on either side of his hips, dipping down the plush bedding of his new king size mattress. A 43rd birthday gift to himself, while you sit in nothing but the thin red lace of the one you got for him.

Leaning forward with a smirk, your lips ghost across two of your favorite moles that dot the back of his neck, the tip of your nose tracing the shell of his ear.

“Happy birthday old man.”

Applying just enough pressure up the dip of his spine, you earn a low moan from him that vibrates deep in your core. It takes every ounce of your willpower not to rock your hips and chase it.

“Honey,” his voice comes out muffled from around the tops of his hands,“I wish there were words to describe how good this feels.”

Giggling with a chest full of pride, you catch a flash of his white teeth, stubble covered cheeks pushing up at his favorite sound. One of his big hands slips out, shoulders flexing with his movement as he reaches back to squeeze at the soft dough of your thigh before disappearing back to where it came from.

A content sigh escapes from between his pink lips as your focus shifts to his neck, your fingers digging at the tense muscles under his gold chain. The metal glistens with oil every time it catches the glow of the flickering candle, while your thumb and forefinger knead behind his ears.

“Shit, baby.”

Huffing with furrowed brows, he readjusts so he can turn his head to the other side. The movement slides you forward, creating just enough friction to bite down on your bottom lip. The dull ache between your legs becomes even harder to ignore, and you wonder if he can feel just how wet you are.

“Yeah, is that the spot?” You coo all sticky sweet, working it with even more focus. He sucks in a sharp breath, his teasing kisses all night spurring you on.

”God, fuck - yeah, yeah, right there.” He groans loud enough to drown out the sounds of The O’Jays vinyl playing downstairs, your thumb finally loosening up a hard knot.

His whole body melts under your touch, the hard lines of his face relaxing while the blunt ends of your nails scratch at the silver hairs hiding in the nape of his neck. Letting go of his long work week with deep breath, the movements have your hips rolling on their own, his oiled sun kissed skin making it too easy to do again.

He hums knowingly, relishing in the soft tug of his hair loving the way you squeal when he flips himself over. Big hands grab at your hips to keep you in place, the effects of your massage had on him becoming obvious nestled between your thighs.

There’s still no preparing for the sight beneath you, and despite seeing it almost every day, you still can’t believe he’s yours.

His soft hair is a tousled mess of auburn and silver on top of his head, begging you to drag your hands through it. The five o’clock shadow that peppers his strong jaw is at your favorite length, and sometimes you think he grows it out a little longer just for you. His gold chain that hangs off his neck fits like a choker, no longer lost in the thick patch of chest hair that you swear has a few more gray curls inside of it after today. Letting your hands wander his chest, your gentle touch makes the subtle muscles of his abs twitch. Perfect teeth biting down on his full bottom lip, watching you in awe.

“You know I hate my birthdays? Always have.” Steve hums, warm palms gliding up your thighs, squeezing at the soft dough before digging his long fingers into your hips, “Now I wish it was every day with you lookin’ like this, pretty girl.”

”Who says it can’t be?” You grin, running your slick hands back up his pecs, nails scratching in the coarse hair there.

Leaning forward, you fix his chain bumping the end of your nose with his, rolling your hips slowly, you feel him twitch inside the soft cotton of his briefs.

”It certainly feels like it,” he whispers with a smile against your lips.

[pricegouge]

Get Her a Dog (She'll be Happier For It)

Part Three | master list | MDNI

Soap x reader, Price x reader, eventual PriceSoap x reader

series cw: cheating. dubcon. angst. cuckholding. pet play.

chapter cw: angst, extremely vague/brief mentions of injury. talk of wanting a baby

reader is fem and fat

It takes the bouquet a full two weeks to become so withered it's no use trimming the stems or mixing up that special sugar solution which keeps them in bloom longer anymore. Johnny doesn't call. You tell yourself that's standard for middle-of-the-night type missions and keep the twenty four hour news feed on at all times even though all it does is irritate you. You were never much good at reading between the lines of these things anyway, at picking out which bits of the endless scroll of World Gone Wrong News are actually just state fabricated lies to cover the pieces deemed too big and scary for the general public to know the intricacies of. You shut it off after the fourth mass shooting comes and goes with no update.

The flowers were a nice touch. At least more than you expected to get after being woken in the middle of the night to murmured apologies and promises of a big day out when he got back. If he got back. You know it's not a helpful thought, feel terribly selfish that you'd only thought it given the circumstances, but it crosses your mind nonetheless. Digs its fingers between the slots of your ribs.

It takes the bouquet a full two weeks to become so withered it's no use trimming the stems or mixing up that special sugar solution which keeps them in bloom longer anymore. Johnny doesn't call. You tell yourself that's standard for middle-of-the-night type missions and keep the twenty four hour news feed on at all times even though all it does is irritate you. You were never much good at reading between the lines of these things anyway, at picking out which bits of the endless scroll of World Gone Wrong News are actually just state fabricated lies to cover the pieces deemed too big and scary for the general public to know the intricacies of. You shut it off after the fourth mass shooting comes and goes with no update.

After eighteen days away, you finally get a call from an unknown number and nearly drive through a red light when the notification pops up on your car's display. In theory, it could be anyone. But you know.

John's voice is too formal, too stiff. He calls you Mrs. MacTavish and guilt twines itself so thoroughly with your general sense of dread as to become inseparable. The cable cord holding up your life. Your stomach cramps hard enough you think you might be sick. They're at the A&E, John says, and while he may go on to explain there's no reason to panic, you're too busy racing through the streets of York to listen at all. 

Kyle waits for you outside the entrance, escorting you through the labyrinthine halls and (somehow) multiple elevators to a quiet corner of the surgical waiting room. You've been here before, think vaguely that the vinyl seating should be familiar by now. You'd think after so many instances that you'd get used to moments like this, that Johnny's apparent constant death wish would stop weighing so heavily on you. There's part of you that's come to believe your husband is indestructible, a bedtime story you tell yourself when his side of the mattress lays empty and cold: it doesn't matter what befalls him in the dead of night while you lay your head on down pillows he bought, because nothing can ever break Johnny. It always crumbles apart when your phone rings like an alarm clock, John's steady, terribly formal voice there to rip you away from your fantasies. It's another reason you hate him; why you know you couldn't do this without him. When he comes back, clipboard in hand, John explains it was supposed to be a low stakes mission and how quickly it turned for the worst. You let it wash all over you with all the other intricacies of your husband's line of work because if you look at it for too long you start to understand those mums who poison their kids just to keep them home and under control. He returns his clipboard when he's done and Kyle picks up where he left off, voice much more soothing and sympathetic as he details Johnny's wound. Stray bullet, low in the belly where Johnny's vest didn't cover. He'll be right as rain in a few weeks, but they'd needed to re-open it up to get in there and make sure everything will heal up okay. 

They sit with you through the long hours as much as they are able, John occasionally pulled away by a cell phone which will not stop ringing. It bothers you more than it should, but you don't want to analyze that just yet. Best left be until you're holed up in bed alone again. Kyle remains steadfast, a constant supply of bad hospital coffee at hand. You don't know when or how he memorized the way you take it, but you're too distracted to ask now.

You feel like you're being strangled, or maybe hanged, that cord of guilt and dread your noose. It pulls tighter with each minute that passes and you spiral deeper into your memories of the last few days, how you moped around in misery, wallowing in self pity while your husband risked his life trying to make the world a better place. Selfishness eats at you like a physical thing, worse so when Gaz asks if you want to go for a walk and you snap at him about wanting to be alone. He holds his hands up at you in mock surrender, a crease forming between his brows. You trip over yourself in apology, but the long days must have weighed on him just as heavily because he only mutters his quiet acceptance and strolls out the door, fishing a cigarette out as he goes. 

John does not follow. You feel his eyes on you, that same steady gaze as always. Usually, it pins you in place just as much as it makes you want to squirm, but today it makes you seethe, temper flaring back red hot now that you have a real target in sight. John's the reason you're here, the reason you give yourself up to self pity every time you think about the shortcomings of your marriage. Because the truth is, Johnny's good when he's home - and that's a farside better than most women in your position get. 

"What?" you snap as you wheel on your companion. 

Though his face crumbles for maybe half a second, John's quick to recover, one bushy brow cocking as if in challenge - though you both know he would let you unload on him without so much as a word of protest. For some reason, the realization only makes you angrier and you stand in a huff, marching off in the general direction of the nearest coffee maker. A rustle of fabric tells you John is following, the distinct texture of your jacket telling you he's collected your things. Your jaw clenches so tight you think you might crack a molar, but you don't stop until he makes you, grabbing you by the elbow the second he finds a relatively inactive corner. You're already spitting when he wheels you around, pushing against his chest for all the good it does you as you rail on about everything being his fault. You think you start somewhere with his stupid taskforce and barrel right on through to his general form of leadership, delighting in the quick look of panic it brings as he drags you through a door, snicking it closed behind you. It's not until you have to take a breath somewhere around Johnny's general inadequacy that you realize he's locked you both in a bathroom, his hand covering your mouth while you pant for breath through the seams of his fingers. 

He still smells like gunpowder, that same metallic quality that clings to your husband, too. You can't tell if your face is hot with anger, embarrassment, or tears.

"You done?"

You'd shake your head no, but he's not actually giving you an option, grip firmly holding you in place as he leans close enough to make your eyes cross. 

"If I take my hand away, you gonna keep yelling about classified information in public?"

It's funny how you barely even register the guilt his words bring; a drop in the bucket. This time he lets you shake your head.

His palm is heavy when it shifts, grip changing so he can cradle your jaw delicately. The soft look from before is back, much as he tries to obscure it behind his stern facade. He's never been as good at maintaining it around you as he has his men. He calls you sweetheart, lets his voice trail off as he thinks of how best to address your laundry list of complaints. It makes you ache, for some reason. Perhaps the contrast to Johnny's quick, impulsive temper. Your husband's never been cruel with you, of course, but the two of you can be like oil and water when you're both worked up, and while you can see John's frustrations in the twitch of his mustache and the set of his brow, he takes his time to consider his words, trying to ensure proper communication. It's more than you deserve.

You'll tell yourself in retrospect that it's not you who leans in, that John's hand on your cheek was more insistent, his face tilted slightly closer. It's a lie, but John accepts the blame so gracefully everywhere else, surely he can shoulder this, too?

Knock, knock.

The speed at which you back away from the man before you nearly makes you stumble. John barks that the room is occupied, face clouded with an anger that doesn't reflect in the way he catches you, ensures you're sturdy on your feet before letting you slip from his grasp. For once, it's him who can't look at you and the thought makes your chest ache, propels you out the door before you have to hear him apologize for another person's shortcomings one more time.

Gaz is not yet back in the waiting room and you don't trust yourself to be alone with John again so you take the suggested walk around the hospital, letting yourself get lost in the long circuitous routes of wards that set you ill at ease. You do not linger, feet just as busy as your mind - just as directionless. You retrace the events of your morning like a skipping record, an endless revolution, getting lost in the panic of the phone call and the relief you'd felt in John's firm grasp before tracing the roots of your guilt deeper, the old growth spreading back years. These paths are worn, the familiarity almost comforting insofar as you've tread them enough times to know they do not end with you pressed against your husband's captain in a hospital bathroom while he gets his intestines sewn up mere yards away. Except, they do now, if you follow them long enough, and you spend some time trying to find the source of it, the tributary from which it branched. You worry maybe it was the day you met him, the day he waltzed into your life and you mistook his job title to mean he was a man who could help you wrangle the force of nature that was John MacTavish. Probably, it was earlier, when you'd decided to tie yourself to a man you thought needed wrangling. 

You don't pay much thought to where your feet take you until you're staring uncomprehendingly into the face of a rather stern, if concerned staff member. When she cocks her brow at you expectantly, you shake yourself out of your reverie and ask her to repeat herself. 

"I asked who you're here to see."

Blinking, your eyes slide past her, take in your surroundings properly for the first time. A glass panel backdrops her, separating you from a well-lit room, sparsely decorated with pastel tones. You think you spot the head of a baby giraffe mural over her shoulder and feel your face heat at being caught out, although logistically you know she's probably more concerned about the random distraught woman hovering around the newborns. 

"S-sorry. I'm not -. I guess I just didn't realize where I was," you admit. 

The woman - registered nurse Rita, by the ID clipped to her hip pocket - eyes you suspiciously for a beat longer, but whatever she sees in you softens her edges, brings her guard down. "Can't be here," she tells you, voice unyielding but far less harsh than it had been mere moments before. 

"Right," you agree, glancing around as if looking for the way you came. "Uh…"

"Do you know what room your… loved one is in?" She sounds slightly patronizing, but you can't force your eyes to focus on her for long enough to confirm. You think maybe all the coffee is catching up with you, know it's more likely the combined effects of your embarrassment and guilt making it hard to maintain eye contact.

"My husband's in surgery," you blurt. "Gunshot wound."

Nurse Rita balks, takes a minute to look around herself. "C'mere," she mutters, fingers surprisingly strong when she wraps them around the soft flesh of your arm and steers you toward a proper waiting area. You stumble after her, trying to avoid the gazes of the anxious pack of new parents she leaves in your wake. 

You're babbling when she comes to a stop. "It's okay, he's a soldier. He'll be fine. They just had to re-open it because they needed to tie up some loose ends."

There's a pause. Somewhere, a monitor sounds off. "Was that a joke?"

"Well, not a good one."

But despite your assertions, Rita does laugh. It's a good one, too, sets her heavy chest jiggling. She's got a nice smile, infectious. You're glad she works in the natal ward. You ease down with her, the deep breaths she pulls to catch her breath serving to calm you both. "Is it bad I like the repeat customers best?" She asks, conspiratorial. 

You grin, thinking you know what she means. You can't spend so much time around soldiers without developing an appreciation for gallows humor, after all. "Gotten about as good at dealing with it as can be expected, I guess."

Rita hums, her eyes darting down the hall. You imagine she's busy but you're too greedy to assure her you'll be okay without her company so you don't. "Except this time, it seems."

"There's been… a complication."

"Oh, honey," Rita coos.

"Not with my husband," you clarify, "Sorry. Poor choice of words. Um. I mean - his captain's here and I don't want to… I can't sit next to him any longer without going insane. You know?"

You can almost see Rita mapping the points of information she has, assess the mire between them. "And what brings you here?"

It's hard not to blubber, though you're unsure why exactly. "I think I want a baby," you whisper instead, the secret pulled from you easy pie once someone actually asks despite the shame you feel about it, the words catching like barbs in your throat.

"And Mr. Tin Soldier doesn't?"

You offer her a forced smile. "Johnny. And I don't know. He used to. I think his captain wants one more," you confess, gaze slipping away from her again. You feel her rock back away from you momentarily, her breath puffing out in one great gust. "I haven't -. We've never…"

"Okay," she asserts. You don't think she believes you, but if the roles were reversed you suppose you wouldn't either. "But you'd like to?"

The yawning chasm of loneliness in your chest tells you one thing, but your pride can only muster a 'sometimes.'

"So not limited to when your husband is under the knife?"

"Christ," you hiss, crumpling in on yourself. "I'm a monster."

To your surprise, you feel Rita's warm palm on your back, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. Her voice is strained when she speaks, like she's not sure she believes what she's saying, but her caregiving instincts must win out because she speaks anyway. "I don't think so. Think you're probably just lonely, honey."

You know why she says it, know only someone desperate te be understood would reach out to her so eagerly like this. Still, it hurts to be seen. Maybe worse than not being seen at all. But it's the good ache, the kind you get from John. You have a brief, wild notion of kissing Rita, and have to suppress a bitter huff of laughter. "Johnny's not… here, even when he's here, you know?" You snivel, knowing full well how unsympathetic you probably sound.

"And the captain is?" Rita prompts. You think it's probably meant to clarify, but it sounds more like a challenge.

"Believe it or not, yes. John's very attentive. And nurturing. And he's always around more often than Johnny."

Rita's hand stops. "Wait, they're both named John?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," you gripe goodnaturedly, but Rita's not giving in.

"Well at least you don't have to worry about calling out the wrong name."

The snort you emit is terribly embarrassing, snot breaking loose after all your moping. Rita procures a tissue from some scrub pocket, makes a comment about tools of the trade. You sit silently for a moment as you dab your nose, for the first time taking note of the area she's sequestered you in. You're surprised to find the street outside getting darker, lamps glowing in the rain-slick parking lot. Inside, the hospital has begun to adopt a low, gentle glow - so far removed from the sterile, cold cold lighting you're used to seeing on hospital procedurals. The recesses and corners lie dim and dormant, the one you've been tucked into only kept lively by your company's presence. Without her, you fear you'd slink back into the darkness as well, become just another shadow on the wall. For a moment, you think you want that, and then your phone rings, the same unknown number from before illuminating your screen.

John doesn't wait for you to answer properly before asking where you are, but his voice is much softer than you'd expected, a pleasant drawl you're not sure is meant to lure you in but does all the same.

You sniffle, suppress a laugh. You don't see much use in lying to him. "The natal ward."

Silence stretches from the other end, the sound of a passing gurney all that your phone transmits. "Soap's out." 

"I'll be right down." 

"I can come -." 

"I'll be right down, John." Next to you, Rita arcs a sparse, shapeless brow. You decide you love her, even if she has every reason to believe you're a bad person.

"Right. They're bringing him to room two seventy eight." 

"Thanks. Bye." 

Your departure from Rita is brief. She wishes you good luck and you tell her to swaddle some babies tight for you. You stand awkwardly for a moment, willing further conversation to come, but there's ultimately not much more to say to someone after baring your deepest shame to them basically unprompted, especially when they've so easily seen through you. So you wave in parting and beat a hasty retreat, trying not to think about how you'll forever be the cheating wife in her eyes, probably.

For as long as your meandering journey upstairs had taken, you find your way back quick enough. Still, it's Gaz who sits beside your husband's bed, Gaz who tells you the captain had to head back to base. "Just missed him," he sympathizes, nodding at a vase of familiar-looking flowers. "Left that for the happy couple, though."

You bypass them entirely, a sense of dread filling you when you spot the note tucked in among the buds. Instead, you fold yourself over Johnny's sleeping body, press kisses to his forehead. There's no faking the genuine relief you feel seeing him so you let it carry you through the motions, fuss about with his blankets and squeeze his hand. You fall asleep in the recliner next to him, waking some hours later to find your company gone, though an orderly tells you your handsome guest said he'd return in the morning. You suppress the urge to ask which one. 

***

The flowers eventually make it home with you, the vase carried in Johnny's big fist. You wait until he's been tucked into bed before getting around to pruning them, the majority of the heads having wilted after too many days in stagnant water and poor quality hospital lighting. You toss the note away with them, unread, though you can't help telling Johnny they remind you of the flowers he sent. 

"What flowers, hen?" He grumbles, still sleepy from the pain meds. 

"Nevermind, baby," you assure him, chest too tight to trust your voice anymore than a whisper. "Go back to bed." 

***

When he's feeling better, you tell Johnny you want a baby.

Next>>

[edsbug]

Moonlight

pairing: eddie munson x gn!reader

summary: eddie helps you find comfort on a restless night (wc: 1k)

contains: reader has a bout of insomnia, eddie sings to reader, hurt/comfort (emphasis on the comfort), fluff, eddie being a sweetheart

author’s notes: i have been struggling a bit lately and wrote this to make myself feel better. i hope it may help others too<3

The room was steeped in shadows, the only light coming from the faint sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtains. Eddie lay sprawled across his bed, his unruly hair fanned out on the pillow, his breathing deep and even, lost in the realms of sleep. You, however, were wide awake, your mind refusing to quiet down.

Eddie's room was a blend of chaos and comfort, stacks of well-worn magazines, band posters covering the walls, and a full ashtray on the nightstand. You stared at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster, the ticking of the clock growing louder with each passing minute. You didn't want to wake Eddie, knowing how little sleep he often got.

It had been a week since you got a decent nights sleep. The room feels like a silent witness to your restlessness. The minutes drag on, and each glance at the clock only heightens your anxiety. You try to focus on Eddie's calm presence beside you, hoping his tranquility might somehow seep into you. But instead, you become acutely aware of every small sound — the ticking of a distant clock, the faint hum of the refrigerator, the occasional creak of the trailer settling.

As you lay there, the frustration of not being able to sleep begins to build. Every time you close your eyes, your mind races with a cascade of thoughts, each one more persistent than the last. You replay the events of the day, worry about tomorrow, and ponder the meaning of fleeting moments that now seem monumental in the quiet darkness.

After what feels like hours of tossing and turning, you decide to slip out of bed, hoping some movement might help clear your head. Carefully, you begin to inch your way out from under the covers, moving with precision. But as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, the mattress creaks slightly, and you hear a soft murmur behind you.

You freeze, holding your breath, but it’s too late. Eddie stirs, his eyes fluttering open. “Hey,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. “Where’re you going?”

Caught, you sigh and turn to face him. “I’m sorry, Eddie. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just… I can’t sleep.”

Eddie blinks a few times, shaking off the remnants of his dream. He props himself up on one elbow, worry etching lines into his forehead. “Come back to bed,” he says softly, patting the space beside him.

You hesitate, but the concerned look in his eyes and the warmth of his voice are too inviting to resist. You climb back into bed, and Eddie immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. The scent of his skin, a mix of soap and his cologne, fills your senses, grounding you.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks softly, his lips brushing your forehead.

You lean into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. “I’m not sure. A bit of everything. I just can’t seem to turn my mind off.”

Eddie chuckled softly, his breath warm against your ear. "Sounds familiar. You know, I have a trick for that."

"What trick?"

He reluctantly untangled himself from you and slid out of bed. You watched as he scurried towards the living room. After a moment, he came back with a vinyl record, glancing at it with a small smile before moving to his record player tucked away in the corner of his room. "This," he said, holding up the record, "is one of my uncle's favorites. Always helps me relax."

He carefully placed the record on the turntable, the needle finding its groove with a soft crackle. The room filled with the warm, mellow sounds of a classic rock ballad, the kind that seemed to wrap around you like a comforting blanket.

Eddie returned to the bed, climbing back under the covers and pulling you close.

"There. Just listen to the music. Let it carry you away."

You nestled against him, feeling the vibrations of the music seep into your bones. The gentle strumming of the guitar and the soothing vocals eased the tension in your body.

Eddie began softly humming along to the music, his voice a soothing lullaby. His hand traced lazy patterns on your back, his calloused fingertips grounding you.

"I don't know what l'd do without you," you whispered, your voice trembling.

Eddie pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. His eyes, full of love, met yours. "You'll never have to find out, because I'm not going anywhere.”

He leaned in, kissing you softly, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just you and Eddie, wrapped in each other's arms, safe from the chaos.

Eddie's humming turned into soft singing, his voice low and melodic, blending seamlessly with the gentle strumming of the guitar. You closed your eyes and let the melody wash over you. Your racing thoughts began to slow, the worries of the day fading into the background.

Eddie's presence, steady and unwavering, was a beacon in the dark. He had a way of making you feel safe, even when your mind was in turmoil. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the music.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. "Anytime. I'm here, always."

Minutes passed, the music weaving its magic. You felt the edges of sleep begin to creep in, your mind finally quieting. Eddie continued his gentle ministrations, his fingers brushing through your hair, his breath even and calming.

You sighed, your body relaxing completely for the first time in days. "I think it’s working," you mumbled, feeling sleep pull you under.

Eddie chuckled softly. "Good. Just keep listening. I'll be right here."

And with that promise, you finally let go, surrendering to the gentle embrace of sleep. The music, Eddie's voice, and the shared quiet moment between you created a perfect harmony, one that carried you into a deep, restful slumber.

As you drift off to sleep, Eddie’s voice is the last thing you hear, a promise in the dark. “I’ll always be here for you sweetheart. Sweet dreams.”

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Sleep. || Simon "Ghost" Riley fluff

[MY MASTERLIST]

Rating: G Words: 1K~ CW: none Tags: ghostxreader, fluff!!!, gn!reader (you/your pronouns), light angst/plot twist at the end. Summary: Neither of you can sleep. Comforting and Cuddling ensues. a/n: I saw this in a vision. That's it. That's the tweet.

A knock on your door stirred you awake. Not that you were actually sleeping. Sitting up in bed, you inquired a loud “Hm?!” in response to the knock.

You didn’t need to ask who it was. Only one man in this whole godforsaken base would dare make his way to your room at 1:48 AM on a Thursday and disturb your (not) sleeping.

As such, there was no need to haphazardly throw on a face covering of some kind while making your way to the door hastily. So you simply remained sat amidst the pile of blankets of your hard wooden bed.

The door popped open with a light woosh and he stepped inside the room without a word. In the few seconds that he was illuminated from behind by the hall light, you saw nothing but a hulking silhouette carrying a rolled-up sleeping bag under one arm, and a ratty pillow under the other.

The door closed, letting it all return to darkness again. He blended with the nothingness of the room quite well. The only reason you knew where he was, was due to his footsteps, his workboots making rhythmic thuds on the vinyl flooring of your room.

You heard the rustling of the sleeping bag as he rolled it out on the floor, so close to your bed that he could probably slide his way under it if he felt like it (and if he fit). Then, he tossed his pillow down onto the sleeping bag with a light thud.

His clothes rustled in the darkness as he laid down on the bag and then he let out a soft huff muffled by the mask you knew he was undoubtedly wearing.

He wasn’t even lying inside the bag. You certainly didn’t hear him unzip it… He didn’t try to fit his enormous height inside the standard-issue bag, which would likely fit him like a potato sack to a kid trying to win a sack race… aka hanging loosely around his chest as he clings on for dear life.

You allowed yourself to lay down too, snuggling onto the warm blankets again as you fixed them atop you.

For a while, there was just silence, unsettling, deep silence that you could feel in your bones… And the pair of deep breaths in the air.

“You alright?” You asked, almost checking up on him.

“Dandy.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“Nope.”

“Mkay.”

Another long period of silence.

You knew better than to question Simon on his decisions. Not that coming to sleep on the floor beside your bed like a dog at its owner's feet isn't quite the head-scratcher.

“Does my company help with the lack of sleep?” You found yourself asking.

“No.”

“Hm.”

You considered your curiosity sated, or at least, sated enough to allow you to go back to (fruitlessly) attempt to fall aslee-

“I just like hearin’ you breathe.”

The blankets rustled as you abruptly rolled over, your head hanging your head over the edge of the bed to peer at him forgetting that, in the darkness, you can’t see shit, let alone see him on the floor.

“Need to know I’m alive?” You tease sarcastically.

“Need to know you 'aven’t been kidnapped in the night more like.” His tone is dry and sincere.

You just let out a single dry chuckle. "Alright.”

You make no motion to return to your previous spot. You just keep looking at the empty darkness of the floor where Simon is lying.

“Y’wanna come up here?”

“You askin’ me to share a bed?”

“Mhm.”

“No.”

“Why?

“It’s stupid.”

“You’re scared you’ll end up cuddlin’ me?”

“Not bloody scared. Just don’t wanna risk it.”

“We can sleep back to back.”

“I’ve seen how you sleep. You’re always on your stomach. The only way to sleep back to back with you is if I’m on top of you and suffocating you into the mattress.”

“You act as if that wouldn't be fun.” You quip.

No response.

You take a deep breath and finally roll over, turning to face the wall your bed is pressed up against.

There are no sounds besides breathing again. Long minutes go by with neither of you talking… and neither of you sleeping.

After having had enough, you huff.

“Get up here.”

He doesn't move immediately... But after a solid 10 seconds, there’s a rustling, and then comes the sound of laces being undone and his boots being slipped off and set aside.

Soon, you feel the warm blankets being lifted, momentarily exposing your back to the cold air outside of the comfy cocoon you've secured yourself. The mattress depresses behind you as he shifts his legs next to yours, and then he drapes the blankets around his own back.

It’s a bit of a tight fit. The standard-issue British Army beds are already on the narrow end for one Simon Riley lying on his back, so two people lying on their sides (one of them being Simon)… is cutting it very close.

But you don’t mind. In fact, he shuffles closer, his chest coming to press against your back, as he wordlessly spoons you from behind.

A smile graces your lips as you feel the strong and unrelenting muscles that compose all of Simon's body press against your softer build.

His robust, scarred arm slides over the dip at your waist and wraps around you tight, constricting you to him, as his big, calloused hand rests across both of your forearms near your face.

It should feel awkward... but surprisingly, it doesn't.

In return, one of your feet nudges against Simon's and so he slips his leg in between your own from behind, rolling you ever slightly over onto your tummy, so he can keep you 'lodged' between him and the mattress.

A soft, content sigh escapes your lips as you feel the pressure of his body pressing on yours, his weight reminding you that he's there, holding you.

It's... nice.

You never thought there'd ever come a day where you'd experience the mixing scents of his aftershave and his laundry detergent due to the balaclava he never lifts... Or the sound of his rhythmic breathing just behind your ear as he nuzzles into your hair... Or his heartbeat slowing and relaxing against your back.

You find that he fell asleep almost instantly upon holding you, finally lulled into the comfortable, safe sleep he so desperately lacked.

It's a shame that soon you'll have to kill him...

[thebisexualdogdad]

Living in vault 33 as a wastelander - Lucy MacLean x GN!reader

● after the events of season 1 Lucy brought you back to vault 33 to live with her and help rebuild her home

● you got a taste of what it was like to live in a vault when you were at vault 4 but you still had so much left to learn

● the first time you meet Norm he's pretty standoffish

● after everything that happened he doesn't know who to trust anymore and he really doesn't like an outsider being in the vault

● but if Lucy trusts you he will eventually trust you too he just needs time to warm up to you

● you've never slept as well as you have in the vault

● back home you had a shitty old mattress on the floor that had springs popping out of it

● but now you have a pillow and a blanket and best of all you get to sleep next Lucy to every night

● the one complaint you have is wearing the vault tec suit

● “how do you guys wear this everyday it's so restricting”

● “but you look so cute in it”

● “you think so? Wait don't distract me from how uncomfortable this is, can't I go back to wearing my old clothes”

● “your old clothes were filthy and had holes in it and blood stains”

● “you guys have those fancy washing machine things I'm sure they can get the blood out”

● Lucy shows you so much new food and teaches you how to cook

● out in the wasteland you ate whatever you could find but here you actually have options

● and fresh vegetables which you didn't even know vegetables could be fresh and not from a can

● the first time she shows you how to use the oven you touch the hot pan and yell out in pain

● “Y/N baby you need to use the mit whenever you take something out of the oven,” she tells you as she's tending to your burnt hand

● getting to shower regularly is also a game changer

● everybody in the vault smells so nice all the time

● and everything is kept so clean there's no bugs or rats or anything

● Lucy shows you all her favorite movies

● and you listen to her favorite vinyl records

● the first time you tell Lucy you love her is when you're dancing together in your unit

● you spin her around before taking her in your arms and it just slips out, “I love you”

● “I love you too Y/N,” she smiles back at you

● it takes you a while to get used to doing your rotating job duties

● you were a part of a community now, you weren't only looking out for yourself and since half of the vaults residents had been killed in the raid you all had to step up and cover double the amount of jobs to maintain everything

● but then you got to watch Lucy in a tank top working on heavy machinery and maybe having to do this kind of stuff wasn't actually so bad

● you and Lucy have made out all over the vault

● she'll pull you into a storage closet or an empty corridor unable to keep her hands off of you

● usually you get away with it but occasionally someone will interrupt you

● Norm once found you in a closet with your hand in Lucy's suit as he was looking for cleaning supplies

● he slapped his hand over his eyes and reached around for the disinfectant and left without saying anything

● “Uh should we go back to our unit to finish this?”

● “nope,” is all Lucy says and pulls you back in to kiss her

● one day you see someone carrying a cake lit with candles and you ask Lucy what's going on

● “oh it's Matthew's birthday”

● “what's a birthday?”

● “you've never celebrated your birthday before?!?”

● a week later she decorates your unit with balloons and whatever other party supplies she could find and makes you your very first birthday cake

● “what is all this?”

● “well we don't know when your actual birthday is so I'm declaring today your birthday! I made you a cake you need to make a wish when you blow out the candles”

● “I'm not living in the wasteland anymore and I have an incredible girlfriend what more could I wish for?”

[morganski-19]

The One with Taking Risks

Ten Years Ago

Jonathan turns the key to his freshman dorm room, a burst of hot air hitting him in the face as he does. The shitty, non airconditioned dorm already making him miserable. He struggles through the doorway, a box pressed against his side. Finding his roommate unpacking on the other side of the room.

“Dude,” his voice echoes against the walls. Hair in a messy braid down his back. “Welcome home.”

Argyle, his randomly assigned roommate, pulls him into a bear hug. Jonathan stiffening, not returning the gesture. They’ve only talked a few times, he wasn’t expecting a hug so early.

Argyle realizes this, pulling back. “Sorry, my sisters say that I come on pretty strong when I shouldn’t. Something I’m working on.”

Jonathan places the box on the vinyl covered mattress. “It’s fine.”

“Do you need any help?” Argyle asks awkwardly behind him. “My folks already helped me get all my stuff in the room, so I don’t mind lending a hand.”

“Thanks, but I’m good. My mom and stepdad are coming up soon with more of my things. They’re just finding parking.”

Argyle nods. “Cool. I’ll, uh, just be over on my side of the room then. Let me know if you want to rearrange the layout or anything. I’m not particular about anything.”

From their first interaction, Jonathan wouldn’t have guessed that his roommate would soon become the best friend he’s ever had.

It wasn’t until months later that he really started to open up to Argyle. Until the homesickness really hit him hard and Will had to spend a few nights in the hospital again. Being so far from home, he couldn’t be there for him. Felt like he failed.

Argyle had come back into the room after his class. Jonathan rubbing his eyes, trying to hide the fact he was crying. Pulling the blanket up under his chin, faking sleep.

For a while, Argyle doesn’t say anything. He just goes to his side of the room and puts in his earbuds in. Doing some homework and giving Jonathan space.

When Will calls him later, Jonathan can’t hide how he’s feeling anymore. As soon as the phone call hangs up, he starts to break down again.

His phone pings.

Argyle: I’m here if you want to talk about it, or I can leave the room to give you some space

There’s something about kindness from a sort of stranger that makes tears flow harder. He types out a reply.

Argyle gets up from his bed and walks over to the door. Shutting it gently behind him, giving Jonathan the space he asked for. When the tears dry up, Jonathan lets Argyle know he can come back. Wiping his cheeks, calmed down.

“Thank you,” he says softly when the door shuts behind him. “I appreciate you doing that.”

Argyle shrugs, like this was nothing. “Life is tough when you move away from home. I should know, my home is halfway across the country. Do you want a hug or are we not at that level yet?”

“A hug would be kind of nice.”

Argyle silently asks to sit on Jonathan’s bed. He nods in conformation, accepting Argyle’s open arms. Pulling back after a few seconds.

“I’m not going to force you to talk about it or anything, but I’m here if you want to.”

“My, uh.” Jonathan struggles to find the words. Argyle waits for him, making Jonathan feel like he can tell him anything. “That call was from my brother, he’s in the hospital right now.”

“Shit,” Argyle says bluntly. “Is he ok?”

Jonathan nods. “Yeah. It’s just a bad flare up. He went through a really bad accident when he was in middle school, has chronic pain because of it. Other lingering health issues. But he’s fine. Just wish I was there, you know.”

“Yeah. It sucks being away from family. Especially when something’s going on.”

“It does. You said you were from California, right?” Jonathan changes the subject. “What’s it like out there, I’ve never been.”

Argyle lights up as soon as Jonathan asks. “Oh, it’s great dude.” He goes on a long tangent about his hometown, his family. Being close enough to the ocean for day trips but not directly close to it at all. Anything and everything.

They talk for hours after that. The conversation finding itself during the slower breaks. Just sharing their lives. Complaining about classes. Learning about each other in ways not many people ever tried.

That day, they both made a friend.

Present Day

Argyle checks his phone for the millionth time. Pressing it down in frustration against the couch when the notification screen continues to be blank. Jonathan hasn’t messaged him back yet. Hasn’t texted him since he left to visit home a week ago.

It’s fine, he tells himself. He’s just busy at home. Spending time with family.

Except it isn’t. They haven’t not talked this long since the awkward first weeks of college. When they hadn’t found the right rhythm yet. This was unlike them. Unlike Jonathan.

Argyle busies himself, trying to keep his mind off it. Stop him from sending another text asking if Jonathan’s ok. He cleans, unmakes and remakes his bed. Cooks and does the dishes. Until the door opens and Jonathan’s standing in front of him, duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hi,” he pants. Like he just ran here from the train.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until Wednesday.” Argyle sets down the dish he was drying. Wiping the excess water from his hands.

Jonathan tries to catch his breath. “I wasn’t. Came back early.” He set the duffel bag on the ground, stepping closer to Argyle.

“Something happen?” Argyle’s trying to read Jonathan’s actions, but he’s never seen him act quite like this before.

“I love you,” he blurts out.

Argyle doesn’t believe him. “Yeah, dude. Love you too.”

Jonathan shakes his head, stepping closer to Argyle again. “No, not like that. Well, yes like that but not all like that. I’m in love with you.”

“What,” Argyle exhales in disbelief.

Jonathan brushes the hair out of his face. Hand resting on the back of his neck. “I know it’s random and probably doesn’t make a lot of sense. But when I was home, seeing Will with Mike together and hearing these constant comments from my mom. How great it is that two best friends fell in love. And then asking me about you. How you were doing and how we were doing. Like we were some unit. Together. It just hit me.”

He continues, starting to pace. “I knew I liked you, for a long time now, but I didn’t realize how much. Always told myself that I wasn’t going to say anything because this friendship meant the world to me, and I couldn’t imagine my life without you in it. Then Will said something to me, and it made me want to just say fuck it. So, I took the next train and now I’m here.”

Argyle is speechless. Trying to keep up with Jonathan’s rambling while also trying to calm the beating of his own heart.

He never thought that this would happen.

Jonathan stops pacing, fear hitting his face. Everything that he just said coming back to him in slow motion. The frantic energy fades, the tension setting in.

“Are you going to say anything?” Jonathan stares at Argyle.

Argyle barrels towards Jonathan, pulling him into the tightest hug of his life. A happy smile forming as Jonathan hugs him back. Both of them too afraid to let go.

“I love you, too,” Argyle whispers after a long silence. “I have for so long.” He pulls back from the hug, grazing his thumb against Jonathan’s cheek. Reveling in the fact that he can. “I was just so scared. I couldn’t lose you, not because of this.”

Jonathan presses their foreheads together. “You didn’t.” He uses both his hands to brace Argyle’s face, bringing their lips together.

Argyle did the exact opposite of losing him.

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low,

@thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady,

@apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic,

@fearieshadow, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging,

@potato-of-the-lord, @autumncrocusandladybug, @estrellami-1, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @gregre369

@my2amgaythoughts

[yorshie]

Hi there 😊 I saw ur request opened and wanted to see if I could request reader having a nightmare and they call the turtles (or one of them) in the middle of the night bc they’re too panicked and they try to help calm them down maybe over the phone or go to their place to help! Sorry for the long ask haha Thank you!!

Hello Nonnie! I'm finally (slowly. so painfully slowly) cleaning out my ask box and replying lol. I went with Leo for this one, simply because when I started writing his name just kinda popped up naturally.

Bayverse Leonardo x GN Reader, SFW

The whir of the ceiling fan woke you up. 

It was usually a comforting sound, but now, with the press of adrenaline against your chest and the echoes of the dream clinging to your skin like a fine sheen of oil, the creak of the paddles spinning overhead read as a threat to your muddled mind. 

You pulled the covers back, feet finding the cold floor and bringing a new shiver that informed you of the layer of sweat behind your knees, at your elbows, making your shirt stick to your spine in crinkly ridges where you’d tossed through the dream. Your heartbeat pounded at your temples, your jaw, relentless as it told you you had to run, had to hide, had to go.

The clock on your bedside table read 3:14 am. Too early to get up, to eat food to soothe the latent fear still in your stomach. But superstition had you moving, padding into the kitchen to pull a tortilla from the package left on the counter. You rolled the piece of bread up and shoved it halfway into your mouth, stopping at the bathroom on your way back to the warmth of the bed. 

The reflection greeting you over the mirror after you did your business looked sane, looked normal. Nothing to indicate the nightmare still haunted you, still peered over your shoulder, just waiting for you to fall back to sleep. You didn’t feel the phantom clawed hands reaching for your shoulders until your back hit the mattress, tortilla still shoved in one cheek, and the spinning ceiling fan was there once more to greet you.

You squinted, watching the paddles in the low light from the window. The dream was starting to fade, but it lingered like the curling, tacky edges of the vinyl tabletops in an old diner. Waiting to leave just a little residual glue on your skin, to follow you around.

You glanced at the clock again, contemplated staying up until the sun rose and could blanket out the hushed magic of the early morning, when your eyes snagged on your phone, lying crooked and part way in the opened drawer where it usually charged.

Your fingers found the familiar edges, pulled it across the bed towards you. There was a new message, from Blue, about thirty minutes ago. The notification extended a lifeline, a buoy to hold onto while the frigid waters of the dream still lapped at your consciousness.

Your thumb tapped the screen, slid open the message. 

He was home from patrol, wanted to let you know everything was fine, that he and his brothers had gotten home safe. The balloon of unnamed fear deflated just a touch in your chest, the unknown fear in the heartbeat at your temples tripping up in its terror before lessening just a touch. Like a ship sighted in a storm, you stared at the little blue heart attached to the last message, a wish for you to sleep well.

Without thinking, you hit the call button, bringing the device to the cradle of your ear and shoulder. The rings stretched out in front of you, one after another. You could almost imagine the boat getting further away, the line of safety attached to the buoy growing taunt…

“Hello?” Leo’s voice, soft and questioning on your name, like a light cascading from the boat, finding you immediately in the dark. His voice was a halo of safety as the captain turned the rudder and you were pulled in.

“Leo?” You confirmed, childishly, knowing his voice, but needing the confirmation to yourself as much as to let him know you were there. “Sorry, I uh, saw your message… had a bit of a nightmare, wanted to talk to you if that’s ok?”

And because it was Leo, because he never really stopped worrying,  he answered immediately, tone dipping a bit as he used the voice that meant he was processing intel. “Of course, are you ok? Do you need to talk about it?”

The concern, him using the ‘leader’ voice on you, brought a reflexive smile to your face. If you asked him, he’d be there in ten minutes, you knew, regardless if he was technically supposed to or not. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I promise. I just… needed to hear your voice.”

Leo exhaled, the sound a little staticy over the line, and you could almost picture the relief sliding the concern off his shoulders. “Do you need me to come to you?”

Heart in your throat, you let yourself have the imagined fantasy. His shadow at your window, his scales pressed up against your skin, entangled in the too small bed with you. His hands running through your hair, simply existing for a moment. 

But with that fantasy came the little bubble of reality. The way he’d watch the horizon, the gaps between the buildings outside your window for the first flicker of light. Always on a timetable, like Cinderella and her pumpkin coach, on the lookout for the danger of traveling back to the Lair with the sun always encroaching.

Reeling in the selfish desire, you spoke low, just for him. “No, I’m ok, it’s almost four already.” You rolled the tortilla to the other cheek, took another bite.

Leo must have heard the sound, because he chuckled softly. “Do you have a tortilla stuffed in your mouth right now?”

“Grandma’s superstition wearing off on me, I’m afraid.” You told him, honest, not fearing judgment from the turtle you’d gladly call your best friend.

“I like her recipe you made last summer, with the peppers and cheese.” He admitted, and you heard his words echo just a touch when he placed you on speaker, followed by the rustle of clothes and a long sigh. You knew what he was doing, getting ready for bed, likely folding his pants. You could close your eyes and imagine yourself there with him, beside him in his bed, maybe back against his headboard while he laid on his plastron, one arm hooked around your waist and a pillow half over your lap for his head…

“I’ll make it for you again this weekend, if you’d like.” You offered, letting the imagined scenarios soothe you, letting the lull of Leonardo wash away the tacky residue of the dream. You breathed in deeply, listening to him hum low on the other end of the phone. 

“Deal.” Leo agreed, and you just knew he was smiling in the dark of his room. Maybe that little dimple at the corner of his mouth was showing, maybe…

“Are you falling asleep on me?” He asked, voice soft, so soft. 

You murmured dissent, but he still chuckled, breath hitting the receiver once more in a familiar way. “Take the tortilla out of your mouth at least, darling. Text me when you wake up, alright?”

You murmured agreement, swallowing the last bite of gummy flatbread thickly. The waves rocked you gently, a tide of Leo’s even breaths in your ear, the mantra of his lungs working as a leading drum for your heartbeat to slow to. 

Before you dropped off, comforted in the buoy of your mind tied to safety, Leonardo murmured over the phone, “Love you, sweetheart. Goodnight.”

[horseshoegirl]

Damn Those Dog Tags: Part 21 - My Fair Lady

📜 Merry Christmas, you filthy animals! 😏😂

❗️+18, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, mentions of an original child character, reunions, sexual themes (I mean smut, so get out of here if you ain't +18, I mean it!!!), they finally do it! (first times, nakedness, sex, all that jazz --> So yes, that is a spoiler!).

#10k words (this one is long, and I'm not apologizing for it, LOL)

Part 20 | Masterlist | Part 22

With Sadie away at camp, you finally got the time and the opportunity to surprise her and redo your guest room into her room.

The house was a mess. Boxes of new furniture waiting to be built: a desk, a bookcase, a new bedframe. Her mattress slanted against the hallway. Old white sheets covered every inch of the floor and things that could not be moved.

You'd taken the shade off one of the bedside table lamps and stuck it in the corner of the room, its soft, warm light guiding you as you stood on a ladder, carefully stroking a painter's brush covered in green paint just below the edge of the ceiling, balancing the paint bucket on the top step.

The problem you had with projects like these was that you didn't really know when to stop. Staring when it was still light out, nothing but music playing softly through the speakers from your vinyl player, it was well past 2 AM before you knew it.

At least this passion project was one of the few things keeping you from obsessively worrying about Jake. And Bradley.

The static noise popping through your speakers was a welcome relief for your neck. With one last paint stroke, you climbed down the ladder, picturing your records and what one you could put on next. You bit your lip, reaching up to grab the bucket and the lid from the top step, covering it and hitting it closed with a thump.

You knelt next to the crate, searching for the record you had in mind when a persistent knock at your front door startled you. You weren't expecting anyone, let alone in the witching hours of the early morning.

Everything that happened with Tyler left you weary. Every white car you passed on the street made your skin crawl, and when Penny finally re-opened the Hard Deck and you returned to work, each time the door swung open in a dramatic fashion, you half expected to see Tyler standing there, a predatory glare in his eyes.

People also had a habit of knocking on your door late at night to deliver bad news. But something told you you needed to answer it anyway.

You slowly tip-toed down your hallway, plastering yourself to the wall, hoping to stay out of sight of whoever knocked on your door before peering through the peephole. Shocked to see the person pacing back and forth along your front porch, you whipped the door open.

"Alyssa?"

She stopped pacing, twisting her body towards the sound of your voice.

As long as you knew her, Lyssa had never once cried in front of you or came close to being visibly upset. She was direct, used humour in the most inappropriate moments, and always played things close to the chest. To see her face, beat red and tears streaming down her face, you couldn't help your unease.

Something had to be seriously wrong.

"Is Will okay?" you asked her.  "What's' wrong?"

She shook her head, stepping in front of you. "Um, no, he's okay. We need to get down to Top Gun. Now."

"Top Gun? It's almost three in the morning."

She shook her head again. "Will's father got word an aircraft carrier got caught in a hurricane somewhere overseas. It sunk. They're bringing in the survivors now."

Heart dropping into your stomach, your legs wobbled. You fell against your door frame, hands gripping the wood tight enough to hurt. Your throat was screaming at you, and you couldn't swallow. 

There was only one other time you could compare to how you were feeling now.

Friday nights were the worst fucking days of your life.

"Please don't tell me..." you croaked. "Please don't tell me it was theirs."

You gripped Jake's dog tags tight as you caught her harsh gulp, her face remaining stark. She didn't say anything. Not that she needed to. The very fact she was on your doorstep told you everything you needed to know.

She wouldn't have come to get you otherwise.

"Come on, we need to go," she managed to say through a harsh swallow.

You don't know how you managed to loosen your grip on your door frame or how you laced your shoes without screwing up the knots. Or how you got your key in the lock with your shakey hand.

You don't know how you got into the passenger seat of Alyssa's car, either. Or how you managed to put your seat belt on or not throw up as she sped out of your driveway and down to the highway.

A small part of you whithers when you realize you wouldn't have known, wouldn't have been here, hadn't Alyssa's Ex caught wind of it. Nat, Bob, and the rest of the daggers would have, too, eventually, but they probably wouldn't have been informed until it was too late.

You don't even know what's waiting for you at Top Gun, whether both Jake and Bradley were or weren't there. Or only one of them. Or if they would even let you in.

The gates were open to the facility when the two of you arrived. Lyssa followed several cars that were already pulling into the winding entrance, the line starting to build as more and more started to appear from the opposite direction. You leaned forward in your seat as she pulled into the parking lot, your heart in your throat as you tried to see behind the building to the runway. All you saw were blinking red and white lights against the night sky.

Alyssa hadn't even moved the parking brake when you threw yourself out of her car, not bothering to wait for her. The cool night wind bit at your face as you searched the building, looking for any indication they were letting people in. You spied a group of people charging across the parking lot to an open side door, someone in dress kaki's manning it. You followed them, skidding across the pavement as you reached the door, trying not to run anyone over and barrel through the crowd.

Cyclone saw you before you saw him, shouting out your full name amongst the chaos to urge you to the front to let you in with the next group. The words spill out of your mouth before you realize you're saying them. "Do you know if...?"

He shook his head. "If they did, they'll be on the next plane that came in."

A million thoughts skitter through your mind, like spiders across a floor, yet you push them aside.

"I have a friend, Lyssa. Let her in next."

He nodded without complaint, knocking hard on the door to let the group in.

Whether it was the threat of being yelled at for running or that they were inside the famous Navy facility, nobody moved quicker than a brisque walk.

You'd take on any military officer who would dare yell at you for the way you tried to weave in and out of the throngs of people.

The hallway you were guided down led to a hanger. The space had been turned into a temporary relief centre, with tables, cots, and supplies filling every inch. Medics were already helping a few of the officers who looked worse for wear, and dread filled you each time you spun, another injured officer upon another.

You weren't sure you were relieved or scared with each face you saw. Whatever they had to go through to get here, one thing was for certain. They had to do so in a rush.

You halted when you spotted the large military-like plane Cyclone spoke about sitting on the runway in the distance, viewable from the wide open door. Whether it had been there before or it had just arrived, you didn't know. Nor did you question it any further. The only thing that mattered was if Jake and Bradley were on that plane.

But with each group of people that passed, there was no sign of them.

Alyssa finally caught up to you, grabbing your arms from behind and tugging you backwards. "Liz," she started to say, but you tore out of her grasp.

"We didn't have time. We didn't have time," you said repeatedly, threading your fingers through your hair next to your temples. Alyssa reached out again, this time turning you by your raised elbows as you continued to force yourself to breathe. She pushed, and you slowly lost your hold on your roots, lowering your arms until she was grasping at your hands.

"I didn't want to tell him I loved him over a letter. I didn't want our last words to each other to be over a piece of paper," you cried out, trying to tug away. She didn't let go, her grip tight. It made you sob harder.

"I can't go through this again! Not with them, not with him. Not after everything Sadie and I have ever suffered through. It's too much, Alyssa!" you were on the verge of screaming. "We've been through enough!"

Lyssa opened her mouth, words just barely sounding out before her eyes locked on to something behind you. She gasped, and you twisted sharply, watery eyes searching a new crowd of officers making their way off the tarmac and into the hanger. You squinted your eyes, the night sky and the bright white lights from inside making it harder to make out faces.

A cluster of Navy officers broke off from the crowd, parting the way.

Then you saw them.

Both of them.

Jake was favouring a leg as he leaned against Bradley for support, hobbling along as they finally reached the entrance to the hanger, searching for a temporary cot. Even at a distance, you could make out a cut framing his eye, and one side of his face was bruised.

But he was here. He was whole.

He was alive.

You couldn't help it. You charged forward, no feeling in your legs as you zoomed past other families and officers, probably a few high-ranking officials in your paint-smattered shirt and overalls. Time slowed down for you as you ran, even if you were running as if your life depended on it.

"JAKE!"

Jake lifted his head at the sound of your voice, urging Bradley to stop. Bradley looked at him funny, watching his eyes glaze over and wondering if Jake hit his head harder than the medics originally thought. But then he followed his gaze, only to see you charging forward without a care in the world to reach him, and he knew.

Bradley unhooked his arm from around Jake's shoulders, steadying him for a second and then letting go, stepping to the side so you could have your moment.

You slid along the floor as you came to a halt in front of Jake, worried he was more damaged than you could see, arms reaching for him. Jake bracketed his arms tightly around your back the second you touched him, and you buried your face into his shoulder. He grunted as he pulled you tight, shoving his nose into your collarbone.

Jake smelt of the sea, of gasoline and sweat. His flight suit felt ripped under your hands as you tried to find a grip. Or maybe you were trying to assure yourself he was really there. Your mind flashed through all the possible things he might have gone through with each caress, your cries getting louder with each one.

Yet in your panic, you pulled back from his hug, only to take his face into your hands and kiss him hard.

"I love you," you gasped out between kisses. "I'm not getting you go. I'm here. I love you, I love you, I love you."

Jake's response was instant, fingers quickly gripping the back of your neck, the roots of your hair, to drive your head at all the angles he wanted, all the ways that made it easier for him to devour you.

You felt like you couldn't breathe, pulling away from his lips with a tightness in your chest. Your eyes fell on his lips, red and slightly swollen, and you were positive yours were the same. Until you looked up at those green eyes and the rest of the hanger, everyone else, faded away.

Jake smiled at you.

"Hi, Darlin.'"

You huffed a sad laugh through your tears, letting yourself fall into his body, hiding your face in his chest, sobbing.

Jake didn't let the grip on your neck go, curving his hand against the skin, holding you to him. His other arm, at some point, had dropped down to your waist. Whether it was to keep himself upright or keep you from falling over, he wasn't sure. Nor did he really care. Because Jake was pressing his mouth into your hair and closing his eyes to relish the feel of you in his arms.

He was home.

You turned your head against his chest to look over at Bradley, slightly surprised to see him hugging Alyssa. Her forehead was leaning against her hands, currently shaped into a triangle against his chest. She was shaking with silent sobs as Bradley hugged her back, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

The panic you felt before settles in your chest, warmth wrapping around your rib cage. As if he felt your eyes on him, Bradley opened his eyes, resting his cheek atop her head. You reached out, Bradley instantly extending his arm to grasp your hand. You smiled sadly at him with a fresh wave of tears in your eyes, squeezing his hand before burying your head back into Jake's chest, not once letting go.

Feeling you move against him, Jake lifted his head, catching your hand holding Bradley's. He found Bradley looking at the two of you with a smile, in a similar position, with Alyssa wrapped around him.

"Is there something you want to tell us, Rooster?" he said, eyes gesturing to Alyssa. You shook with silent laughter against his chest.

Bradley smiled at you, at Jake, before closing his eyes and letting his lips graze Alyssa's forehead. "Is that any way to speak to your saviour?"

There was no malice in Jake's words when he dropped his head back down to press a kiss into your hair, flippantly shooting back, "Don't push it, Bradshaw. I'm still ahead by one."

---

The ride home had been quiet.

After some harsh convincing by you and Alyssa, Jake and Bradley were allowed to leave. You had gotten the run down by one of the medical officers about Jake. He had no concussion and no broken bones but had ended up with quite a large amount of water in his lungs and a significant amount of bruising the days before.

You caught snippets of Rooster's conversation with the medics, enough to know what happened. You didn't want to know the deeper details unless Jake wanted to talk to you about it. Knowing he almost drowned and Bradley had saved him was enough.

He wasn't at risk of a secondary drowning, but more so pneumonia or an Edema. You'd be calling an ambulance at the first sign of a cough.

Bradley was helping Jake up the steps of your front porch as you went ahead and unlocked your door. Lyssa spotted Jake from below, hands out and ready. Despite her tiny frame, she was there, ready to catch him should he need help.

You were quietly surprised to see Bradley being the one to help Jake. You knew it wouldn't have been easy for either of them: Jake, who didn't want to need to accept the help at all, and Bradley, for whom he was helping.

But once Jake cleared the last step and straightened himself, he patted Bradley on the shoulder, murmuring a 'Thanks, Rooster' before limping over to you.

You looked up at him with a smile, cocking the side of your head in Bradley's direction before saying, "I'll meet you inside?"

Jake nodded, then nodded once to Rooster before continuing inside. Lyssa had walked off back to her car around the same time, leaving only you and Bradley standing alone on your porch. You pulled him into a hug.

"Thank you, Bradley. For saving his life."

Rooster stiffened at your touch but slowly relaxed, arms coming up to wrap around your back. "I know it's not worth much, but I'm truly sorry Lizzie," he murmured. "For all of it."

You shook your head against his shoulder, murmuring a low "Don't," but Bradley pressed on.

"I've been an ass since the start. I've been the one doing all the things I said Jake would do," he said next to your ear, refusing to let you go. "I think I was more worried about being replaced.. and everything else... I just didn't want to see you and the bug getting hurt. The rule was to put Sadie first. Instead, I was the one doing all that. He really does care about the two of you despite some of his faults."

You pulled back from the hug but still left your hand on his shoulder, wiping at your eyes. "Can I ask what made you change your mind?"

Bradley gave a fond look, and you could only stare at him for a second before a smile shot across your face. "Sadie?"

You had wondered what she had scribbled in that letter. She was shifty about it, too, refusing to let you see anything anytime you walked by.

Something told you you'd never know.

Rooster grinned. "Yeah," he said, scratching the back of his head. "Her and the fact, this one saved me yet again. Then gave me a heart attack."

You smiled, looking back at your open door. "I'd like to think he was giving you the chance to make it up to us."

Bradley dropped his chin to his chest, still smiling, before he looked over to Alyssa, leaning against the driver's side of her car.

"Call me if you need help?" he offered, stepping forward to place a hand on your forearm before turning to proceed down your front steps.

"I think we'll be okay," you replied softly, not really caring if he heard you, still staring at your front door.

--- 

 The tension inside the house hit you like a wave the second you closed the door. It was just Jake and you now, and despite everything that transpired the past few hours, you felt nervous. 

Looking down, you spied Jake's boots neatly lined up next to some of yours, making you wonder how he managed to get them off. It made you undo your laces slowly, tactically, as if to stall time. 

Something about standing here made everything more real. 

There was also the bit about you sending him that partial nude. And that letter - which you weren't as concerned about. But that damn photo, all inspired by a moment of brevity, had you yelling to yourself, what the hell did I just do? when you dropped it off at Penny's.

You couldn't worry about the shame currently building in the pit of your stomach. You had to press on.

Jake was hurt. He needed you. 

“Jake?” you called out softly, not expecting to find him hunched over, leaning against the wall of your hallway, facing you. You held out your hands, ready to grab him and support him. That was until he sharply lifted his head, eyes the only thing you could truly make out in the dim lighting, the dawn just peeking through your windows. You froze, lowering them, your voice stuck in your throat. Those eyes were challenging you to move, daring you to escape, to make a sound in the dead silence that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. With the predatory glint in his eyes, you knew right away what he wanted to talk about. 

Yet, Jake is the one to break the silence first.

"Where's Sadie?"

"Camp."

You feel like you've just given him the green light for something with those words. He seemed to know it, too.

"What can I do to help you?" the question comes out more quietly than you were anticipating.

Jake straightens himself with a groan but doesn't remove his eyes from you. On the contrary, they are still sharp and as intense as when he first saw you.

"Liz," he spoke lowly. 

He takes a step forward. You take one back. 

"I think you know the answer to that." 

"Do I?" you breathe out, taking another step, and he stalks forward as much as he is able. 

He nods once. "I got your letter. And your photo."

Your back hits the wall - you can go no further. 

It's not as if you couldn't escape him or tell him to stop. Jake is pinning you with his eyes as he approaches you and cages you against the wall. You know if you told him to stop, that all this was too much, he'd back away. 

You don't want him to, though. 

"Darlin," he roughs out, a hand reaching for your hip, his mouth next to your ear. "I've thought of nothing else."

Your trembling, heaving though no sound is coming out. You knew Jake was tall, muscled, and built like a freaking horse. It's stupid how the thought crosses your mind once again. You feel small against him, pressed up against the wall. 

"I take it you liked it?" 

You have no idea where this courage is coming from. 

"Liked it?" he pressed a kiss on your neck below your ear. "I got hard just looking at it." 

You title your head back against the wall; eyes closed, an arm coming up to wrap around his neck as Jake continues to press small kisses into your skin, slowly starting to add his teeth. An arm shoots around your waist, tugging you into him, and you gasp, racking up the wall with the movement. 

"Jake," you gasped to the ceiling, digging your fingers into his hair. He winced against your neck with a groan, pausing. You wondered if you had accidentally injured him more. Because as much as Jake was desperately trying to merge himself into your skin, as much as he was trying to show you just how much he loved you, how much he wanted you, he was utterly exhausted.

And he was hurt.

"There's nothing more I want than to be with you right now," you said calmly, stroking the hair at the back of his neck, sobering the moment. "But you're exhausted. And hurt, Jake. When was the last time you slept? "

Jake sighed into your neck, weight sagging with him, "Only a few minutes on the flight home. Not sure when before that."

It was true. Bradley had managed to resurface with him strung across his back, carrying Jake the rest of the way up that stairwell. His memory was fractured into bits and pieces of moments when he opened his eyes. Him being carried on a stretcher, Rooster sitting next to him in a med tent, voices yelling, and people poking and prodding at him. The flight home was when he really started to get his memory back, but he didn't dare fall back asleep, wondering if it had all been a dream and he really did die back there.

You frowned. "Let me take care of you, okay? I'm not going anywhere."

Pressing a long kiss on his cheek, you carefully untangled yourself from his hold, sliding down the wall. Hooking your arm around his waist, you led him down your hall to your bathroom. Jake's grip on your body was anchored tight. Hand threaded through the opposite pocket of your overalls, a part of him always touching you.

Leaving him to lean against your bathroom counter, you spun to turn on the shower, ensuring the water was okay before coming to stand in front of him once more. Resting your hands on his chest, you toyed with the zipper of his damaged flight suit.

"Do you need help?" you asked him softly.

He knew he could manage without you, even with his back being out of sorts. Yet, he still softly replied, "Go ahead."

You ranked your eyes over the fabric as you pulled down the tab of his zipper. His suit was ripped in some places, and large chunks were torn out, revealing the black tank he was wearing underneath. The zippers of the side pockets were misaligned, and while both of his patches were still intact, the threads were sticking out around the borders, making them unusable.

You made a note in the back of your mind to steal them the second you could.

Once the zipper reached the end, you moved both of your hands down to his chest, taking both sides and pushing the fabric off his shoulders.

Yet you stilled when you felt something hard in one of the pockets, instantly unfolding the fabric and unzipping the pocket, Jake watching you with hooded eyes. You pulled out a water-tight bag, gasping when you saw your letter and the various polaroids through the clear material.

"You.. You saved them?"

Jake let go of your hips to shrug the piece of clothing off, freeing his arms. He placed one hand on your hip, the other taking the bag from you, holding them.

"Why wouldn't I?" Jake's voice was quiet.

You felt a lump in your throat, tracing the bag in his hands. You were curious to know which one is the cockpit photo, but you also know your spontaneous, risky shot is also in with them. It's not that you didn't regret it, nor did Jake's enthusiastic reaction deter you, but you still felt that little bit of shame and embarrassment knowing the physical proof still existed.

"I... I didn't think they would mean that much to you. It was just a thing Sadie and I did so you wouldn't feel left out," you admitted, feeling vulnerable.

"They were all I had of you and Sadie out there."

It guts you, the simplicity of such a statement, yet packed with so much meaning.

Jake placed the bag behind him on the counter, ready to resume his grip on your body. Except his eyes caught sight of the pieces of metal dangling over the front of your chest, and he reached out to take his Dog Tags into the palm of his hand.

"You're wearing them."

You followed the chain to stare at the two pieces of metal. Your reply was soft, "I rarely took them off."

He didn't need to know about your breakdown. Not yet. You had said enough in your letter for him to know you had done what you needed to do, but he didn't need to know about the events that led up to it.

That was a conversation for another day.

Jake sighed, letting them drop back down in between the two of you, hand curving around your hip and pressing his forehead to yours. The two of you stayed like that for a few seconds until you felt him fiddling with the clasp on your hip, never fully releasing it from its hold.

He didn't need to voice it for you to know the question behind the action. It was clear as day as to what he was asking of you.

Will you join me?

Remember all those times over the past year you told yourself to fuck it? This was definitely getting added to all those other times.

Because you found yourself reaching down to your side and finishing the job, releasing the button from his hold. You felt Jake's breath against your mouth, warm and wet, as he slid his hand up to one of the front clasps, popping the buttons out of the hooks as he tugged, repeating the process with the other.

The two straps fell down your back, and you held your arms up in a silent invitation. Jake seemed to hold his breath as he pulled at your battered shirt, up over your head, to reveal your bare breasts.

He tossed your shirt to the side in the general direction of your laundry basket, but you didn't take your eyes off his to find out if it hit its mark. You feel no shame as he dropped his gaze. He's seen them before, kissed them, touched them. But the way his eyes rake over them makes it seem like it's the first time he has.

But when you reach for his black tank, pulling at the hem to work it over his body, you catch the view of his back in your mirror and let out a terrifying gasp.

His back is one big purple bruise, marring his skin. It spread from the curve of his right shoulder blade, sinking its way across his spine and ending near his hip. The only comparison you could draw to it was a painter's palette of cool colours mixed in with black. Whatever he had hit, it was clear the impact had been severe.

"Jake," you cry out, stepping to the side so you can turn him and see the damage for yourself, not in some reflection.

"How bad is it? The medics told me it's there."

"It's not pretty." 

It was the most accurate statement you could give him without wanting to double or even triple-check the work of the medics on him. He let you investigate the bruised skin for a few seconds more before moving out of your grasp and facing you. 

"Come on," he uttered. "Let's get under the water." 

You quickly removed the rest of your clothing, letting the rest of your overalls and underwear fall to the floor, using your toes to work off your socks. Jake managed to get the remainder of his flight suit off with little struggle, boxers included. 

You weren't ashamed of your body. But you were a little apprehensive, letting Jake see everything in its entirety. It makes you step into the shower first, almost as if you were trying to run away. 

All this is new to you. And the internal battle currently raging on in your head was making you hesitant. Because even standing here, naked in your shower, Jake's eyes ranking over you like you were his last meal from behind the glass door, you still fought with yourself not to look at him.

But let's be real. You were a virgin, new to all of this.

You definitely looked.

And tried to mute the squeal that was trying to crawl its way out of your throat as you turned to let the running water hit your face. You could hear Jake's warm chuckle from behind you as he stepped into the boxed space.

"Like what you see?" he spoke lowly into your ear, dragging your back to rest against his front by your elbows.

"I'm not going to answer that question. 'Cause we both know if I do, it's going to lead to something."

You could feel all his ridges and sharply defined muscles against your back, and it took you everything not to mould yourself into him. Jake pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another to your neck, before resting his cheek against yours. "And what would that be?"

"Jake..." you warned, your voice slightly shakey.

"Not tonight," he replied, dragging his hands up your arms. "I just wanted to see how far that blush of yours goes."

"Oh, you kinky.." but he didn't let you finish, catching your mouth in an opened-mouth kiss. You moaned, tilting your head back before turning to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You released his lips to glaze up into his eyes, taking the moment to assure yourself yet again he was here with you. You matched his soft smile before he zoned in on your cheek, reaching up to thumb the skin. His face was hardened in concentration, no doubt rubbing at a stroke of paint you'd accidentally marked yourself with, working to get it off. You smiled, pressing a kiss to his wrist.

"What's this from?"

"I'm painting Sadie's room, trying to make it more hers as a Birthday gift."  

Jake hummed. 

The two of you continued to shower together, you mostly helping Jake. You tried not to get too caught up in staring at him, biting your lip in concretion as you rubbed body wash over him. You felt his eyes on your face the entire time, and you tried to resist the urge to lean up and kiss him. 

Jake made you spin around to face the showerhead to return the favour. Feeling his hands caress your skin, letting him work the soap under the swells of your breast, along your arms, even down the panel of your stomach, you had to fight the arousal pooling in between your legs. 

Not to mention, you could feel him growing hard and heavy against your lower back. 

"This isn't fair. I'm the one who's supposed to be taking care of you," you murmured, leaning your head back against his shoulder.  

He pressed a delicate kiss to your collarbone. "This is taking care of me." 

You ended up getting out first, picking up each of your discarded clothing, throwing them in the basket, and reaching for the towels you kept on the makeshift shelf on your wall as Jake finished with his hair. You saw the frown on his face when he stepped out, and you rolled your eyes affectionately at him, handing him a towel.

Helping him to your room, you left him to sit on the corner of your bed. You rummaged through your top drawer, pulling out the pair of his boxers you had accidentally missed when you packed up his bag. You found them on the day you were getting things ready to visit Ridley.

He took them without a word while you pulled on your sleep shirt and underwear, ironically the same baggy nightshirt you wore the night of that damn thunderstorm where he kissed you.

Climbing into your bed, you held up your comforter as an invitation. He fell face-first into your chest with an aching groan, grabbing your sides to pull himself half on top of you, his head finding a home in the crook of your neck.

Your suspicions from before are finally confirmed. Because even as he held you, Jake was desperately fighting sleep.

Pressing a delicate kiss to the cut on his cheek, you grazed your lips up until you could press them just below his hairline, your fingers threading themselves soothingly through his hair.

"Go to sleep," you whispered into his forehead. "I'll be here when you wake up."

---

You slowly awoke to the sensation of lips delicately pressing soft kisses into your forehead and fingers stroking along the back of your arm, the occasional touch of warm metal accompanying the touch. You mewled, curling yourself deep into the apex of his shoulder, lulled by sleep.

"I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep."

You pressed a sleepy kiss to his bare chest. "I should be awake. I'd sleep the day away like this if I could."

Jake hummed, resuming his gentle caresses. He had raked down your sleep shirt along your back, fingers now dragging up and down your spine, getting lower and lower each time he did it, causing you to shiver.

"I had a dream like this. While I was away on the carrier," he spoke, pressing another kiss to your temple. "At the ranch in Texas. In my room above the barn."

"Tell me?" you yawned, still half asleep, warm and content.

Jake nosed into your cheek, trailing it over your skin as he spoke, "The two of us. In my bed. Naked."

You shook silently with laughter, turning your head back against his arm. "Of course you did."

You would have seen Jake smiling down at you had you decided to open your eyes.

"I'd dream I woke up with your back to me, sheets resting low on the curve of your back." He slid the back of his fingers across your exposed shoulder, getting lost in the image in his head. "The barn door was open, catching the first rays of sunlight in your hair. There must have been a storm cause the grass was so green, everything was so right."

You leaned away from his chest, resting your head further back on his arm to peer up at his face. Jake's hair is dishevelled, his eyes harbouring the remnants of sleep, worn and puffy. His bruise had already begun to yellow, and his cut didn't appear red or as swollen. Yet, looking up at him from within the safety of his arms, huddled against his massive chest, you find yourself wishing you could control the way air catches in your throat.

"Sounds perfect."

Jake smiled softly, leaning down to kiss you. You moan in protest, turning your head away and barely managing an "I have morning breath" to Jake as his lips land on your cheek.

"I don't care," he rasped into your ear. You turned your head back, and he placed his mouth on yours.

You give as much as he is giving you, letting Jake caress your tongue with his, letting him take and take at his pleasure, until he is releasing your mouth and mouthing across your cheek.

He’s taking his time with you, something so different from the previous times you've found yourself against or under him, at the mercy of his mouth and hands. There's hesitation in his movements, wary of making any sudden, intense movements that might have you bolt. 

"You're taking your time," you say aloud, carting your fingers through his hair. Jake laps gently at the corner of your neck, hand stroking down the side of your leg. He pulls back to stare at your face, you meeting his gaze.

"I almost didn't have time."

God, you know how true that statement is. And the fact, the Jake who left you standing at the end of your driveway all those weeks ago wasn't the exact same one who returned to you. 

Jake travels down the length of your body, and you let him push up your oversized shirt, revealing your breasts. "Hello, girls," he grinned, pressing a single kiss to each breast. "Oh, how I've missed you."

It makes you laugh, carting your fingers through his hair, messing it up even further. You can feel him smile against your skin. But then he is trailing his nose down your core, down your stomach, lightly grazing your skin with his lips as he goes. You watch him with careful eyes, your breath picking up quickly.

You know his intentions, where this is going, what it would evidently end up being. And you’re okay with that. You trust him, and you love him. There wasn’t anyone else you could imagine having your first time with. 

Working himself down to the end of your bed, Jake’s face hovers over your underwear, his eyes searching yours. You nod, reaching down to help him remove them, Jake flinging them behind his head in a dramatic fashion, making you laugh once again.

Until he’s lining up kisses down the inside of your thigh, stopping when he’s just that close to your core. And then he looks up once again. You can hardly see any green in his eyes, just a thin strip on the edge of being overtaken by black.

“Can I put my mouth on you?”

What do you do but stutter an embarrassing reply of, “If you want to.” 

Jake wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want to. You knew that. He even chuckles at your answer teasingly.

“You’re going to have to keep these open if I do,” he says, tapping the back of your thigh. “I’m not going to nearly perish a second time, though what a hell of a way to go.” 

You huff in amusement, tinting your head back against your pillow only to drop your chin to your chest, looking at him between your legs.

“Just be gentle with me, Jake. I’m not…” 

Experienced is the word you leave out, but you know Jake understands you. He always seemed to when it comes to you.

He places both of your legs on his shoulders before reaching up to thread his fingers through yours at your side. He barely has time to punch out the words, “Tell me to stop if it’s too much,” before his nose is parting your folds and he’s swiping his tongue up and down your cunt repeatedly. 

You pull against his hold on your hands at the feeling, wailing and then biting your lip to quiet yourself, muffling your sounds.

Jake lets go of one of your hands to thumb your bottom lip, removing it from your teeth. He lifts his head and says in one breath, “Sadie’s not here, Liz. Let me hear you moan for me.”

And then he’s sucking on your clit, and you can’t hold it in any longer. The noise you let out is practically a scream, and the vibrations from Jake’s moan against your cunt push you that much further. Cause the fact he mentioned her name while headfirst deep between your legs is filthy. 

And the sounds that follow, echoing around your bedroom, are raunchy.  The night Jake kissed you in your hallway, your worries about Sadie hearing both of you come to mind. Because thank God she wasn’t here, or else she’d think Jake was murdering you.

You’d have to work on being quiet if you ever wanted to do this again with Jake once she came back home. 

You felt hot with your shirt racked up around the top of your breasts, gripping the hem to rip it over your head, your back leaping off the bed as far as it could go. Jake glances up, still working his mouth against your cunt to watch, the only remaining piece on your body is his tags.

You buck into his mouth, having no control over your body as he just sucks and sucks and sucks, your grip on his hand getting tighter and tighter, and you’re gripping your comforter to the point your hand throbs from the force. Cause everything burns and feels so good and yet so bad, and you cry to whatever part of you decided you needed to wait to experience this.

But in the back of your head, you know nobody could make you feel the way Jake was making you feel now.

Something snaps, hard, your muscles pulling tant and the cry blaring out into the ceiling of your bedroom is anything but salacious.  And Jake's voice is muffled when he works you through it, chanting, “Good girl, that’s my good girl,” over and over as you chant your hips to chase the feeling.

You are a shaking mess when Jake finally lets go, and slides back up your body, letting his weight settle against your chest, arms threading themselves under your shoulders.

"Was that okay?" 

You don't even have the words to describe how you are feeling. Your eyes are wide, staring up at him, wondering why the hell he'd be asking such a question when he caused you to be in such a state. 

Instead, you lurch up and kiss him hard, your hands gripping the middle of his back, sliding down to slip under the fabric of his boxers. Jake jolts when he feels your hands cupping his ass. 

"Are you sure, darlin'?" he pants, pulling away from you. "Are you sure you want this? With me?"

This was Jake. He wouldn't have you without your consent.

"I only want you."

It's slightly cheesy. But there was no other way you could put it. You couldn't imagine doing this with anyone else. But he challenges you again, asking, "Are you sure you want it to be me?" 

You wanted to smack him for his sheer idiocy right now, bringing up his shitty perception of his self-worth. But you don't want to ruin the mood, and you know where it's coming from deep down. It has nothing to do with you. 

"I do," you say instead, rubbing your nose against his. "I just don't know how to make you feel good, though."

"It's not about me right now."

Except it was. It was about both of you.

"Get on top of me."

The both of you rolled, Jake grabbing your hips as you landed on top of him. You sat up, placing your hands on his chest. The action had you rocking yourself back onto his clothed cock, and Jake let out a moan, hands tightening on your waist to push and pull with your movements.

Leaning down to kiss him once, you followed his jawline, reaching his ear. "You want to know something?" you asked, suddenly emboldened.

"What?" he gasped, nails biting into your skin.

"I've been dying to do this since the first time I saw you on the beach."

You felt the pinch of his nails as you kissed down his neck, making sure to catch a patch of skin between your teeth softly. You continued down his chest until you finally got to your desired place.

The divet.

The perfectly sculpted yet slightly crooked valley that split the entire length of his chest in half. You had a brief moment of panic, a stutter in your heartbeat, when you realized just how forward you, the freaking virgin, were being. Hell, you didn't even know if you were doing any of this right.

All you knew, you had waited long enough.

Spread out beneath you, Jake's body is spread out for you like a personalized meal. You pressed a kiss into his skin first before letting your tongue press deep into that valley and swirl all sorts of patterns across his skin. His eyes nearly bugled out of his head before Jake groaned, chest puffing out and hand fisting into your hair. 

You work your way up, getting ready to take one of his nipples into your mouth, when Jake suddenly shouts and lets out a fevered, "Stop." 

You reel back in shock, scared you overstepped. But Jake only tugged you up by your hips, using you as a counterweight to pull himself to sit against your headboard with a painful groan. He settled you directly against his pelvis, where you can feel just how hard he is through his boxers.

He grips the back of your neck hard and slams his lips into yours. You whimper into the kiss, worried he's using it as a tactic to let you down gently. When he finally releases your lips, you burst out, "I'm sorry, I overstepped. I shouldn't have.." 

Jake grips your throat, thumb resting just barely on your Adam's apple, enough to know it's there. You can feel it with each hard sallow you take, his hand big enough to encompass the entire length and width of your neck. 

"Don't ever apologize for that," he states firmly. "I'm yours to do with what you will. And trust me when I say there is a lot more you can do to me than just a simple kiss on the chest." 

And there's the blush. 

"I told you I'd corrupt your innocent little soul," he smirks, pulling you to his mouth once again.  

The next few moments are filled with long, passionate kisses and heavy touches until Jake is reaching for the hem of his boxers, and you find yourself helping him pull them down, him kicking them off in some unknown direction. 

Unlike this morning, there's no hesitation when you take him in, his cock hard and standing to attention. You regret your reaction to the comment you made about his helmet last year. Cause there was truth behind that one missing letter. 

Jake reaches for you, helping to position you over him before he suddenly freezes.  "Shit," he gasped, pushing you to sit on his thighs. "We don't have anything."

You ducked your head shyly. "We don't need one if you're okay without one. I... I'm on the pill."

"You're on the pill?"

You know what he means behind the question instantly.

"Two months before Penny asked me back. Other reasons, though. Not that I was expecting to get laid at any point in time," you answer him quietly, lifting your head. "You know me, Jake. I don't do one-night stands. I never have."

Jake relaxed under your hold, a small part of him sighing in relief.

"Worried I moved on?" you ask him softly, stroking your finger across his brow.

"You had every right to," he's almost ashamed to admit. You shook your head. "When are you going to get it through that stubborn head of yours that you are worth it, Jake? I love you. I'm not going anywhere."

Jake sighed again, dropping his forehead to your collarbone.

"Besides, you painted a pretty picture in the flatbed of your truck," you tease, quickly reciting the words he had rasped into your ear when his fingers were almost knuckle deep in your cunt. You drop your head forward and whisper into his ear, "The day I can have you gripping my cock?"

Jake growled at your words, reaching for your thigh to properly position you over him. Straddling his waist, you rest on your knees. Jake grabbed his cock, angling it just so as to rub the tip against your cunt slowly. You weren't sure whether he was teasing you or getting you used to a feeling.

Maybe it was a bit of both.

Then his tip caught at your entrance, and you let out a whimper. 

He stops, not doing anything else except letting go of himself to latch onto your other hip. Tilting his head, he places a kiss on the underside of your jaw, breathing in deep.

You understand why Jake had you move on top of him for this. He was letting you control the pace and do what only felt comfortable to you. It warms your heart, even if it is on the verge of jumping out of your chest.

"Take your time, darlin," he encouraged you softly, mouthing at the skin under your collarbone. "I'm here whenever you are ready. And we can stop at any point."

You took a deep breath, finally finding the courage to press yourself down onto him.

Something between a whine and a gasp escaped your lips as you felt the tip of his cock enter you. You had no previous experience to compare this to, but you were sure you weren't supposed to feel this stretched out. Or this full. 

You got about halfway down before you cried out, sightly in pain. Jake's grip tightened on your leg and hip, muscles flexing as he halted you. You're slick, but it's a tight fit. And his breath was just as ragged as yours.

 Sliding the hand that was griping your hip up your back, Jake encompasses the nape of your neck in his hand, tiling your head down so he could take your mouth into an open kiss.

"Jake," you whimpered into his mouth, your nails digging hard into his shoulder. Jake kept a tight rein on his control, but it was a battle he was struggling with. You just felt too good around him.

"Such a good girl for me," he cooed. "Taking my cock." 

"I don't know if I can go any further," you whimper. But Jake is quick to reply, "We don't have to, not if you don't want to. But you're almost there, just a little bit more." 

"Fuck," you whined, tearing yourself away from his mouth to bury your face into his shoulder.  His hand tightened against the nape of your neck, fingers tangling themselves into the roots of your hair. The grip is reassuring and grounding, and you take several deep breaths before you press down once again.

Then, just when you think you can't take anymore, he bottoms out, his hips pressed tightly into yours. 

That's it. You were a virgin no longer. 

And suddenly, with that thought, you felt nervous. Because, of all things, that damn fucking sign in the girl's bathroom of the Hard Deck flashes in your mind.

Jake is experienced. You're not. It was one thing for him to say he didn't mind you were a virgin, but it was something else for him to be the one to change that status. Because every story you've ever read about how men would compare their previous partners to their current one eats away at you.

There was no way you would stack up to the long list of women Jake had bedded, for lack of a better word. But Jake only nuzzled the valley between your breasts, tongue delicately tracing the underside of one while rubbing soothingly down the curve of your spine.

"Perfect," he murmured softly. You can't help yourself when your next words come out more anxiously than teasingly. "Live up to your imagination?"

If Jake caught on, he didn't let you know.

"Better," he groaned. "I don't care if we do anything else. I'm perfectly content to be like this the rest of the day."

He twitches inside you, and you gasp, dropping your mouth to rest against the top of his head. You know what he is doing. He's letting you adjust, letting the pain subside, assuring your anxious thoughts.

"Like this? Me, wrapped around your cock, barely moving," You manage to pant, and he hums against your chest. "What if we have company? Rooster tends to show up unannounced."

"He better not," his growl vibrates off your skin, hand flexing on your thigh in an effort not to thrust. "He should know better than to show up at your door when he knows damn well what we're getting up to."

Jake titles his head to set his teeth into your collarbone in a warning, making you clench involuntarily and whimper. He snarls into your neck, "Don't mention him when I'm inside you. This is not going to end badly, not for your first time."

The heat laced in his voice did nothing to stop the small chuckle that racked your chest. Your muscles pull tight across your stomach, and you choke, "Are you trying to make me combust?"

"Is it working?" 

Jake doesn't move. Not at first. Not until you decide to test the waters and flex your hips once, rocking yourself on his cock ever so slightly. 

Your mouth is resting open against his forehead, and your nails are biting into his shoulders as you moan, letting the first thumps of pain, turn into pleasure. He's tense under you, Jake, using every ounce of willpower not to thrust himself hard up into you to match your rocks. He wants to take this slow. He wants you to enjoy this, no matter how badly he wants to feel you clench around him.

Instead, he rasps into your breast, “Feel good?” 

Why is he so obsessed with asking you questions?

You’re unsure if your noise is intelligible, but you try to force out an affirmative hum. Then he hits the back of your cervix, making you howl and curl into him.  

It must have been the sound you let out because Jake growls. Gripping the flesh of your butt tightly, he flipped the both of you. You weren't expecting him to, not with how beaten up he was. The movement of your back hitting the bed caused him to hit something deep inside you, causing you to cry out and grip the planes of his shoulders, nails biting hard and uncaring if you happened to touch his bruise.

The slow movement of you rocking on him was nothing compared to the way he started to thrust in earnest. 

"You have no idea how much I've wanted you," he panted, increasing his pace. "The day I saw you at the Hard Deck when you were dancing in your kitchen. The clean fucking slate."

You whimper at the growl he spun on the word fucking, adding to the heat already spreading across your body. Even with the pleasure he’s bestowing across your body, you know this must be somewhat painful for him.

"Jake.." you gasped. "Your back."

"Fuck my back," he grunted, angling his hips in an urgent thrust. It made you tilt your head back into your pillow, your head almost hitting your headboard, your nails biting into his back, letting out a heated cry. Jake went for your neck, teeth, and lips, pressing hard to your pulse point.

"I don't care if I fucking break it," he growled out. "I'm not stopping until you cum for me." 

A particular thrust caused you to turn your head, and Jake sunk his teeth into your neck. You lifted your leg, wrapping it around Jake's waist. The angle of this next thrust changed, and you whimpered loudly, tears leaking down the sides of your face as Jake lurched over you with a desperate groan.

It has you wrapping your other leg around his waist, your hips slanted downwards, his cock pounding you at a new angle.

His hand, supporting himself on the bed next to you, shot out to grip your bedframe. Alternating between deep thrusts and shallow teases, Jake watched you underneath him. Your breasts bounce with every thrust, your eyes fighting to stay open, and dog tags - his dog tags - jangling against your stomach.

 He almost didn’t have this, the stark realization haunting him. He had literally been a breath away from never seeing you again, never feeling your warmth or hearing your cries of pleasure or even your laughter. He would take any chance, any glance, anything to assure him you were real. And that you were his.

His back spasmed, and he fell on top of you, saving himself from crushing you at the last second. But it doesn’t deter him. No, Jake still flexed his hips, more than determined to get you over that edge, to have you cum. Even if he didn’t, he wanted you to experience at least that. 

But those dog tags cause a possessive feeling to rise in his chest - because the only word going through his head right now is mine. 

"You’re mine, Elizabeth,” he grunted. "Say it. Please say it.”

There's the possessive kink you know and love. 

“I’m yours,” you cry out, consumed by the feeling of him driving his cock into you. “Yours Jake, just please…”

It is then a mantra of "pleases" and "I needs" fall from your lips, of which you aren't sure what for. All you knew was that Jake was working you higher and higher off that edge, fully determined to see you tumble over it.

“Cum for me Liz,” he whines.  “Cum for me, just for me. Please my darlin’ girl.”

He drops his hand between the two of you, seeking out your clit and rubbing hard, tight circles that have you screaming. Your soaring, going over that somewhat unfamiliar edge he’s brought you over only twice before.

You swear you black out, just for a few moments, until Jake is at your ear, whispering praise after praise about how good it finally felt to have you cum around him. How only he would ever be the one to experience this, how proud of you he is.

Then he thrusts, once, twice, before your hips jolt up, and he's pressing himself deep, flooding your core. You sob, burying your face into his neck and tightening your legs around him. Because amongst the overstimulation, you can feel another one creeping up from out of nowhere. Pure white heat shoots up to your chest as Jake's haunting moan vibrates your entire being.

Then it's quiet, and you want to bury yourself in this moment. 

You don't even care that you're crying. Because, with all the thoughts and feelings flying back and forth through your mind, there's one that stands out the most. 

Your so fucking glad you waited.

"Are you alright?"

When you don't say anything, too blissed out to form words, Jake pants out your name against your neck; his voice laced with urgency.

"I need... I need a moment. Just a moment," you manage to pant, forcing breath into your lungs. Jake moves, trying to bring himself onto his elbows as his back screams in protest.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks, stroking your cheek. You manage a small shake of your head, the sides of your mouth turning upwards. "No," you reply softly.

You finally open your eyes to see Jake staring down at you. His brow pulled together in concern. And, of course, you, being you, had to say the first thing that came to mind.

"I guess you did give me a good time after all."

Jake tilts his head for a second before his memory catches up with him, and he shakes his head, though you can see the puff he takes out of pride. 

"What am I going to do with you, Elizabeth Beck?"

You grin up at him. "Hopefully, a repeat of that sometime in the near future?"

Jake rolled onto his side with a groan, pulling you with him to lie half on his chest. The action caused him to slip out from you, which you were grateful for. The quick movement only caused a brief amount of pain, and you were sure if he drew it out, it would have been worse. 

Jake was pressing kisses to your forehead as the aftershocks finally made them known. You trembled against him, hands trying to find purchase along his chest, and Jake didn't stop until he was sure you were okay.

But, in the blissful silence, once you calmed down, Jake playing with your hair against your back, did he finally ask the question you knew was coming since he walked through your front door.

"Does she hate me?"

You weakly lifted your head from his shoulder, watching the conflicting emotions play across his face.

"The day at the beach. She was devastated..." Jake trailed off, absentmindedly staring at your bedroom wall. You pressed a kiss to his chest. "We've both had a lot of people in our lives that have hurt us."

"I'm used to disappointing people, but her? She has every right."

You frowned. "She missed you so much, Jake."

He shook his head, slamming his eyes shut. You lifted your hand off his chest to cradle his jaw, your thumb stroking across his cheekbone under the newly darkened skin. "She could never hate you. She asked me every day when you'd be coming home."

Jake didn't open his eyes, but he did lean into your touch, his shame and guilt still evident.

You wanted to tell him about the most recent thunderstorm, Sadie waking up and crying out for the both of you in the middle of the night. You had done your best to soothe her, but deep down, you knew she wanted Jake. Nothing could compare to his words of reassurance or the way she felt when he hugged her that night.

In the end, lifting his dog tags off your neck and placing them around hers was the only thing that worked. Huddled in her bed with your arms around her, she fell asleep with them gripped tightly in her hand.

Something told you even if you did tell him, it would only make him more upset.

You stroked your fingers over his forehead, asking him softly, "Come with me when I pick her up from camp next week? I promise she will prove you wrong."

There was a silent pause, and then he opened his eyes. He searched you for any hint of deception, not that he would find any. Sadie was just as important to him as you were. In the end, he nodded once with a sigh.

It was a few more minutes before he carefully untangled himself from your hold. He swung his legs over to the side of your bed with a groan, his muscles spasming as he sat up. Even in your blissed-out state, you reached out and placed a hand on his upper back, where his bruise was the least dark, hoping to soothe some of his pain.

"Where are you going?"

"Getting something to clean you up."

"You don't have to, Jake. I can take care of it."

"It's my job," he countered, turning his head to look at you with a cheeky grin. "Let me do this for you."

He stood, lumping slightly to your bathroom to grab something to clean you up. You watched him go, taking him in in all his naked glory, biting your bottom lip hard.

You still couldn't believe he was yours.

You weren't expecting this: the gentleness as he took the rag between your legs when he returned, the kiss he placed on your thigh when you whimpered from the sensitivity.

After tossing the rag into your laundry hamper to be dealt with later, he maneuvered himself back into the position he assumed last night when you fell asleep, head buried in your neck, arms wrapped under your shoulders.

It was soothing, his weight on your chest almost counteracting the dull throbbing in your core.

"How long do I have you for?" you asked, threading your fingers through his hair.

"I have nowhere to be for the next two weeks," he mumbled into your chest.

"Stay with me?"

"As if I'd leave you now."

😏😘 You hate me now?

Tags:

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@its-the-pilot

Part 22 - Jump in progress

Wickett ;)

[rip-regulus]

random things I associate with the marauders + reg

james - the sun, cooking in an apartment with warm lighting, summer road trips specifically in a beaten up truck, red converse, the beach, wired ear buds, laying in a flower field, climbing trees, lighting mcqueen, the laurie love confession, a cd collection, pasta bakes, crying in the shower, treehouses, shotgunning a beer, forgetting to wear your glasses, singing on top of a table, large houses that are still really cozy, smiling really wide, frat parties, your mom jokes, slushy machines, doodles in the margin, polaroids

sirius - the stars, electric guitar, messy black sparkly eyeshadow, making snow angels, rings, having a bonfire, black chipped nail polish, a back pack covered in pin badges, drawing on a car window, smoking after sex, the arctic monkeys, motorbikes, david bowie vinyl, leaning out of a window, hickeys, zippo lighters, men walking the runway, bootcut jeans, setting off fireworks, mummy issues, blasting the radio, talking to the sky, leather jackets

remus - the moon, reading by a fireplace, black coffee, gatekeeping music artists, messily stacked books, really loud booing, grandpa sweaters, smoking in public, mars bars, scars, bed head, a swear jar, mismatched socks, playing chess, crisp autumn air, covering things in stickers, falling asleep in random places, writing a letter, anger issues, listening to records, studying for a test, leather book satchels, high alcohol tolerance

peter - the earth, telephone booths, potted plants, cobblestone streets, knowing secrets, tripping, crossword puzzles, not strong enough by boygenius, digital camera photos, gaming, decorating with picture frames, the end credits of movies, barbed wire fences, sleeping on a mattress on the floor, being exasperated, breaking your arm, big ears, fish eye lens, not being the first choice, welly boots, gambling, hardwood flooring, crayons

regulus - the ocean, paintings with a blurred face, smashed ceramic/glass, winged eyeliner, black cats, the story of icarus, reading poetry and classic literature, graveyards with overgrown grass, piano, religious trauma, bloody knuckles, freshly fallen snow, abandoned churches, nihilism, the movie coraline, gothic architecture, ballet, art museums, being at a crossroads, those windy staircases, the smell of rain, driving gloves, daggers

[canisguts]

aspirin

pairing: leon kennedy x gn reader

pronouns: they/them

desc: waking up in leon kennedy's bed after a one-night stand .

trigger warnings: throwing up , pill-taking, body buzzing

w.c: 726

the first thing you felt as you came to was a pounding headache. the sun didn't help much as it peaked at you through the curtains, shining a thin light over your eyes. you groaned, throwing your arm over your face, as if that would shield the burning rays.

you should've been used to the throbbing pain after a long night of drinking. hell, you were an alcoholic. so, something as simple as a headache shouldn't make you feel the need to hunch over and barf, right?

wrong.

you felt the bile crawl up your throat before it even started. rolling out of bed, you're thankful for the trash bin in front of you as you let out the alcohol from the night before. with your heartbeat pounding loudly in your ears, you didn't hear the footsteps, or the rattle of a pill bottle, or the clink of glass meeting wood. your body buzzing, you didn't feel the calloused fingertips pulling your hair away from your face.

soon, your stomach was emptied. the buzzing stopped, and your headache grew.

"here, take these."

you barely registered the scratchy voice as you felt knuckles brush the nape of your neck and reach for the pill bottle, holding it in front of you for you to take. you reached up, balance unsteady, and you fell back against the wooden bed frame.

"are you alright?"

you tried opening the bottle, but you felt physically exhausted. the man took the bottle from you and opened it, shook two little white pills out into his palm and, with slow movements, tilted your head back. you parted your lips, allowing him to slip the medicine onto the tip of your tongue. he reached for the glass and carefully poured.

swallowing the pills, you sighed, eyebrows knitting together. after a moment, you found it in you to open your eyes. taking in your surroundings, you realized you weren't in your bedroom.

the room you found yourself in was bland. no pictures, posters, vinyl. just a dresser, a desk, and a bed.

looking at the man in front of you, you found yourself thinking he was anything but bland, despite his clothing. or, a lack thereof. the only thing covering him was a pair a sweatpants.

the man cleared his throat, offering you a hand. you took it.

"are you alright?" he asked again after pulling you to your feet.

"my head fuckin' hurts." you muttered. he nodded.

"you drank a lot." he stated. then asked, "do you always drink that heavy?"

you shrugged, sitting on the mattress. "how much did i have?"

"a lot of wine, from what i could tell. five shots of whiskey. then you downed vodka with lemon." he recalled. you sighed through your nose.

"well, shit." you looked up at the ceiling. then back at him. "that still doesn't explain how i ended up here with your handsome face."

the man chuckled dryly. "i drank a lot, too." he sighed. "do you remember anything?"

you clicked your tongue, squinting. "not jack shit." you looked up at him. "why, did something happen?"

the man sat beside you. "just that we..." he motioned between the two of you. "...you know, screwed around."

your eyes widened. "oh fuck..."

he nodded. "yeah..."

"no, not that. i don't care about that." you groaned. "please tell me we used protection."

the man stared at you for a second, then looked at the bin. "well, you threw up the red sea all over it, so yeah, we did."

"oh, thank the gods." you laughed slightly. your head pounded. sighing, you looked at him. "um, what's your name?"

he looked at you, then smiled slightly. "leon kennedy."

you nodded, cleared your throat, and looked behind you. "you don't mind if i..." you motioned at the bed the two of you sat on.

"go for it. i'm sure you're tired." leon stood up. you grabbed his wrist, and he looked down at you.

you gave him a sheepish smile. "lay with me?"

he raised his eyebrows, then nodded. you let go of his wrist and crawled under the blankets. he walked around to the other side, sliding in behind you.

closing your eyes, you blush as you feel him press his chest flush against your back.

"by the way," he whispered against the shell of your ear. "you're loud."

———

a/n: i love writing stuff at three in the morning =]] anyway , hope you enjoy !!

[sweetbrier2908]

nighttime routine

(gn!mc x simeon)

nights with simeon are usually like this.

you change into your pajamas and jump on the softest and most comfortable mattress in the whole three realms. it's always so soft to the point sometimes it completely swallows you. you wonder if the softness of it may be bad for your back, but not every night is like this and you will willingly tolerate the mattress.

you then curl yourself in the thick planet, scroll through your d.d.d, and attend asmo's party on stories. or you will read a book, usually "tales of the seven lords". sometimes you pick the first edition ever, sometimes you settle for a picture book. sometimes, instead of lying, you sit and spread the whole series on your bed (just for simeon to collect them after you fall asleep halfway through the book in front of you). the truth is you're still awake and simeon knows that. but he always enjoys taking care of people, he enjoys watching you reading the books he wrote on your bed, he enjoys putting them away for you to sleep comfortably, he enjoys your small smile every time he covers you with the blanket (and you enjoy his soft giggle which makes you fall asleep soundly).

you two never talk too much. while you're doing literally everything that you're in the mood for, he sits down by his desk and plays a vinyl record. always the songs that you don't know. he picks up his pen (sometimes his quill) and enters his inner world. sometimes he works until you pass out. sometimes he finishes before you fall asleep. it's not important. you know all too well that when the morning comes, you will be in his arms. and that's enough.

some nights you both go to bed early. just an hour after dinner. solomon will do the dishes and luke will help. luke is a good child, and he knows today is not a day you come to watch a cooking tv show in the living room. he wishes you a good night, and watches you sneakily slip through simeon's bedroom door (from the dining room, of course, luke knows better than to follow you and make sure you remember where the guest room is).

simeon will curl up and put his head on your chest. you are sure that he can hear and count every beat of your heart. loud and clear. you wrap your arms around his body, tightly. sometimes you're scared that your hug is a little bit too tight (so tight), but simeon said it never hurt him (your hug is always so tight, it reminds him that he's still alive).

you and simeon will keep holding each other like that. you both will not sleep, you rarely move your eyes from the wall, and his breath is not so stable. those are the restless nights.

sometimes you run your hand through his soft velvet hair, and make a mess before it turns back to being soft and unruffled. sometimes your finger keeps drawing circles on his trembling back. is he crying? you're not sure. but you won't ask. you will be patient. simeon will tell you eventually.

he will tell you when he's ready, or you're ready. or when the morning comes (to be honest you never know when the morning comes here in devildom, simeon will tell you when it's time, simeon knows everything), you kiss his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his lip. simeon's lip is as soft as your blanket, his hair, the celestial realm's clouds. you kiss every part of his face and simeon will do the same to you. "morning ritual" he said, and you suddenly want everything you two do to become some sort of ritual. so simeon can never give up on this, on you. simeon never tolerate you, ever. so it has to be a ritual and not a punishment or a rule.

maybe the moon is a little bit clearer, and the sky has shifted from pitch black to charcoal color. simeon gets up first, wears his slippers puts on his nightgown which is on the floor. he turns his head to look at you, who is still on the bed, and gives you a sad smile, "i promise this will be the last time".

his smile recently is always sad.

simeon knows everything but simeon never knows himself better than you do.

[pomegrnteseed]

Come Together

Prompt: "I want you" made me think perhaps H is a Beatles girlie cause her parents, and I've never seen Sirius as a Beatles Guy in fic before

Thank you to Beatificbean for this prompt, I really enjoyed piecing this together

“I want you.”

She shrieks, heart in her throat, not just because she’d been sure she was home alone, but because he’s uttering the words that haunt her nightly.

Hermione turns to the doorway and sees Sirius leaning oh-so-casually against the wooden frame, arms crossed as he looks at her. She’s in an ACDC t-shirt of his that she’d stolen from the washing basket and a pair of red jersey shorts. Perfectly acceptable loungewear for baking in the kitchen.

“That’s the song, you’re humming, right? I Want You, by The Beatles? Merlin, Hermione, you’re practically the perfect woman, knowing music like that.”

He laughs and she tries to copy him, but it’s hollow.

Of course he didn’t mean it.

She was more than 20 years his junior. She was the final stray haunting his home; Harry and Ron having moved out and moved on two years earlier. She rattled around the house like a ghost, hardly straying from her bedroom, the kitchen, or the small office they’d transformed into a potions lab for her to mess around in while she figured out what she did next with her life.

Funny how ambition quickly dries up when it’s a reality instead of a child’s dream to survive long enough to live.

“I didn’t know you knew The Beatles,” he continues on, unaware of her internal monologue, stepping towards the oven where she’s finished pouring batter into a loaf tin.

“Don’t you dare stick a finger in there, there’s raw egg! And yes, of course I know The Beatles. My father worshipped them,” she informs him with a wry smile. “Makes me think of home, of learning to bake breads and pastries on Sunday afternoons with him. Mum was useless at the sweet stuff, but Dad was a whizz at baking, you know. Ironic, given his professional quest to save every tooth he met. He’d stick a cassette in and-”

The tears overwhelm her and he pulls her in for a hug. It doesn’t soothe her like he intends, just twists the knife of loneliness harder, but she swallows it all down, pushes and pushes until she doesn’t feel it anymore.

“I have the vinyl in my room, if you want to listen over banana loaf and chai?” he offers.

The only way he knows how to offer comfort is through company and hot drinks. It’s kind of adorable, though she’d never tell him as much.

Forty minutes later, she’s at his bedroom door with chai and a plate with sliced banana loaf, hovering, knows crossing this threshold changes nothing - it’s Sirius, the man who sees her as his ward - but nonetheless the trepidation tangles in her tummy.

The door opens and he’s lounging on his bed, vinyl cover in hand, patting the mattress beside him.

The opening chords of Come Together fill the room. She perches on the edge, pushes a plate in his direction, and busies her hands with her own.

“Did you add cinnamon?”

She nods, not meeting his gaze.

He hums.

“My favourite.”

She knows.

They listen to the entire album in silence, only moving to turn the disk over in its player. She lets the songs surround her in a nostalgic blanket, wistful for the easy, breezy carelessness of childhood.

“Oh darling,” Sirius breaks the silence when the final song ends and the record player clicks off.

She peers up at him, questioning.

“My favourite song on the album is probably Oh! Darling.”

She smiles, it’s weak and thin but that’s as sincere as she can muster. Wishes those words meant something more.

“Because is mine. You know it’s inspired by Moonlight Sonata? The complexity of the harmonies is unbelievable, it’s so layered. And yet, the sound is almost deceptively simple. A real conundrum of a track.”

His mouth twists, not a smile or a grimace, but something pained nonetheless.

“I was sure you’d say Here Comes the Sun,” he murmurs. When she quirks a sardonic brow he grins fully. “Y’know, because you’re so hopeful and full of light. Always looking for the silver lining.”

She’s not sure she is, but she takes the mischaracterisation as a compliment with a snicker.

“Sure, Sirius, whatever you say.”

A beat.

“I best go clear up my mess,” she says, moving to stand.

“I Want You.”

“What about it?” she asks, stacking empty plates and mugs.

“I’m serious.”

She blinks, confused and feeling as though he’s making fun of her. The vulnerability rolls her shoulders in anticipatory defense.

“Hermione. I want you. It would be a literal crime to let you walk out of this room now I finally have you in it. Wearing my fucking clothes, no less.”

She must surely have entered an alternate dimension. Or she’s having a stroke. Because there’s no way in hell this is actually happening.

His tattooed hand shoots out to grab her wrist, pulls on it, forcing her to look him in the eye.

What she sees knocks the wind out of her.

His expression is open, vulnerable, eyes gleaming. Hermione is baffled, completely unprepared.

“Unless, of course, you’re not interested. And- well, why would you be. Ignore me darli- Hermione. Just, forget it. Call it a senior moment, let me get the door for you.”

He leaps from the bed, jostling her as he passes, opens the door, head bowed.

“You- you want me? Seriously?”

“I’m always Sirius.”

“I will smack you, Sirius Black.”

He chuckles but it quickly morphs into a weary sigh.

“You don’t understand how incredible you look when you’re lost in the music, Hermione. Transcendental. You’re a vision. I mean, you always are. But you’re sitting there in my fucking t-shirt, listening to my favourite album, and you have this dreamy little grin. You’re hardly in the room, but it doesn’t matter. You’re comfortable enough to let yourself fully feel the music around me. And that’s no small thing. I know it isn’t. So, yes, I’m struck by an epiphany listening to my favourite band with my favourite witch who’s added my favourite spice to my favourite fruit loaf. Is it really so surprising?”

She laughs and it’s melodic. She’s euphoric.

“Yes, you dolt. It’s utterly baffling. Completely bewildering. Now kiss me.”

And he does.

[jonkentt]

a little Sambucky ~

Bucky starts collecting vinyls. Sam notices them accumulate in his apartment. How very typical of Bucky to buy records while refusing to invest in a mattress. Sam glances at the pile of blankets shoved under Bucky’s couch and regrets it.

“Even thinking about you sleeping on this floor every night makes my back hurt.”

“I sleep on the couch sometimes.”

“Yeah?” Sam claps a hand on Bucky’s shoulder with a laugh. “That’s great, maybe we’ll be able to get you in a bed before the next century.”

“It’s a lot less important than you make it seem.”

“If you slept in a bed you’d see my side.” Sam squeezes Bucky’s shoulder and leans into him. “You know I’m just looking out for you.”

“I know,” Bucky says softly and Sam can tell he’s smiling.

“What’re you doing?” Sam leans over Bucky’s shoulder to get a look at the kitchen counter which is littered in tea bags of every color. It looks like Bucky just dumped them all out of the jar he stuffs them in. Why he can’t keep the different flavors in their individual boxes, Sam has no idea.

“Makin’ tea. What kind do you want?”

“Umm you pick. Something fruity.” Bucky grins. “Make sure it goes well with—”

“Honey. I know.” Bucky reaches to open the cupboard above him and pull out a honey bear for assurance. Sam gives his shoulders another squeeze before wandering over to a stack of records that hadn’t been here last time Sam came over.

Sam picks through the records on the top, wrinkling his nose at Dire Straits and Journey. He sets those aside so he can get to the box underneath and leaf through them properly.

“Buy anything good lately?”

“You ask me that as if I would buy bad music.” Sam snorts. “But yeah I found a couple European records. I guess it’s called ‘downtempo’. Café music. It’s nice.”

Sam hums doubtfully. He hears the electric kettle start and continues to look through Bucky’s music, gently pulling out one at a time to look at the covers. He doesn’t recognize a lot of these, which Sam immediately equates to Bucky’s inferior taste. God, he hopes Bucky didn’t pick up any of the stuff Zemo played on his jet.

Bucky sidles over and rests his vibranium hand gently on Sam’s hip. With the other he flicks to the back of the crate and quickly pulls out an album in black with white geometric line art on it. Sam quirks an eyebrow just to be difficult.

“If this is some weird indie shit—”

“Just let one side play out, Sam. Then pick something else if you hate it, but you won’t cause it’s good.”

As Bucky slips the record from it’s sleeve, Sam plops onto his couch. He stretches his arms and leans back, closing his eyes. This has become sort of a routine for them: Sam coming over and Bucky playing his music. It helps Sam unwind, relax, finally exhale the intensity he feels he’s always holding inside. Bucky’s one of the few people Sam can truly be at ease with. They give each other a lot of shit but it comes from a place of truly embracing one another for who they are. It’s never in question that they have each other’s backs.

Sam settles more comfortably into the couch. Whatever tea Bucky’s steeping smells lovely. Definitely fruity. Sam only half pays attention as the record spins through the first track but so far it isn’t bad. As the next track starts all smooth keyboard and mellow vibes, Sam might even dare say it’s relaxing. He opens one eye when Bucky presses a steaming mug into his hand.

“Happy Tangerine,” Bucky says with a wink. “With honey.”

Sam smiles and hums his approval, closing his eyes again. The record is unexpected. Somehow the music is both upbeat and very chill. A pleasant ambiance that inexplicably reminds him of tall evergreens against a pink sky. Sam brings the tea to his lips to blow on it.

“What’d you say this was?”

“Downtempo. Downbeat? I had to get the record shipped in from the UK. It was a whole deal.”

A laugh tickles the back of Sam’s throat. “Nerd.”

“You hate it?”

“No…” Sam considers. “It’s almost okay.”

“Mm, told you.” Bucky’s voice is low and soft. Sam can feel the heat of Bucky’s breath on his lips and his heart skips. Their faces must be so close. They’d barely have to lean in at all to close the distance.

Slowly, Sam opens his eyes. He blinks. Bucky’s face isn’t there. Sam tilts his head to look around the room but he knows what he’ll find. Bucky is sitting against the opposite wall right beside his record player, mirroring Sam with his head tilted back and eyes closed. Sam blinks again and slowly, silently, exhales. He looks at Bucky for a moment longer. His upturned face illuminated by sunlight filtering in through the window and catching the dimples of his small smile.

Sam drops his head back again. One day he’ll have to do something about this. The whole imagining what Bucky’s lips would feel like on his. The whole mistaking the steam of his tea for Bucky’s breath as if it would be just as sweet. But for now he lets their old routine play out.

for @saryasy

on Ao3

[diapion]

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