#thank you zero for the scan <3

[luv4berry]

earth 42 miles × reader at a dinner with the readers parents + mama rio and uncle Arron?

also when i tell u im in love with your work! that shi has me kicking my feet😭🤦🏾‍♀️

control yourself.

earth 42!miles morales x fem!reader

SUMMARY: you go out to dinner with your parents, mama rio, uncle aaron and your beloved boyfriend, yet he can’t seem to control himself even in the presence of your parents.

GENRE: fluff <3

WARNINGS: kissing, parents being parents, loverboy miles, clingy miles, suggestive jokes, make outs in the bonus scene.

AUTHORS NOTE: ngl i struggled to write ts like shit, anyways thank you for your request and im deadass cheesing so hard rn thank you for reading!! (p.s, if you left anything in my inbox i HAVE seen it and i will get to it eventually!) hope you like it!

you zero in on miles’ eyes as they dart between your own eyes and your phone. you give him a suspecting look from the other side of the table before bringing your phone out under the table seeing as he’s already filled your notification dashboard.

miles 💓

bathroom? 👀

baby pleaseee

you did ts on purpose

holy shit you’re so fine

yk the sundress is lethal baby please 😩

you glance up giving him a stern look, shaking your head and mouthing a ‘no’ as your eyes flicker towards your parents as well as rio at the front counter of the restaurant. to the right of miles is uncle aaron, his eyes set on his phone as he took occasional glances at the two of you.

you make direct eye contact with miles for just a moment before letting out a sigh of defeat, nodding towards the family bathroom to your left. you don’t miss the hint of a smirk plaguing his lips, rolling your eyes playfully at his smugness.

to avoid raising suspicion, you stagger your way towards the family bathroom first—adjusting your slate colored maxi dress in the process. he watches as you disappear into the bathroom, brown eyes scanning the premises before he also gets up to dismiss himself.

“don’t think ion see you, player.” uncle aaron mumbles, grinning at his nephew.

“honestly don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout.”

yeah, they were definitely related.

you soon feel a pair of hands curve around your waist and whisk you around, your lips immediately beginning to twitch upwards. “your moms gonna kill you.” you say as he sways you side to side, his hands resting on your waist.

“us. she’s gonna kill us you mean.”

“the hell did i do? you’re the bad influence here.”

“you been giving me all sorts of eyes ever since we got here, don’t do that.”

“or maybe, just maybe you’re deluded and nasty.”

“mhm.” he hums, his hands slipping below your waistline.

“hands goin’ a little low there bud.”

“oh im bud now? thought i was your husband?” he nuzzles his nose into your neck, recalling you calling him that earlier in the day.

“my what? who said i was gonna marry you?” you tease him.

“stop playin’ with me.” he kisses his teeth at you, his chin going to rest on your shoulder as he continues to sway you side to side. after about 2 minutes of silence, his lips begin to inch towards the skin behind your ear, placing a singular kiss to test the waters. when you don’t react, he goes in for another one. when he’s met with silence yet again he goes in for a third—but before they make contact with your skin you place your palm over his lips.

“miles, no.” you give him a forbidding look, “you forgetting where you at?” you shake your head, the clinginess of this boy was unmatched.

“keep kissing up on me like my parents won’t hang me and then you.” you side eye him, unlocking the bathroom door checking the coast.

“why you keep running from me? you scared or something?” he questions you as he crosses his arms over your abdomen, pulling you back into the bathroom with him. he softly pecks your cheek a few times before he begins to kiss up the nape of your neck, your body noticeably relaxing in his arms. when you feel your senses begin to cloud with a familiar feeling, you catch on to his underlying motive.

“morales, you trying to seduce me?”

“‘course not,” he pauses for a moment, “is it working?”

“no comment.”

he smirks against your skin as your eyes close for a moment, allowing yourself to relish in the moment for some time. you also allow his fingertips to dance along your sides for a bit before you snap back to reality. you bring your hands to your abdomen, clasping them with his and turning around to face him. he gives you an unsatisfied look, aware that his time with you is up and you’d have to return.

“i’ll go first, come back like 5 minutes after me.” you cup his cheek, placing a short but meaningful kiss to his lips. you smooth out the wrinkles of your dress, peaking out the door before waltzing down the hall.

when you arrive at the table, you get a knowing looking from your parents, shaking their heads at the antics of teenagers. before you sit down you go over to rio, flashing her your best smile as she gives you a loving kiss on the cheek. you also give uncle aaron a proper greeting, giving him a side hug. soon enough you sit down quietly as the table makes small talk, occasionally checking for miles around the corner.

you zone out for a bit before you’re nudged in the side, your mom leaning into your ear, “you can tell your lil boyfriend he can come back now, we’re not stupid. i was a teenage girl too you know.”

you noticeably jerk in your seat at your mothers comment, diverting your attention to the empty space beside you where miles was supposed to be.

this type of response wasn’t exactly strange when it pertained to miles, out of all your boyfriends he was definitely your parents favorite. before miles, you’d never had a boyfriend come over unannounced just to talk to your father about whatever basketball game had occurred hours before. nor had you seen your mother continuously pester you to invite her “son in-law” over again.

unbeknownst to you, they both recognized that same spark from when they were teenagers growing up in brooklyn, climbing into each others windows at absurd hours of the night just to see each other, or cruising home together after school hand in hand while listening to 90s r&b. they were beyond joyful you had each other to stay on the right path, to not fold into the cruelty of the streets. it was no different with miles side of the family. rio knew that her son had been through a lot, from the death of his dad, to the stripping of his childhood. she saw you as something to bring him back to life, to provide him with joy that would serve him for a lifetime when she was gone.

though, with that being said—yes, you still had to leave the door a crack open whenever he was over, no he couldn’t sleep over, no you couldn’t sleepover. yes, you had been sat down multiple times. yes, miles had also been sat down countless times. again, your parents were teenagers once too, and they knew exactly what teenagers got up to. but, you still had that benefit of the doubt not to do anything they wouldn’t do… partially.

your tense posture relaxes when you see miles emerge from the corner of your eye, approaching your mother and father with a knee buckling smile. before he greets your parents, he approaches his mother. rio stretches out his cheeks, mumbling a “adónde fuiste?”

he greets your mother with a kiss on the cheek paired with a side hug and your father with a dab up. as he takes his place next to you he nudges your thigh, a slick grin still plastered on his face from earlier. you lightly slap his hand, muttering a “behave,” under your breath.

“i gotta ask,” uncle aaron speaks, “how’s the guy doing?”

“oh, him?” you point to him using your thumb, “he’s a pain in my—” miles sends you a side eye, waiting for you to finish your sentence as uncle aaron lets out a boisterous laugh.

“you’re asking y/n? she’s just as difficult.” your father teases from the other end of the table. miles pokes his tongue against his cheek in an effort to prevent a laugh from spilling from his lips due to the truthfulness of your dads statement. you glare at the both of them, your eyes narrowing at their teasing.

“but seriously, how are you guys?” your mother pitches in, genuinely curious.

“he’s alright, i guess.” you playfully state while smiling to yourself.

“she cool, i guess.” miles fires back at you while also smiling.

you lightly punch him in the shoulder, staring at him while fighting the ache in your cheekbones due to how much you had been smiling.

your parents nudge each other in the side as their eyes rapidly bounce between the two of you, silently thinking the same thing, ‘they’re literally us.’ rio and uncle aaron also look at eachother, smiling amongst themselves at the interaction.

it was nice to see miles drop his stoic persona for once, after the death of his dad it was nearly impossible to catch him smiling even slightly. if rio was able to see her son smile like this all the time, then she would gladly welcome you into her home anytime.

“glad to hear,” she smiles, “listen, you have my full permission to slap some sense back into him the moment he starts acting a fool, you hear me?” her eyes bounce between the two of you.

“don’t gotta tell me twice, mrs. morales.” you laugh.

your parents call over a waiter to check on the status of their order, the tables attention redirected for a bit. you soon feel miles lips graze your ear, softly saying “who you gon slap? you know i’d fold you in half, stop playin’.”

after knowing miles for as long as you have, you’ve come to learn that his words tend to have a double meaning. in the rare cases that they didn’t, it would be pretty obvious due to either the tone of his voice, or by his body language. in this case, your suspicion was confirmed by the tone of his voice.

“why does your mind work like that?” you turn to face him.

“ma, you know why.”

“i really don’t.”

“it’s the y/n effect.”

“i know you not over there making moves on my daughter!” your father calls out, miles backing up from you immediately.

“never, sir.” he leans back while laughing.

— BONUS SCENE

“been waiting to do this all night.” miles says as he drags you outside the restaurant while your parents cover the tab.

you quietly laugh when he backs you up against the wall as he shamelessly attaches his lips to yours, his excitement piqued when you return the kiss. his hands trail up and down your body as they fiddle with the straps of your dress, your hands moving up to sensually caress his neck. you fondle the end of his braids, wrapping your arms around his neck.

caught up in the moment, you both fail to realize the chime of the restaurants bell till you hear the clearing of a throat and the shout of your government name. your eyes widen as you quickly shove miles as far away as possible, returning to your respectful places on the stone pavement.

“damn, in the middle of the street? have some decorum at least.” uncle aaron tuts in the midst of your parents wide eyes.

yeah, you were definitely getting the talk tonight.

love, berry.

#miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse #atsv miles #atsv x reader #miles morales x you #miles morales x y/n #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

Summary: A disastrous PTA meeting and an unfortunate grocery store encounter have you and Eddie questioning whether or not you deserve each other.

Warnings: a bit of dirty talk (18+ just in case), feelings of unworthiness, Carol Perkins and Billy Hargrove make appearances, mentions of bullying, small allusion to drug use and poverty, arrest, tiny allusion to Eddie's breeding kink

WC: 7.1k

Chapter 13/20

Divider credit to @saradika Special thanks to @girlwiththerubyslippers & @corroded-hellfire for helping with this chapter!

Your Thursday mornings at Hawkins Preschool usually involve a light tap on the door and a blink-and-you-missed-it wave from Eddie; maybe a wink if no one’s looking. Today, he’s stopped by the classroom with a steaming styrofoam cup in hand.

“I thought you only brought me coffee on Mondays,” you laugh appreciatively. You take the still-hot beverage from him, folding back the plastic tab and blowing on it lightly before taking a sip. It’s made just as you like it and warms you from the inside out.

Eddie smiles, crossing his arms over his chest an leaning in closer so his leather-clad shoulder grazes sweater-covered one. “Ah, but the PTA meeting is after school today.” As if you could forget forty minutes of unpaid work that could be spent reading, resting, snuggling up to your thoughtful metalhead boyfriend… “Figured you could use an extra boost of caffeine to help you power through.” He lowers his voice to add, “I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it. But Wayne’ll be there.” He squeezes your hand quickly just as Abby Carver approaches you. 

You pull away so fast that you bang your elbow against the side of the desk, biting the inside of your cheek to suppress a yelp. “What can I do for ya, Abby?” you ask, smiling through the throbbing pain.

“Joshua said that he’s taller than me!” she whines, messily swiping at her ruddy tear-stained cheeks. Her dad only dropped her off five minutes ago, and she’s already conjured up a crisis. Unsurprising, but exasperating nonetheless.

You peer over at Joshua Harrington, who is currently constructing a racetrack, unbothered by Abby’s distressed state. Your gaze flits back over to the little girl in front of you. “Honey, he is taller than you,” you gently explain, watching as her bright blue eyes begin to well up again.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t havta say it!” she protests, stamping her sneaker on the speckled tile floor. It’s one that lights up, little red and blue and green twinkles dashing along the side.

You nod, sucking in your lips in a feeble attempt to keep a straight face. “Well, you can just play somewhere else. And we’re gonna get started with circle time in a few minutes.” Time to sing the Good Morning song–again. If the kids didn’t beg for it every day, you would’ve scrapped it months ago, but it keeps them entertained.

Once she scampers off, already zeroing in on a group of girls dressing up some time-battered Barbie dolls, you turn your attention back to Eddie. 

“We’re still on for Saturday?” you ask, a subtle reminder of your upcoming date at Enzo’s. It’s a fancier restaurant than either of you are used to, but Eddie had insisted on it.

He nods quickly, scratching at the back of his neck like he does when he’s nervous, though you’re not quite sure what’s on his mind. “Y-Yeah, I’ll pick you up at 7?”

“I can’t wait.”

At 3:15, you and Will trudge into the classroom that’s serving as the meeting venue. It only takes a moment for you to remember that it’s Ms. Marion’s room, and your eyes scan the walls for Harris’s artwork. You find it easily; it’s the best in the class. It’s a drawing based on the saying, ‘March is in like a lion and out like a lamb,’ and each kid drew a picture of the two animals. Harris has meticulously added details to his. He’s drawn a zig-zag line under the lion’s pink nose to represent his aggression and given the lamb a puffy coat of wool, while the other kids just drew smiling lions and a circle to represent their lambs’ bodies. He’s also included a speech bubble hovering above each of their heads; the lion’s says “ROR!!!” and the lamb bleats “BAAA.” 

Will’s gaze follows yours, and his lips turn up into a smile when he sees what you’re staring at. “He’s a talented kid,” he remarks. “We gotta have him sign something now so we can say ‘we knew him when.’” 

You nod your head in agreement and return his grin. You’ll have to tell Eddie to have Harris swing by your classroom after school tomorrow so Harris can autograph some drawings.

Wayne comes in a few minutes later, taking a seat behind you and Will.

“How’s your day going, Wayne?” You turn around in your chair and greet him. Seeing the older Munson always lifts your spirits. He’s wearing a flannel, checks of olive green and white, over a white t-shirt that proudly proclaims: My Favorite Person Calls Me Grampa.

Wayne gives a little shrug; for him, it’s the equivalent of a beaming smile. “Can’t complain. Didn’t get too much pushback from Harris when I dropped him at the baby-sitter’s.” He explains that Claudia Henderson still has a bunch of the games her son had played with, and Harris loves going through the toy bin and finding something new. “Well, new to him. That stuff’s gotta be nearly twenty years old by now.” He scratches the white-gray whiskers on his cheek and chuckles. “Jeez, ‘m old. I remember buyin’ those kinda games for Eddie when he was a kid.”

More parents and teachers file in and, eventually, the PTA president stands at the front of the classroom and calls the meeting to order. The idle conversation gradually ceases, and Linda Wright presses her lips into a thin smile and smooths nonexistent creases in her khaki slacks.

“Welcome, everyone,” she begins, clasping her hands together in front of her. “Thank you all for being here. We have quite a few items to cover today, so let’s get to it!” She’s far too chipper for your liking, and you wince involuntarily as she excitedly announces the upcoming parent-child talent show. It’s an annual school-hosted fundraiser, and apparently a popular one; there’s a soft roar of discussion before Linda wrinkles her nose in irritation and shushes the group.

“Oh, Ed’s gonna love that,” Wayne leans in and whispers to you. “He’ll probably be more excited than Harris.” He sits up straight when Linda clears her throat and glares in his direction.

The president launches into a tirade about kindergarten readiness strategies, handing out little pamphlets to the parents and guardians. The cover displays an overly-enthusiastic teacher surrounded by a small group of students who are closely attending to a fake lesson.

You hear Wayne grumble under his breath: “What is there to be ready for? It’s kindergarten, Jesus Christ.” and you have to stifle a laugh.

Linda luckily doesn’t hear his lament. “I’m opening up the floor to any questions or concerns.” Now is the time that people typically start gathering their belongings and resume unfinished conversations. It’s precisely what you plan to do until you hear an all-too familiar snide voice from across the room. 

“Yes, I have a question.” Carol Perkins stands up. She places her hands on her hips and pulls her lips into a smirk. “What is the school’s policy on parent-teacher relationships? Romantic and…otherwise?” Her gaze sweeps over to you, hovering there for a bit, and you realize with a sense of dread that she’s enjoying this. “Because, to me,” she splays her manicured fingers over the center of her chest, “it just seems completely unprofessional.”

The PTA members start whispering amongst themselves, eyebrows raised in excitement as they try to determine the culprit amongst themselves.

You want to crawl into a hole and die. You can feel Wayne’s eyes on the back of your head, as though he’s silently willing you to remain composed. The only other person who knows of your relationship with Eddie is Will, and you can tell that he’s doing everything in his power not to wrap his arms around you in a hug.

At the very least, the principal is not tolerating the dissolution of the meeting into a gossip session. “Ms. Perkins, we can discuss this at a later time. Privately.” Sue Sinclair’s expression is stoic, unreadable, and you’re not sure whether she’s angry at you or Carol. How would she know it’s me? But logic has no reason with emotion taking center stage, and you’re all too grateful when Chrissy Carver shifts the conversation to organize a ticket sale committee. For the most part, it seems like Carol’s little outburst has been swept under the rug. The meeting concludes as some parents leave while others stick around to schedule playdates, but you remain seated.

A hand on your shoulder startles you from your humiliated stupor, and you look up to see Will looking at you. Sympathy radiates from his eyes.

“It’s okay,” he softly reassures you. “I don’t think anyone knows, and even if they do, who cares? Harris isn’t in your class anymore.”

“I-I know.” But Frankie is, which means I’ll have to face Carol every day, I’ll have to deal with her smarmy expressions and backhanded comments. The blood drains in your face when you think about her spreading rumors to the other parents, their amused stares as they drop their children off to be in your care.

Wayne speaks up as he stands, leaning his gnarled knuckles on the seat of the folding chair for support. “Darlin’, you’ve got nothin’ to worry about. It’s no one’s business who you’re with.” He brushes some dust off of his dungarees and walks with a slight limp towards the door, the remnants of an old injury that flares up in the colder weather. “I gotta go get Harris, but you keep your chin up.” He gives Will a quick head bob that the younger man returns, having developed somewhat of a camaraderie with the elder Munson during the various post-graduation Hellfire sessions held at the trailer.

Carol says nothing as she leaves the room, deep in conversation with Steve Harrington and his wife. If they don’t know about you and Eddie yet, you’re confident that Carol will ensure they do soon. Dread pools in your stomach at the thought of small-town gossip flying, your professionalism being called into question, the possibility of you losing your job. And everyone will know why. 

Eddie’s hands tremor with excitement; his whole body buzzes with energy as he grabs the receiver off of the glass countertop. He dials your number–his favorite seven digit combination in the world–and beams the entire time. As soon as he hears your, “hello?”, he’s practically shouting into the phone. Volume control has never been his forte, especially after years of blowing out his eardrums with loud music.

“Babe, guess what?” He drums his left hand fingertips on the counter, a rhythmic pum-pum-pum to keep his breath steady.

“What’s up?” 

He notes hesitance in your tone, but chalks it up to exhaustion from your extended workday. “I applied for that manager position? The one I told you about on our first date?” He hears your soft “mhm,” before proceeding. “And I got it! Ash just told me now!” He smiles, pressing the receiver to his ear with his shoulder as he organizes paperwork into a pile. “Eddie Munson, getting the girl and the job? Never in Hawkins’ wildest dreams!”

There’s a pause on your end of the line before you reply. “I’m so proud of you, Eds. No one deserves this more than you do.” 

Though there’s still an air of something Eddie can’t quite identify, it’s woven with genuine pride for his accomplishment. His fingertips keep busy as they graze up and down the phone cord. “Now we, uh, really have something to celebrate at Enzo’s.”

Another pause; this one is so long that he wonders if the line disconnected. “Um, about that…” you finally speak up, and Eddie hopes you don’t hear the gigantic sigh of relief that escapes his lips, “maybe we could just do something at my place? Grab takeout, watch a movie or something?”

His relief evaporates almost as quickly as it came, and he puts his weight on his forearms and lowers his voice. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just been a long week.”

It sounds too automatic, too rehearsed to be true. Eddie doesn’t believe you, but he needs to get to Wayne’s and pick up Harris before his uncle leaves for work. “I really wanted to take you out, show you off, y’know?” He clears his throat, scrambling for words. “We can talk more about it later. Try to get some rest, Sweetheart.”

“Mmkay,” you mumble, and Eddie hopes he’s not just imagining the smile in your voice. “I’ll try. Say hi to Harris and Wayne for me.”

He ends the phone call promising that he will, hanging up hesitantly. What happened between this morning and this evening that had you backing out of the date and retreating into your home? 

I shouldn’t have tried to hold her hand, he grimaces, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the main road towards Forest Hills. That was so stupid; she was at work, and the kids were right there. Way to go, Munson. 

Eddie continues to brood about his faux pas all the way until he gets to Wayne’s, slapping a smile on his face as he relays the news about his promotion. The smile becomes less forced the more he talks. He’s suddenly consumed with thoughts of buying a house with a yard, a pool–well, maybe not a pool; he’s not making that much money–but definitely space for Harris to run around and play.

And in this fantasy world he’s created, you’re standing on the front porch, sipping coffee out of a World’s Best Mom mug–possibly the only mug Wayne doesn’t already have nailed to the trailer wall–made just the way you like it. You’re laughing as you watch Harris sprint back and forth across the grass. Eddie imagines it neatly cut, but the reality is that it would probably be more than a bit overgrown.

He’d sneak up behind you, snaking arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder, pressing soft kisses onto the back of your neck–

“That’s amazing, Ed!” Wayne claps a hand on his nephew’s back, drawing him out of his daydream and thrusting him back into reality. He pulls him into a quick hug, not overabundant in affection, but his delight seeps through. “You talk to your girl yet?” 

“First person I called.” My girl. The first person I called was my girl. She’s my girl and I’m her man–

“Good.” Wayne responds pensively, smoothing down his unruly mustache whiskers and reaching for his pack of Camels. He shoves them into his side pocket, right on top of the lighter. “She could use some good news after that shitshow of a PTA meeting.”

Eddie’s brows crinkle, pinched together in non-understanding. “What are you talking about?” he asks before calling out his son’s name to bring him from the bedroom. He can hear the bed springs creaking, which can only mean that Harris is jumping on the old mattress. Apparently, breaking his wrist didn’t result in a lesson learned.

“She didn’t tell you?” 

“Tell me what?” He slams his palm onto the countertop as confusion melts into frustration. Weren’t you past this? Past keeping secrets and masking emotions?

Wayne sighs, weighing his options. Ultimately, his allegiance is to his nephew, so he divulges what happened that afternoon, heart sinking as Eddie’s face falls with each word. “She seemed real shook up,” he concludes the story, digging out the pack of cigarettes. Delivering news that devastates his nephew has him urgently craving a smoke. “I wanted to stay and talk to her, but Claudia had somewhere to be at five.”

Eddie chews on his lower lip, pulling off a bit of dry skin with his front teeth. “Yeah, no, ‘s fine.” He calls Harris out of the bedroom again, patience sufficiently thinned. Of course Carol Perkins would shoot off her big mouth about your personal life. It’s not like she had anything better to do. None of that is surprising. 

What worries Eddie is why you didn’t tell him about it. Were you embarrassed that people knew you were together? Is that why you didn’t want to be seen at Enzo’s with him? Would you agree to a restaurant far outside the bounds of Hawkins, or was this shame rooted deeper than small-town gossip?

Wayne can sense his anxiety, and he scrambles to dam up Eddie’s flooding thoughts as he fumbles to put the cigarette between his lips. “It’s pretty damn obvious that you two care for each other. Dare I say, you lo—”

“Wayne!”

“Fine, fine,” Wayne chuckles and grabs his lunch pack. The ceasing of the bed springs indicates that Harris has stopped jumping, and Eddie can hear toy cars clattering into a bag. “But you should just talk to her. Make sure she’s okay.” He lowers his voice as Harris finally emerges. “I know it ain’t been easy to hear rumors your whole life, but this is new to her. Cut her a little slack.”

Eddie looks around the trailer at what was his first real home. He’d bounced from place to place with his parents, dodging angry landlords and their threats of eviction. From a young age, he’d learned to dread the end of the month, knowing that conflict was inevitable. Screaming voices, accusations of hiding money, when anyone with working eyes could see that they’d all but stuffed it in a pipe and smoked it. There was no love; only survival. Wayne was never the cookies and milk, family dinner, Leave it to Beaver type, but he offered Eddie something he’d never had before: safety.

Now, Eddie scoops Harris into his arms and follows Wayne out of the trailer as he locks up. There’s not too much of great value; possibly just the TV, but even that’s on the fritz. And unless a thief had a hankering for hokey mugs and baseball caps, they’d probably leave without taking a thing. “Thanks, Old Man.”

“‘S what I’m here for,” Wayne says, pressing a kiss to Harris’s mop of curls. He pauses, and then does something he hasn’t done in years: he kisses the top of Eddie’s head, too. “Not just a pretty face, y’know.”

On Saturday evening, Eddie finds himself at Bradley’s Big Buy, scouring the aisles until he locates the small refrigerator holding various flower bouquets. The chill hits him in the chest as he opens the door, crouching down to get a better look at the offerings through their tissue-paper wraps. He’s determined to take you to Enzo’s, and he’d hoping this small gesture will show you that he can be the man you deserve.

He finds a bouquet of pink peonies and grabs them from the display case, clutching them proudly. They’re delicate and beautiful, just like you. He raises them up, the petals tickling his nose when he inhales the fresh scent, when he overhears Billy Hargrove speaking in a hushed tone:

“Thought you were stopping by after that parent meeting thing.”

“My idiot husband came home early,” a woman–Carol Perkins, Eddie realizes–punctuates her lament with an irritated sigh. “But speaking of that meeting–I’ve been meaning to tell you: guess who’s also hooking up?” She doesn’t wait for him to answer before divulging the gossip, “Frankie’s teacher and Eddie Munson.”

“The teacher and the Freak? No way.” He sticks his tongue in his cheek and chuckles maliciously. “Didn’t know she was down for that kind of stuff.”

“Keep it in your pants,” Carol huffs, as though she’s not stepping out on her own husband. “But I’m serious! He brings her coffee and leaves her stupid love notes.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes together as he cringes. Billy’s second round of mean laughter transports him back to the time the jock grabbed his brand-new D20 off of the lunch table and used his basketball skills to chuck it into a far-off trash can. The ruby red die sunk into the mountain of discarded lumps resembling mashed potatoes and half-eaten meatloaf, forcing Eddie to trek across the cafeteria and fish it out of the pile of old food. “Love notes? What, is he in high school or something?”

Carol snickers. “Guess he’s making up for all the times he didn’t bother, since he knew no girl in this town would go for him.”

“Looks like he had to go for an import,” Billy jokes, drawing a hideous cackle from his friend. Eddie can practically hear the man’s ego inflating at the way Carol fawns over him.

“And a desperate one at that,” she snorts. “I mean, can you imagine lowering your standards enough to be with Eddie Munson?”

“Let’s hope she comes to her senses eventually,” he agrees. “So, is your husband home now…?”

All Eddie can think is to run, to get the hell out of there before anyone spots him and notices the pink tinging his cheeks and the tears welling in his eyes. He’s so focused on leaving and getting past the two bullies that he forgets about the flowers in his hand, until an infuriated voice calls after him.

“Hey! Get back here!” The manager rolls his eyes when he recognizes the culprit. “Eddie Munson. Of course. I should’ve known that shoplifting isn't too juvenile a crime for you.” 

Eddie can hear Billy and Carol poorly stifling their amusement at his misfortune. He struggles to find the proper words to explain himself as his entire body is engulfed in the flames of embarrassment, burning him from the inside out. “No…I didn’t mean…it was an accident…”

The manager shakes his head with a biting laugh. He’s a graying man who should have been retired fifteen years ago when Eddie was actually shoplifting. The liver-spotted creases around his eyes are particularly visible when he sneers, “Heard that one before. Prob’ly from you.”

Anger burns in Eddie’s throat, but he swallows it. “Look, let me just pay for these, and I’ll get outta here.” He starts to fumble for his wallet, but the old man shakes his head.

“Nice try. I let you off easy too many times when you were a kid, and look where it got ya.” His cold hand clasps Eddie’s bicep as tightly as his feebleness allows. “I’m calling the sheriff. He can decide what to do with you.”

“Shit-shit-shit,” Eddie mumbles, yanking himself from the man’s grip. “Y’don’t have to hold me; I’m not gonna run away.”

To his surprise, the manager lets him go, though it’s likely due to his advanced age rather than trusting Eddie to do the right thing.

He’s taken to the back room, anxiously tapping his foot against the floor and biting his thumbnail. A quick glance at his watch tells him that he’s supposed to pick you up in 15 minutes. He breathes out a long sigh, scanning the bulletin board hastily fastened to the wall with a lone flyer advertising medical benefit sign-up. Upon closer inspection, he reads that it’s for the 1990 fiscal year, and he can’t help but wonder if that’s the last time the stodgy old Bradley ever offered insurance to his overworked, underpaid employees. 

He says a silent prayer to whatever gods are listening that Hopper is the one who answers the call. The chief will give him the benefit of the doubt and probably tear the old fart a new one for wasting his time.

Purse, keys, lipstick, condoms.

You have everything you need for your date, save for one minor detail–Eddie.

You’d expected him to stop by your classroom yesterday to say good morning like he normally does, but he didn’t show. He would’ve called you if Harris was staying home sick; a brief peek out your window during recess confirmed that the littlest Munson was present. He ran around the playground with one of his friends from the birthday party, blissfully unaware of the turmoil churning within you.

Eddie definitely heard what happened at the meeting, you realize miserably, and he doesn’t want to deal with the backlash he’ll get from dating his kid’s former teacher. From anxiety blooms visions of the convoluted game of telephone perpetuated by Carol, the story getting more absurd with each retelling. 

At 7:30, Eddie still hasn’t shown. He’s not exactly Mr. Punctuality, but thirty minutes is pushing it, even for him. His tardiness does nothing to ameliorate your fears. This was clearly too much for him—you were too much for him. 

You’re about to wipe the makeup off of your face and change into your coziest pair of pajamas when the phone rings, startling you slightly.

“H-Hello?”

“This is a collect call from the Hawkins County Jail. Do you accept the charges?” an automated voice bleats, too chipper for the circumstances it’s reporting.

You’re caught off-guard by the question and the tone, and you choke out a strangled, “yes” and the line rings twice.

“Sweetheart? You there?” Eddie. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Relief floods your body until you remember where he’s calling from.

“Y-Yeah, I’m here,” you say, and it’s only when your fingers start to cramp that you recognize how tightly you’re gripping the receiver. “Why are you in–”

He sighs into the phone, and static briefly clouds his voice. “Long story,” he mumbles. “Can you just come and get me? There’s, uh, no bail or anything.”

“I’ll be right there.” You waste no time in grabbing your keys off of their hook, nearly forgetting to shove your feet into shoes in your scramble out the door. You’re ashamed to admit that for a millisecond, you consider the possibility that he’s been busted for dealing, but you shake it off lest it further infiltrate your psyche.

You pull up to the jail exactly twenty-eight minutes later, the fastest you can get there without flying down side streets; the irony of being pulled over for speeding on your way to the police station was not lost on you. Flinging the car into park and killing the engine, you fast-walk through the entrance and hope your nervousness is hidden by the air of confidence you’re faking. 

“I’m here to pick up Eddie—er, Edward Munson?” His legal name is clunky on your tongue, like it doesn’t quite belong to him. 

The officer behind the desk wears a name badge that reads “P. Callahan.” He puts down his copy of the Hawkins Post and presses his lips into a thin line as he reaches for the walkie attached to his shirt pocket. 

“Hop, is Munson ready to be released?” Released. Like a wild animal who needs to be kept away from the general public for their own safety. 

The officer on the other end—Chief Hopper, you presume—confirms that Eddie is good to go, and a door opens shortly after that. Eddie trudges out, shame and frustration marring his beautiful face. 

You sign whatever paperwork is required before silently taking Eddie’s hand and leading him to the car. He holds it tight, a shiver of a tremor rocking through it.

“Babe, what happened?” you ask once you’re safely outside, away from where the officers can hear you.

Eddie lets go of your hand to throw his arm around you dramatically, leaning with his whole body weight. The sudden force of it has you stumbling, but he catches your fall. 

“It’s awful being on the inside,” he whines, trying to lay on an exaggerated pout, but his smile pokes through. “You’ve made me too soft for prison, baby. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you and almost got shanked.”

His joke subtly informs you that he’s not ready to actually discuss it yet, and so you roll your eyes and play along for now.  “Poor thing. Locked up for a whole forty minutes.”

“It was more like forty-five,” he protests, “and every second counts when it’s spent missing my girl.”

“You’re so full of it, Munson.” My girl. If he never calls you anything else but his girl for the rest of your lives, you wouldn’t complain.

He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you in so your back is pressed against his chest. “Full of longing and devotion!”

“Sshh!” you chastise him lightly through your giggling. “Get in the car, crazy man.”

“Crazy ‘bout you!” Eddie says, booping your nose. As soon as your fingers wrap around the gearshift, he’s resting his hand atop yours. It trembles slightly.

Tell me what happened. Don’t keep any more secrets from me. I won’t judge you or leave you. I’m your girl, remember?

It takes a few blocks before you finally work up the courage to ask, “Is everything okay?” It’s a stupid question; you don’t get arrested if everything’s okay, but the alternative is a more straightforward, Why the hell did I have to pick you up from jail?, so you acquiesce. 

“‘M good.” He gives your hand another tiny squeeze and attempts a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

You sigh, poorly hiding your impatience for answers you need to know. “Can we talk about what happened?” 

His slow release of breath is in sync with your foot pressing on the brake pedal as you approach a stop sign. “Not a big deal. Just a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding that led to you getting arrested?” Stop hiding. Stop pretending. Stop acting like this is fine when it clearly isn’t. Stop making me feel like you don’t trust me. The words get caught behind clenched teeth, threatening to ooze through the gaps.

“Yup.” He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes as though giving a sufficient response to end the conversation.

You drive another few minutes before you spot the sign for Lovers Lake in the distance. There’s only one surefire way to calm his nerves; whatever it is he’s keeping from you, there’s a reason he hasn’t worked up the courage to say it. 

Eddie sits up and peers out the window in confusion when you veer to the exit. “Where are we—”

“You’ll see.”

Parking in a spot secluded by trees and the dark of night, you turn to him and stroke his cheek with your thumb. “Can I make my man feel good?” you coo, taking his earlobe between your teeth and tugging lightly. You can feel the small bump where his piercings used to be.

“Shit, baby,” he breathily groans, adjusting the seat so you have ample space to straddle his lap. His hands fly to his belt buckle, undoing it and pulling the leather strip from its loops. Though his pants aren’t as tight around him now, you can still see the outline of his now half-hard cock beginning to press against his fly. “‘S exactly what I need.”

But it isn’t solely the act of sex that he needs, although it would be a farce to imply that he didn’t crave the feeling of you wrapped around him. It was the public nature of it; the way that anyone could walk by and see you on top of him. Could see you choosing him. The teacher choosing the Freak. 

You roll your hips, denim-on-denim creating a delicious friction that draws moans from both you and Eddie. Your lips chastely graze his neck, trailing kisses upwards until you reach the prickly stubble along his jawline. 

Eddie’s hands grab your ass, claiming it as his. “Feels—mmf—feels good,” he grunts, letting out a soft chuckle when he adds, “gonna make me cream my jeans if you keep grinding on me like that.”

“S’okay,” you shrug, maintaining your tempo. You press your lips to his and he whines into your mouth. “Just wanna ease your mind tonight, Eds.”

“Yeah, but the face you make when you cum? Christ, babe. Makes it even better for me.” He scoots you off of him for a moment, laughing again when he sees your lower lip jut out. “Let me just grab a condom, you needy little thing.”

You bury your head in the crook of his neck and begin sucking on its supple skin as he fumbles for his wallet. “Fine, fine,” you grumble, a teasing lilt in your tone. “The last thing we need is for people seeing that you knocked me up.”

Eddie freezes beneath you, his wallet falling to the weather-mat with a thud. “Wh…what?” His voice is below a whisper, volume compressed by emotion. 

“We’ve only been together, like, a month.” It’s too obvious a point to confuse him. There’s no way he really wants a kid with you right now. “We can’t have a baby—”

Eddie vehemently shakes his head, effectively cutting you off. “But that’s not what you said.” You see hurt in his eyes as you try to piece together the puzzle. The fact that you can’t immediately identify the source adds another element of frustration for both of you. “You said that we can’t have people seeing that I knocked you up. Why…why wouldn’t you want people knowing that I…?”

The imagined swell of your belly that he’d hoped you proudly show off, mindlessly caressing it as you walk hand-in-hand with him, is now covered with layers of clothing, even in summer’s heat. You’re tugging a cardigan closed, determined not to let anyone see the shame you’re carrying along with Eddie Munson’s child.

“I just figured you wouldn’t want people talking about you,” you manage, thinking of the rumor that had spread after Harris’s injury. You bring yourself back to the driver’s seat, and it takes another moment before something else dawns on you. “You wouldn’t be upset by people knowing? I mean, not that we’d, y’know, have a kid right now…because you already have one, and this is all so new…” You clamp your lips together to shut yourself up, having already blabbered on for too long.

Eddie shakes his head, tousling his frizzy curls. “Why would I be upset? You’re my girl.” Worry ripples through him, evident through his expression. His doe eyes grow even wider, and he spins his rings around his fingers. One slips and bounces off of the passenger seat, but he doesn’t move to retrieve it. “You still want to be my girl, right?”

“I still want to be your girl,” you confirm, watching his body decompress with relief. “I just don’t want to make things even worse than they are. I mean, you can’t even tell me why you were in jail tonight. That’s a pretty big deal, Eds.” There’s a lump in your throat as you force out your feelings. You hate confronting people, hate drawing information from an unwilling party. But Eddie is your boyfriend, and this is serious. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he mutters, keeping his head on the headrest and eyes trained on in front of him; his unwillingness to look at you serves as an act of defiance. “I had to hear about the PTA meeting from Wayne.”

The contents of your stomach curdle like milk in the sun. “You’d just told me about your promotion,” you stumble, unable to find footing in your meek protest, “I didn’t want to—”

“So, yesterday? Or today?” he pushes, a tango of anger and hurt dancing in his darkened pupils. “You could’ve called me.”

You could have; you’d certainly considered it more than once, but you didn’t want to bother him. It seemed like such an asinine complaint: Oh, Eddie, a grown adult bullied me, another grown adult, at the PTA meeting. Did I stand up for myself? Nope. Just sat there and tried not to sob like one of the kids I teach. “I thought if you knew what people were saying, you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore. You’d think I was too much of a burden.”

“You?” Eddie gawps, nearly choking on the word. “You think that you’re the burden? That you’re the reason why people are talking about this?” People. Not just Carol. The information slips from his lips, but he doesn’t catch it. “Nah, Sweetheart. In the equation of ‘Teacher’ plus ‘Freak,’ you’re hardly the problematic variable.”

“‘Teacher plus Freak?’” 

“Teacher,” he says slowly, pointing to you, “Freak.” He brings his forefinger to his own chest. “I’m kinda used to it; just sucks when it affects other people.” He looks at you through his soft brown eyes. “People I care about.”

You’re unsure how to respond, so you say nothing. You vaguely recall Jess telling you about his high school nickname, but you had no idea it had stuck after all these years. 

Eddie sighs, shifting his position to get slightly more comfortable. “Tonight, I was at the store getting some flowers for you. And, um, I heard Carol and Billy Hargrove talking about how you had to be desperate to be with me. That you’d realize you’re too good for me and leave.” His teeth dig into his bottom lip and he lowers his head. You watch a tear slide down his cheek, and he sucks in a messy breath as he tries to control the dam of emotions threatening to burst.

“Too good for you?” The notion is almost comical, and you have to hold back an incredulous laugh. “Too good for the man who rescued Grandma after she locked herself in her room? Who came to her funeral? Who gave me another chance after I made an ass out of myself?” You use your pointer and middle fingers to tilt his chin upwards until his gaze meets yours. “Too good for the man who would do anything for his son?”

“No,” Eddie shoots back, “too good for the guy who grew up being taunted because he played Dungeons & Dragons instead of basketball. The guy who abandoned his pregnant girlfriend to go on tour. Who treated you like shit just to avoid getting close to you. Who…who got arrested for accidentally taking flowers from Bradley’s because he’d stolen from them so much that no one believed him when he said it wasn’t on purpose.” He recalls swiping candy bars, jars of peanut butter, and the occasional six-pack of Pabst during his rebellious teenage years. After he’d schlepped back to Hawkins, proverbial tail tucked between his legs, there was more than one occasion where he’d ripped diapers from their boxes and tucked them into his jacket pocket, walking as casually as he could until he was a safe enough distance to exhale and run.

You take a sharp breath in. “That’s what happened tonight?”

“Yeah,” he says; the admission is a sack of bricks being lifted from his chest. “Those schmucks got in my head, and I walked out the store with the flowers like a fuckin’ idiot.” He replays the scene in his head, inwardly cringing at his desperation to flee the premises and inadvertently drawing everyone’s attention to him. He starts to laugh, but anger, sadness, and relief all brew together and the dam bursts completely. One tear multiples to two, four, eight, until he’s simultaneously choking on sobs and laughter, the overlapping emotions wreaking havoc on his nervous system.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry,” he manages through another half-laugh half-sob. He swipes at his cheeks with open palms, and you reach for the travel box of Kleenex you keep in the glove compartment and hand him a tissue. “Thanks.”

“You don’t ever need to apologize to me for crying,” you murmur, barely audible as you press a kiss into his mess of curls just behind his left ear. “I want–I need you to be able to show me what you’re feeling.” Eddie blows his nose, loud and honking, and your lips turn up into a small smile. “Why do we let them get to us?” you wonder aloud, a question more for you than for him.

“I was thinking about that,” Eddie muses, stuffing the used tissue into his jacket pocket. He’ll try and remember to toss it later, but part of him knows he’ll find it there tomorrow. “Like, I didn’t give a damn what they said about me back in high school, but now, as an adult, I do?” He takes a deep breath through his mouth. “And I realized…it’s because I never cared about what they thought of me. Not really. But, fuck, I care about what you think of me.” He swallows before stroking your cheek. “I want to be enough for you.”

You kiss the tip of his nose, letting your lips linger there longer than necessary to ensure the feeling of belonging becomes entrenched in his pores. “You’re enough, Eddie. You’ve always been enough.” Your hands find his, and you lace your fingers together. “I have an idea. Why don’t we grab some takeout, maybe pick up a bottle of wine, and bring it back to my place.” You immediately worry that you’ve proven his point of not wanting to be seen with him, so you quickly backtrack. “We can still go out to dinner; I just figured…after the night you had…”

He silences you with a kiss of his own, nose nudging the side of yours. “I’d love that.” Before you can start the car again, he says, “what Carol said at the meeting…did it really make you think I wouldn’t want to be with you?”

You nod solemnly, breaking his heart all over again. “You already have so much on your plate. I didn’t want to be another problem to deal with.”

Eddie’s expression hardens, but his frustration isn’t directed towards you. It’s for anyone who has ever made you feel like loving you is a chore. He does the only thing he can think of doing: he takes your face in his hands, fingers tucked behind the smooth skin of your ears, and peppers your face in a flurry of kisses.

“Eddie!” you cry out through a fit of giggles. Your eyes squeeze together as his lips tickle your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips, your chin. 

He only pulls away to take a breath, and when he does, he’s smiling through shiny eyes as he continues holding your face. “You are not a problem. Never.” He pauses, collecting his thoughts. “We make each other happy. And if anyone tries to fuck with that, we’ll just…sic Harris on them.”

The gray clouds that were scattered across your brain dissipate at the mere idea of the boy charging at Billy and Carol like a miniature rhinoceros. Insecurity still hovers over you, waiting for the perfect blend of sadness and vulnerability to strike, but it’s not quite as heavy as it was before. 

You aren’t too much for Eddie, and Eddie is enough for you.

And you’re everything to each other. 

--

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[undercoverpena]

it's you. it's me.

simon ghost riley x f!reader (reader!helen) wordcount: 5.3k (i have zero self-control) summary: he never wanted to get married. he’s not sure when you became the exception. an: mention of loss, blood. smut. emotions. angst. fluff (usual jo-shit)

simon ghost riley masterlist

++

He never wanted to get married.  Marriage meant paperwork. Paperwork meant leads. Leads led to death.  Not just for him, but for the poor soul he’d chain to him. The one who he’d rather not have than know their life was ended because of him. Because he’s supposed to be dead.  He’s not sure when you became the exception.  Unsure when you buried yourself so deep into his veins he needs you more than blood, oxygen and bullets.

++

Shit hit the fan. 

Some missions were worse than others. Some leave more than scars and nightmares.

Today was bad. Even he knew that. 

Alpha 0-3 lay on the floor, unconscious proof of it. 

Half the soldiers they’d gone with—dead, KIA. 

His jaw is tight, almost cracking as he stares at Johnny—unsure how they’ve walked away from it. How they’re both here, surrounded by silence as the few who have survived try to process.

He almost says something, spits it out. But then he hears it—your orders.

They’re piercing and direct. Coming over the radio as the blades overhead slow, guiding them down to the ground. He feels it—the itch to get to you. To bury his hands in your hair and pull your face to him. 

Ghost makes do with meeting your eyes when the rear opens, your eyes scanning him, the briefest mist of relief over your lips, cheeks and eyes before you nod.

“Later?”  Later.

He responds in the same silence, puncturing it with a nod. 

The two of you had your own spoken language—something he’d mastered quicker than he had any other language. But then, speaking Helen had more pros than cons. More benefits than listening to enemies talk shit about him and his mask. 

All he could do was watch as you followed the carried body. 

Unsure what version of you he’d find later—what fragments of you he’d have to scoop up. If there would even be pieces left where they were supposed to be. 

Secretly, and selfishly, he just hopes the pieces of him match with the pieces of you. Praying they slot together until the two of you can both return to some semblance of a whole. 

It’s then he has to remind himself it’s a luxury having you. War takes so much—the darkness takes so much more. 

It’s a reward to pull you close to him after a shit show like this; it’ll be a gift to feel your breath on his chest. Even more so for your fingers to draw those bloody shapes on his side—dancing over healed scars and your needle stitching. 

“C’mon, Johnny,” he snaps, filling the air with something other than failings, disappointment and held breath. “Briefing. Now.” 

+

You crumble. 

Lost it. Lost them. 

Losing is part of the war, part of the battle. But, it doesn’t sting any less, doesn’t make it easier to swallow. 

Call it.  But— I said call it. 

Your gloved hands clenching and unclenching. Desperately clinging, digging your toes into your boots as you try to not unravel. You could do it alone. When they’d left. When the room was emptied and there was only you and your failure on the table. 

They moved to leave. Quickly. Announcing they’d check the others—the ones who had wounds but still had air in their lungs. Your eyes blinking, the machines turning off, their boots squeaking before the door to the theatre squeals. 

That’s when you look at their backs, firing a quick, but soft thank you. Something those above you didn’t do when you were in their position—when you were them, head hung down, feeling the weight of another loss. 

Both of them meet your eyes, and you reward them with a smile, one which tells them it’s not on them—a smile which says you can’t win them all. Something you don’t believe, have never believed but can understand why it’s a comfort. 

They nod, and they leave. 

Not knowing you’re ticking, that you’re a bomb. Emotions bubbling, fizzing and hissing. Time ticks as you wait. For what you’re unsure. 

Silence? The moment to snap? 

It would have needed a miracle. The damage was extensive—you knew that, you’d already calculated it before you’d begun. A life, was a life. A person had people. 

You stare at the corpse—the one which had a beating heart minutes ago, the one which had the slimmest chance, but a chance all the same. 

You could feel it crushing you. The weight of loss. The failure pecking at your bones—good soldiers lost. Gone. 

Because your fucking hands weren’t quick enough. 

++

You’re not in your office. 

Not in the infirmary or the utility cupboard you often hide in. 

The one he’s somehow crammed himself into when you’ve needed a minute—hands grasping at his belt buckle. 

He’d counted the bodies hooked up to machines. 

Realised quickly, but not quickly enough. The soles of his feet hammer down, and it dawns on him how shit shit was. 

He’d felt the thrum in his chest earlier. The knot of something undoing—his gut telling, screaming and kicking that something was wrong. Now he knows what. 

Because he knows you. It’s why he cuts down corridors and passes soldiers who almost flatten themselves to the wall as he passes. 

Doing so until he finds you, and finds you he does. 

If someone told him he grasped his chest at the sight of you, he’d have crushed their windpipe with his palm. But, as he stepped through his open door, spotting you pressed into the corner of his room, he unclenches his hand from his jacket. 

You’ve been broken. A shattered raft out at sea, lost and delirious in grief. 

But this is worse.

His foot closes the door, waiting for a reaction—finding none. Nothing. Not an arch of your brow, not a snort.  

Your knees remain bent, elbows hanging over them. There’s a distant, empty look in your eyes. Both of them almost glazed over, like the light in them has been snuffed out. 

Exactly how Johnny had described them to him when he’d come looking for him, having passed you…

But, it’s that plus the fact your bloody apron is still on, your blue gloves crumbled before you—boots removed, white sock-covered feet flat on his floor. 

The only way he can even tell you’re alive and awake is from the slow rise and fall of your chest—the occasional blink here and there. 

He knows how often you’ve taken care of him. You’ve stitched him. Stapled him. 

You’ve listened and you’ve sat as he had shouted. 

Most of all, you have looked for him—found him. You’ve saved him from falling into a hole. Even going as far as to find him behind the mess, cold ebbing at him as your fingers snake under his mask—not to remove it, but to touch the back of his neck. 

I’ve got you. Ghost, I have you. Simon. Simon, I’ve got you. I’ll always have you. 

Your eyes staring into his, saying those words over and over until he can blink a little easier—he can move your hand under the mask to his lips so he can kiss them. 

And he knows it’s his turn now. 

He crouches, sliding a glove from his hand, brushing his finger over your cheek, watching your eyes flicker—registering him, acknowledging. 

“Helen.”

Your lips twitch. 

The name usually does that. The one he uses more than your own. At this point, he’s unsure if you truly hate it or just hate that you love it. He prefers it, personally. Not because he dislikes your name, but because he’s the only one who calls you this. The only one who gets that glint in your eye, that twitch of your lips. 

His fingers trace down your cheek, running to clutch your chin. You’re cold, so impossibly cold, watching your teeth nip at your lip, watching for the tremble, the quiver he knows is due to come. Not taking his eyes from you as they stare back at him, all sunken and sad, but still somehow more beautiful than any fucking sunrise he’s ever seen. 

He whispers your name—your real name, stroking the skin under your chin as he feels you swallow against his little finger. 

“Y’know why Price likes you?” 

He wraps his other hand around your arm, feeling you move with him—allowing him to lift you to your feet. Your plastic apron is crinkling, feet shuffling until he can lift you with ease. 

“Cause I’m cheap for saying I’m good with a scalpel and a PC?” 

Ghost shakes his head, wanting to chastise you—but he assumes you’re doing that enough to yourself for the two of them. 

Instead, he forces his fingers to lift your chin. “Because you give a shit, Helen.”

“I don’t want to.” 

“I know.” 

Your hands gently clutching his mask-covered cheeks, staring into his eyes as you silently stare. Not saying anything with your lips, but plenty with your eyes. 

“What do you want, hmm?” 

You. I want you. 

His hands take your wrists, holding you, not letting go.

“I don’t want to think. Just… make me forget, help me not give a shit, Simon.” 

And he knows what you need, what you’re too afraid to ask for. Fuck me like a whore, Ghost. Fuck me until I'm whimpering and begging cause I can't take anymore. 

You have said those words once. Albeit drunk, confidence propped up with vodka and fruit juice. But, if you had that same confidence now, he imagines it’s what you’d ask for. And who is he to say no? How could he? 

You’ve looked up at him from your place between his thighs, knees on stone and dirt as your hand wrapped around the base of him. Let your tongue swirl over his tip, tasting him, hollowing your cheek, sucking, teeth grazing down his shaft when he needed it the most. When he needed something so similar. 

Some drink to forget the bad days.

The two of you fuck until your raw, till you’re both full of something other than regret and sadness.

He’s aware he shouldn’t, not this time.

Ghost should hold your cheeks, stare into those pretty eyes he’d happily burn the world for, and take you for a shower, washing the day from your skin and bones. Because you’re crumbling, the parts of your confidence withering—hoping and needing to feel good, to be good. 

And he can prove that to you without fucking you senseless. He can name an infinite amount of fucking things that prove you’re good, that you’re kind, and that you can do what you can do. 

Because you’re you. 

You've wormed your way inside of him, flooded the darkest parts of him with light and made a slither of him think he deserved you.

Your hand presses to his chest, cold and timidly. All of sudden so aware of how delicate and thin your fingers are, how small and delicate it is next to his scarred, worn skin. 

“Please, Simon.” 

And he hooks his fingers into the elastic of your scrubs at the whisper of his name—feeling you hold his shoulders as you kick them into some distant corner. 

You silently thank him when he rips the disposable apron, balling it before tossing it. Letting your fingers, those soft, slightly calloused, healing fingers slide under his top—run over his skin, over the places you’ve stitched.

He doesn’t move, even if he wants to. Letting you brush over the hair on his stomach, run your nails over the lines of his muscles. Letting you read him as if his scars are Braille, allowing yourself the reminder of the times you’ve saved and healed. 

And then he pulls your chin up. 

++ 

“‘You sure you want this?” 

Ghost is rarely gentle, but Simon sometimes is.

The man you have in front of you is some hybrid of the two—masked up, but with the eyes of Simon. All blue, like the ocean, willing to drag you down. 

Sometimes they’re like the water you’d expect to be licking a sandy beach, and sometimes they’re so dark you’d fear what breathed under the watery depths. 

Sometimes, it’s hard to breathe when he looks at you. When his eyes—all swirls of blue surrounded by charcoal black—curl into you. He’s big, broad and tall, and so much more than you could have ever known you’d have. 

He makes heat pool between your legs with one look, and makes you feel safe by just being close. Even if he doesn’t see it—doesn’t fathom it at all—you’d throw away all your values and beliefs of saving people, and rip them apart with your hands to get to him. 

You feel his thumb flutter over your scar, the one on your hip from a bullet meant for him. He hates it, and yet always strokes it. A memory forever embedded into your skin he can’t help but press play on, even if he knows how it ends.

You shouldn’ have done that, Helen.  I’d do it again. Stupid, woman. You’re a fuckin’ idiot. Only for you, Ghost. Only for you.

Your hands move to his belt, undoing it—the clang of metal piercing the air. 

“Helen?” 

You look at him, meet him in those beautiful blue eyes. Don’t ask me to talk, Simon. Your lungs are tightening, aching, as if each emotion you’re holding in is made from molten ash. 

You crack his belt like a whip with the speed of releasing it from his hooks, eyes holding his more firmly, blinking away the weakness—the emotions, the fucking audacity of the day. 

“Be my reason,” you say. 

To breathe. To keep fighting. To get up. 

++

For his sins, he’s gentle. 

Both in the way he lays your naked frame on his bed and the way he runs his fingers over the inside of your thigh. 

He wants to devour you, plunge his tongue into your cunt and taste everything you’ll give him. He almost does—instead he breathes over you, watching your hips try to wiggle, his other hand holding you in place. 

He lifts his head, watching, earning the sights he’s about to behold as he eases two fingers inside of you. You’re wet, warm—but it’s the way your lips fall that makes his hip roll against his mattress. 

With each movement, he watches for your reaction. Like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen, and you are. 

You whimper. You moan. Your eyelashes flutter, and your mouth falls open. And it’s all for him. 

With each rise of your chest, breath hitches, and he runs his mask down your abdomen. Feeling how slick you are against his fingers, how you whimper, both pleading and breathless. Even through the mask, he can smell your arousal, how you want him to take you apart—practically taste it all in the air. 

He curls his fingers, watching as your hand grasps his forearm. More, Simon. More. Your other knotting his sheets in between your fingers, a root, something to grip until space, time and life crashes into you and makes your throat sore as you moan his name around his room. 

He wants it too. He wants to earn his name, coax it from your beautiful pink, swollen lips and wear it with pride. 

But, Ghost also wants something else. 

Normally, he’d give you everything you want, and more. From the feral look in your eye, you want to be turned away from him, for him to be rough—and normally, fuck he’d want that too. 

He’d want to split you apart, know that you’ll be thinking—feeling—him for the next fucking three days. 

He admittedly also likes the sight. 

Something about getting to see your arse while holding your tits, and having the ability to suck red and purple welts on your neck. The best, though, is when you try to wiggle to see him—catch sight of him. Your eyes pressed into the corner of your sockets, hands gripping nothing as he takes you apart with his cock.

Ghost likes fucking you like that—likes fucking you when you have nowhere to go. Pinning you. Locking you in place. 

Not that you ever want to go, he knows you don’t. 

You’re so fucking big, Simon. 

You clench around him like you never want him to stop filling you. A vice on him that he never wants to rid of either. 

Because Helen likes to be pinned, to be smothered by his body. You like him looming over you, dwarfing you; like him lifting you and fucking you against walls, doors and even fucking windows. 

He suspects it’s because you like to surrender control, like for it to be taken from her. So used to being in control, needing to be, and people depending on it. to be taken away from her. 

Your thighs quiver, soft protests as he slides another finger inside of you. Stretching you. 

“Fuck… Simon, fuck.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” 

He doesn’t lessen, listening to each whimper and moan, lifting his mask so he can kiss your skin—teeth grazing as he curls his fingers, thumb swiping over your swollen clit as your hips try to cant against his hand. 

The sensation of your fingers in his hair, makes him groan as he captures your lips. All teeth, tongue and messy, both pushing your legs wider and pulling your hips to him all in one movement. 

Needy. Desperate. Hungry. 

And then you're clenching, hips tensing before a hand grips his mask—and then you come, hips spasming, thighs shaking. 

++

Often, you let him leave the mask on—partly. 

You like to kiss him, like to bury your moans against his mouth. You’ve seen him, know him. You know the shape of his cheekbones and the silver scars. 

“Your eyes are enough for me. Never take them from me.”  “Never.” 

He's being a tease. 

Sliding inch by inch of himself into you. His tongue in your mouth, your focus on the fiery stretch he provides as he buried himself to the hilt. 

He rears his hips back until he fills you all over again, faster, sharper, more purposeful. And it’s sinful. It’s fucking bliss and a high you don’t even deserve. Not as you begin to meet his thrusts with a squeeze, a clench. Hearing his hiss, watching him place his mask-covered forehead against yours. 

Because he’s deep. So fucking deep. 

Sheathed inside of you at an angle you’ve not known before. Almost unsure what your body has had to adjust to accommodate him. Not that you care, you never fucking care. 

You want him to claim you, mould himself inside of you. Because the sting passes, the size of him is something you never prepare for. Your nails are in the back of his hair, your lips almost meeting him as he ruts into you. Your eyes gazing down, watching where the two of you meet, and you’re not sure you’ll ever tire of it—of him. 

You imagine each muscle of his, tightening and flexing—especially as he rocks into you at alternating speeds, your eyelashes fluttering, feeling beads of sweat build at your brow. 

He’s everything. 

He’s fucking fire and ice, both dusk and dawn and everything in between. Your eyes blink open, seeing his own truth—seeing it as he grunts and his hand tightens on your hip as he seats himself deeply into you. 

The words are like licks of fire up your spine, mixing and blending with searing pleasure. 

I love you. I love you. 

You know. 

Fuck you know. 

Your lips crash and swallow the words he hasn’t yet said. Feeling him shake, as your toes curl, red-hot pleasure desperate to smother every inch of you and spread along every single nerve. 

His hips losing their rhythm, hammering the head of his cock against that spot which makes the sound of him filling you so damn deplorable. 

You whine for him. 

Biting down on his lip as it slams into you, snapping you, tears spilling down your eyes as his name storms past your lips as he holds you in place. 

Fucking you through it. 

Holding you, pinning you—until he fills you, his hips shuddering, fingers bruising until they slowly unclench from your hip. 

++

If someone cracked his head open, they’d see that one of his favourite things is holding you. 

He won’t admit it. 

Not even under the worst of tortures. 

But it is. It’s simple. Homely. Something he knows he doesn’t fucking deserve, and yet, has all the same. 

“You wanna talk?”

“No.”

You’re quick. The short, sharp no filling the small space between his face and yours. Mask gone, the lamp on his desk smothering the room in soft light. 

But he knows you do want to talk. So he gives it a minute.

He lets his fingers draw shapes on your ribs, waiting, letting you settle against him, hearing your mind begin to turn and churn. 

And then you talk, as he suspects you will. 

Because he knows it’s what you need. Even if you beg him to fuck you into his mattress, even if you tell him to fuck off, you need to talk. The thoughts building otherwise, stealing your confidence, your belief, your fucking hope. 

He needs silence, and sometimes needs to be alone. Sometimes, he needs both. 

You need to be touched, to be rooted, and to talk it out. Let the thoughts run from your tongue and meet the air—even if you repeat yourself, even if the same thought comes up time and time again. He will just listen. 

You’re rambling, talking about the clinical-ness before you move into how there was nothing you could do. So much blood. Too many bullets. You’re good. Not that good.  You lost one, and then the other. 

On another day it can be more, your hands not good enough today, but will they be tomorrow?

“Simon…”

He doesn’t breathe. Feeling, watching your eyes lift up from your place on his chest, scorching into his. “…They didn’t have a person, Simon. Not one. No Ghost. No Helen. Not this… Not that we’re each other's person. Not like how I mean.” 

“How do y’mean?” 

Your eyes tilt down, and he wonders if you can hear his pulse. 

“I have no one to alert that they’re dead. Not a wife. Not a husband. No children. A parent, yes. But… not a person. They died without…” 

You lift up, his fingers falling to your chin, feeling your lip quiver. Tears in your eyes, making them shimmer—a single tear hanging from your lash, dangling, waiting to drop. 

“It’ll be the same when I die… no one to legally inform. No one to...” 

Then it drops. The tear. 

Falling and cascading down your cheek before it lands on his chest. It bleeds out, mixing with the dried sweat and forgotten kisses you’d left before.

And then, like all downpours, more follow suit. Dancing down your skin, too many for him to catch even if he tries. 

He’s ashamed it takes him a minute. 

Wondering what the hell you even mean until he realises—no one knows. Not officially. Not even fucking unofficially. A secret, one which flickers inside of him and inside of you. Something shared in quick looks and private moments, but never where else.  

You shake your head, lifting up from your position on his chest, wiping your cheeks as you try to put on a smile. “I’m… ignore me. Just being daft.”

You’re not.

But he doesn’t say that.

He says nothing, eyes falling to his vest in the corner before landing back on you, watching you shimmy and shift to the end of his bed. 

“I should shower,” you mumble, hand brushing hair from your face as you stand.

His hand wants to lift, to take your wrist and pull you back to him—to kiss you, to tell you so many things. But his throat goes dry, silence filling the space his voice should be. 

++

It’s odd, what the two of you have. 

Far more than a situation, and way more than convenience. 

It’s trouble, difficult—often the hardest thing you could have chosen to do, and you stitch wounded soldiers for a living.  

But it makes sense. 

He didn’t seduce you. Wasn’t the best out of a bad situation.

He was dry and dark humour and had beautiful fucking eyes that you’d suspected were meant to strike some fear in you, but you’d weathered worse storms than him. You’d first kissed him because you had to—a niggling feeling inside of you that had to know if his lips were soft or whether they just looked it. You’d kissed him again because he stopped you from thinking, from crumbling.

Simon made you feel like you were falling, happily. 

His hand taps on your door, clicking your pen as you look up at him. He’s all casual, a sight to fucking behold. Dark grey joggers and a long-sleeve tee—and from the look in his eyes he’s on his way to training which only sparks more sinful thoughts in your hectic mind.

Initially, way back when, it had been about sex. 

About providing to yourself you could take him, having felt him, having felt how heavy, thick and long he fucking was. Then, it wasn’t.

Now it’s something big—bigger than his cock. It’s feelings and need, it’s desperation and imissyous wrapped in something you’re not sure you can live without. Now it’s about everything else, it’s about the small things and the fact you can feel yourself wanting to smile just because he’s here. 

“Lieutenant, what a surprise! How can I help you?”  

You wonder how often he smiles behind the mask. 

His reputation of being cold, difficult and sometimes an arsehole—depending on who you ask—is widely known. But you know a different person. One who washes your hair when you’re too tired to stand, one who brings you the milkiest tea on cold mornings, ‘Because you’re fuckin’ bitch without a tea in y’, Helen.” 

It still surprises you when he holds it up. It shimmers, sparkles and gleams between a bare thumb and his index finger. 

“For this situation, I think you should be callin’ me Simon.” 

You narrow your eyes, even if your heart is already pounding. Panic. Dread. Your mind racing, unsure what you’ve done—half-worrying if you’d lost one, even if you never wear jewellery. Not here. Not on base. Suddenly questioning whether you’d drunkenly told Soap to buy you something again, a dare gone wrong. 

You hum.

Hiding as best as you can that you’re lost, and confused. 

“Are you going to call me by my name?”

“No.”

Snorting, you fold your arms. “Didn’t think so. You going to explain why you’re holding a ring?” 

“I think you know.”

“Humour me.” 

Because my brain is running away from me. 

He’s not romantic in terms of red roses and sweeping you off your feet. He’s romantic in ways like tapping your arm twice, letting you know he’s missed you. Letting his eyes land on you across briefing rooms, nodding—you got this, Helen. You can do this. 

Ghost is sweet in ways others don’t see. His hand on your lower back when he can tell you want to leave somewhere, a silent offering to walk you back; bringing you a thicker pair of socks when snow is landing on the sill of your office, knowing you hate being cold. 

So, this… him standing holding a ring, could mean many things. 

“C’mon, Helen.” 

You pull a face, shrugging. 

“Be my person.” 

Your brows furrow, eyes frowning. 

Your mind explodes with a sea of things, darting, trying to remember, thinking of that exact phrasing. It takes a second, and then…

His eyes have that shimmer, that fucking obnoxious twinkle. Likely having watched you come to the same realisation—letting you take your time, proudly standing in your smile and glittering eyes.

“You want me… to be your person, person?” 

“Be the one they tell. Yeah.”

It would be easy to get ahead of yourself. 

It could be a formality, something small. A gesture but not the actual question. 

“I know you liked what I did with my tongue last night, but I didn’t know I was that good at giving head—“

“Helen.”

It comes out warningly.

It makes your lips clamp shut, looking down before meeting his gaze—his fiery, intense fucking stare. 

“Look, I know I was upset, but you didn’t need to go steal a ring for me.”

“I didn’t steal it. I had it made.” 

“What?”

He shrugs. 

He fucking shrugs. 

“When?”

It comes out high-pitched. The tone surprises you. So much so, you clear your throat. Repeating it, in a more normal and appropriate volume as you stand, gesturing to close the door behind him as you look at him. 

“Does it matter?”

“I think it fucking does.”

“Last time I went home, home.”

You glare.

Wishing you could see his smirk, already imagining it there all the same. 

Your fingers take it from him, looking over it as you admire it, feeling how warm it is. He’s been holding it, likely pressed into his palm on the walk over here. Your fingers turn it, feeling the ridges of it. 

Mostly, you’re trying to recall when he went home. 

The last time, you two had both been released home at the same time. Having half-joked that you’d combust without his cock, that he’d have to visit you, come ruin the countryside with you—only for him to offer to come with you. Come home. See your place—ensure you didn’t die from lack of being fucked senseless. 

Your fingers won’t do shit, Helen. Not now, anyway.  You’re a cocky shit, Riley.  And you’re a whore for my cock. 

His hands are buried in his jogger's pockets, questioningly staring at him as you hold it. This little thing, that means something big. 

“It’s made from a bullet. One you took out of me.”

Your lips part.

“Not sure if you remember? You told me to keep it as a reminder of what good hands feel like.”

“I remember…” you lick your lips, unable to stifle the way your heart hammers into your ribs—pretty sure he can hear it, the entire base for that fact. “I also remember you showing me how good yours were.”

“Enough.”

You silently apologise, looking at it again before meeting his eyes. “You’ve really had this the whole time?”

“In my vest.”

He says it so plainly like it’s the most normal thing in the world. 

As if your mouth shouldn’t be falling open in surprise again, that you shouldn’t be staring up at him in the way you are. 

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised. It’s you and me, Helen. Sometimes we’re the only thing that makes any fuckin’ sense.” 

“You know what giving me this means, right?”

He nods—fucking formally at that. 

“Ghost—“

“Simon.”

You smile, lips tight. “Simon. Does this mean what I think it means?” 

“If you think it means that it needs to go on your finger on your left hand, then yes.” 

He’s looking at you, pleadingly. 

“I think you should ask.”

“I just fuckin’ did!”

You laugh, watching his large chest rise and fall in annoyance. 

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re a pain in my arse—“

You say your name. 

Sharp, but sweet. Watching the parts of the mask around his nose flex in and out as he snarls and sighs. 

“Simon… out there, I’m Helen, I know. But, here… holding this, I think you should say my name too,” you whisper, more fragile, quieter than he’s likely known you to be for a while. 

And then he nods.

Taking the ring from your palm, sliding it over your fingernail, on that hand, on that finger—hovering it close to the knuckle. 

And he asks—using your name. Will you be my person?

#simon ghost riley #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost riley #ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader smut #simon ghost riley x f!reader #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost riley x you #cod ghost x reader #cod ghost x reader smut #cod ghost x you #ghost x helen #simon x helen #ghost helen world

[thetriumphantpanda]

it's new, the shape of your body | javier peña

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Five

Chapter Summary | A dead end following a lead at work leaves you tense, with Javi only too happy to help you destress.

Chapter Warnings | Mention of drugs, drug related violence and the drugs trade. Zero knowledge of how journalists find information in the 90s but we ride with it. Explicit smut, these two do some stuff in public that the lord wouldn't approve, fingering, Javi is a dirty talking menace.

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 3.5K

Authors Note | So, as well as being a sexy little dbf!Javi fic, this also has another overarching plot that I'm starting to introduce in this chapter - I really hope you like the addition of this other part of the story, as well as these two finally getting it on! Another huge shoutout to @undercoverpena who has been such a rock with this chapter, helping me smooth out the kinks to get it to where I wanted it to be. Thank you for the support so far. If you're enjoying this then reblogs and comments really do help and if you’d like to support me further, please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi. 

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Series Playlist

There’s a spring in your step when you walk into work on Monday. You’d spent all of Sunday is some sort of daze, thinking about what had happened with Javi and all the things that he’d promised you over the phone. You let your hand wander a little on Sunday night, bringing yourself off to his promise of showing you exactly what you’d been missing, so much so that the lack of sleep from keeping yourself awake didn’t bother you as you sat down at your desk, taking out your notes to start working on the piece for the newspaper about the drugs bust in town last week. 

“You seem more chipper this morning,” Your boss muses, setting down a mug of coffee next to you like she always does each morning, “You sleeping better?” 

The answer is no, not really, just that you’re awake for a far better reason that pining for your dad’s buddy, now you’re awake because he wants you just as much as you want him and those daydreams and the visions that come to you in your dreams are far nicer to deal with than the wondering of if you were going to make a fool out of yourself in front of him. 

“Yeah, much better, thanks,” You smile, picking up the mug to take a sip, “I’m gonna start working on the bust story today, hopefully it’ll be ready by the end of the day.” 

She places a hand on your shoulder and gives you a squeeze, “Nice work,” She smiles back at you, “Your stories have been really well received recently.” 

She leaves you to it, letting you open your notebook, you rip the old pages out, lie them out on the desk in front of you, picking up a pen, putting it to the fresh page to start formulating the bare bones of the story.   

It’s easy to start with the facts. 

1. There’s a house in town had been involved in a police raid.

2. A large amount of both cocaine and marijuana had been seized.

3. The house had been empty.

4. The police had spoken to the neighbours.

You circle the last point on your notepad: no-one could figure out who would be responsible for storing that amount of drugs at the address. Staring at it, seeing it in a new order, your brain begins to think, wondering about how you might be able to dig deeper.

Something, the instinct that made all of this possible, tells you to start with who owns the house. Fingers typing, suddenly remembering that you’d overheard your dad talking with your mom a few days ago about how they’d tried that avenue and come up at a loss down at the station, but not why. 

Opening the webpage for the public records for the county, your fingers drill in the address, clicking on the search result that pops up. Leaning forward in your chair, chin propped on your palm, you scan the information in front of you. There’s a list of everyone who had ever owned the address since it was built, starting from the first all the way down to the last, which is where you realise what the dead end is. The last owner was dead. Had been for almost a year, and the property was waiting to go up for sale again, which meant whoever had been storing the drugs in the house was squatting. 

You let out a frustrated sigh, because if the police can’t figure it out from here then what makes you think you can. Except, when you sit there, tapping your fingers against the desk in frustration and realise you’d been there. You’d been in that house a few months ago with Liv, who had dragged you to some kind of party. 

Almost automatically you’re reaching for the phone and dialing the number you’ve got memorized for her. She picks up on the third ring. 

“Hello, this is Laredo insurance, you’re speaking to Liv, how can I help?” 

You bite back a giggle at her customer service voice, it’s so unlike the girl you really know, “Hello bestie,” You greet, which has her gasping down the phone. 

“Oh my god have I forgotten a lunch date?” She asks. 

“No, it’s okay, don’t panic,” You say, “It’s a really random question, but you know that party we went to a few months ago, do you know who hosted it?” 

You can hear her clicking her tongue in the background as she thinks, “I can’t even remember who invited us,” She sighs, as do you, “I think I just heard about it from someone, who’d heard about it from someone else.” 

“God damn it.” You mumble, head in your hand. 

“Is it important?” 

“I don’t know,” You answer honestly, “It was the place that got busted last week, and I’m just trying to do some digging, but it’s okay, I’m sure if it’s meant to be I’ll figure it out.” 

“I have every faith in you,” You can tell she’s smiling on the other end, “Listen, I gotta bounce, but how about we do drinks later on this week?” 

“Sounds good, phone me later and we can sort it out.” 

“Alright, bye bestie!” 

You laugh and wish her a goodbye, deciding you’ve gone as far as you can with this for today. You save what you have of the story, thinking you could send it to your boss for approval as is, but deep down you know there’s something here you can pull on, something bigger than just busting a house full of drugs and taking them off the streets to be dealt, so you keep it to yourself for the rest of the day. 

“I’m heading out,” Your boss speaks as she walks past your desk on the way out, “Did you get the story finished?” 

A smile thrown her way in response, trying to cover the fact that you want more time, “Almost,” You speak, “Just a few more tweaks and a couple of things I want to check, but I’ll get it to you as soon as I can.” 

She nods, seemingly pleased that you’re wanting to make it as perfect as possible, “No rush, we can hold it for a few days until you’re happy with it.” 

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” 

“Well, you have yourself a good evening and I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

You wish her the same, watching as she heads out, leaving you in the office alone. You sigh, annoyed that there’s nothing further you can really do. You save the document, gathering your things and deciding you can worry about what to do next tomorrow. 

When you emerge from the front door of the office and look across the parking lot to your car, you’re taken aback to find Javier’s truck parked in the space right next to it. He’s leaning against the driver’s side of the truck, casual as anything, with his ankles crossed over each other and his arms crossed over his chest. He notices you stood still, motions you with his head to come over. 

Your feet carry you across the parking lot, shoulders heavy with stress and that niggling feeling that you’ve been missing something all day, the one thing that’s going to make you realise what’s going on, but seeing Javi slip his aviators off his face and tuck them into his shirt, shooting a smile your way, you feel a little better. 

“What are you doing here?” 

He shrugs, in that cool, casual way that he always does, “Wanted to see you,” He reaches out, taking your hand in his to pull you closer, but does so whilst looking around, making sure no-one either of you know can see you, “Wanted to do this.”

Then he leans down, presses his lips to yours, one hand cradling your cheek. It’s different to the kiss at the ranch, it’s not rushed. He keeps his lips pressed against your own for a while, pulling away, but planting one right on your forehead as he leans back against the car. 

You bite your bottom lip between your teeth, smiling a little as you feel the temperature rise across your face, “How did you know what time I finished?” 

“Lucky guess,” He shrugs, “Thought if you didn’t come out within an hour I’d have just gone home, tried again tomorrow.” 

“You would have waited for me for an hour?” You chuckle, leaning against your own car behind you. 

“Yeah,” He nods with a smile, “Would wait a lot longer but you know how it is, things to do.” 

You settle your back against the passenger side of your car, rubbing a hand up one of your arms, “You seem tense,” Javi observes, “What’s up?” 

You consider telling him the whole story, but there’s something niggling in the back of your mind that this is something you should keep to yourself for a while, just until you can try digging for more information first. If you keep drawing up blanks then you can ask him, see if his expertise can offer any ideas, but for now, you keep it vague. 

“It’s just work,” You shrug, “Deadlines and stuff, but I’ll be okay.” 

You watch him look at you, those beautiful brown eyes looking directly into your own, his mouth pulled into a smirk, “You wanna take a drive?” He asks, head tilting to his truck, “Let me help with some of that stress.” 

That familiar pool of arousal is settling in your tummy, excitement thrumming through your veins at what he means. He wants to touch you, and God do you want to touch him right back. But it’s getting late, and you know you’re parents are going to wonder where you are soon enough. There’s not enough time to go driving around, but you think there’s just enough time for something else. 

You grin back at him, reaching to grasp his wrist in your hand, somewhat aware of how big he is when you can’t fit your fingers all the way round it. You drag him back across the parking lot, and down the side of the your office building. It’s a small alley, definitely not the most romantic spot, but at least it doesn’t smell, and unless someone is coming looking, you’re not going to be disturbed, most people having gone home from the offices on either side of you. 

You go down just far enough that you’re in the shadows, far enough that even if someone did wander past, you’re going to be hidden as much as possible. You drop his hand as you lean back against the brick wall, staring at him as he takes a step closer to you, hands settling on your waist. 

“You want me here?” He speaks lowly, bringing his face closer to yours, so close that you could reach up on your toes and kiss him, but you want to see if he breaks first. 

You nod your head, tipping it back against the brick, shoving your hips off the wall as some kind of hint to him, “What do you want, hermosa?” 

“Want you to touch me, Javi.” You breathe, leaning up just a touch so he can feel the breath from your lips across his. 

“But I already am.” He smirks, eyes flitting to where his hands are resting on your hips. 

With a roll of your eyes, you reach your own hand down your body, coming to rest of the waistband of your work trousers. You motion your head a little, dragging Javi’s eyes down to where your hand is resting on the button of your trousers, making sure he’s watching when you pop it open, dragging the zip down and then leaving it like that. 

His own hand trails from your right hip, warm fingers brushing the skin you’ve revealed, but he doesn’t move them further, just lets his fingers rest on the skin as he brings his lips to your jaw, kissing softly from your chin, all the way up to the delicate skin behind your ear, “Want me to touch you here?” He all but growls into your ear as his hand sinks beneath your trousers, wide palm cupping you through your underwear, bringing a gasp from your throat, “Yeah, sounds like you do baby.” 

You bring your hands up to rest on his shoulders – something to grip onto as his fingers trace along the seam of your pussy through the thin cotton of your panties. His touch is gentle, but the way his mouth is pressing hot and wet to the skin across your neck is anything but. It’s searing, and exciting, and wrong but in all the right ways. 

“If I dip my fingers under here,” He asks, fingers toying with the elastic of your panties, “You gonna be wet for me, querida?” 

“W-why don’t you find out?” You choke out, feeling him smile against the skin of your neck as his fingers dip just below the waistband of your panties, fingers dragging over the curls on your mound, down lower, until they’re so close to where you want them. 

He dips his fingers through your folds, slipping them into you so easily. Your mouth drops open, his own so close to yours that you could feel his lips on yours as you moan, his fingers dragging out of you and up to your clit, where he starts gently circling. 

“What’s got you all worked up, eh?” He asks, his other hand coming to grip your chin, forcing you to look at him, your mouth dropped open as he works his fingers across your clit, “Can’t just be from me right here,” He muses, “You been sat at your desk thinking about me?” 

He presses his fingers more firmly across your clit, it feels so good, the way he’s working you, “T-think about you a-all the time.” You croak out from your throat, hips starting to move with his hand, needing something more. 

“Naughty little thing,” He breathes into your ear, teeth nibbling lightly at your earlobe as his fingers drag from your clit back down to where you’re so slick for him, his fingers slipping back inside you, but curling up, finding a spot inside you that no-one had even shown you existed until now, “Feel good?” He asks, “You tell me what works, okay?” 

You nod, two of his fingers working in and out of you. It feels good, but it’s nothing compared to the way he made you feel before, when his fingers trailed over your clit in little circles. You grip his wrist, “Outside,” You say simple, “Like how you were doing it before.” 

He presses his lips to yours, dragging his fingers back up through your folds, using his middle finger to draw light circles over your swollen bundle of nerves, “Like this?” He asks, which is punctuated with a moan from your lips. It’s loud enough this time that his free hand is flying to cover your mouth with his palm, shushing you as he presses his body against yours, pinning you in place, his own excitement no longer hidden from you. You can feel the bulge of his cock through his jeans, pressing into your side as the movement of his fingers speeds up, just a touch. 

Whilst it’s a familiar feeling – it’s the way you’re used to bringing yourself off, more often than not to the thought of the very man in front of you – there’s something so different about Javi being the one to have you dangling over the edge, teetering on the edge of pleasure just with his fingers. 

“Tell me, bebita,” He coos into your ear, “Has anyone else ever made you come?” 

His palm is still covering your mouth, so you can’t speak, so all you do is shake your head in response, watching as his eyes darken and he sticks his bottom lip out a little in a pout, “Poor girl,” He says, his middle finger speeding up just a touch again, pressing harder, “Shall we fix that?” He asks, which has you nodding your head so ferociously that it should be embarrassing, “Go on then,” He coaxes, “I know you’re close, just let go for me.” 

If someone had told you months ago, before he’d reappeared in town, that Javier Peña would be the first man to make you cum, pressed against the brick wall of your office, with his hand clamped around your mouth to stop you from crying out, you’d have told them to get lost. 

Your entire body shakes as your orgasm starts to ripple through you. White hot pleasure explodes across your lower body, your fingers dig into Javi’s shoulders, fisting the material of his shirt as he finally drops his hand from your mouth, gripping at your waist to keep your upright when the shaking of your legs threatens to topple you to the ground. His fingers are moving across you more slowly, but are adding just enough pressure to work you through those aftershocks, until it becomes too much. 

Your forehead hits his shoulder, your hands wrapping around the breadth of his broadness as he drags his hand from your trousers, slipping both around your back to drag you into his body, “Did so good for me, querida.” He praises, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your spine through your shirt. 

“Felt good.” You manage to mumble into the material covering his shoulder, pushing yourself back up and off him, hand trailing down his chest to try and touch him, return the favour, but he’s gripping your wrist to stop you. 

“Not tonight,” He says, “Just wanted to make you feel good.” 

“But-” You try to protest, but his grip on your wrist is strong and you can’t move it. 

“I promise I’ll let you return the favour, but not tonight, okay?” 

You nod your head. Javi brings his hands to your trousers, zipping them back up and pushing the button through the buttonhole. He tugs the hem of your shirt back into place, before he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. He glances at the watch on his wrist, clocking the time, “It’s late, querida,” He sighs, “We better get you on the road.” 

And it’s a strange feeling, that this tiny little bubble is bursting so soon. You know it’s important to keep this under wraps, you’re sure no-one would be pleased to find out that Javier Peña, your dad’s friend, had been pinning you to a wall and coaxing an orgasm from you with his fingers, and there’s something about the secrecy of it all that makes it more exciting, but as you walk back to your respective vehicles, Javi so far away that you can’t reach out to touch him, it stings a little. Stings a little that you’re not going to get to be normal with him, that for now, your relationship, whatever that might be, is going to be kept secret, clandestine meetings and stolen glances wherever possible, when all you really want to do is grasp his hand in yours and shout to everyone that he belongs to you. 

“We going to make this a habit?” You ask, unlocking your door and sliding into the drivers seat. 

Javi keeps a hang on the top of the door, keeping it open for a while, “What?” He smirks, “Pressing you up against brick walls?” 

“Pressing each other against brick walls,” You correct, “It’s your turn next time.” 

He runs a ringer over his bottom lip, a habit you’ve known for years is something he does when he’s nervous or stressed, “I need you to know if I didn’t have to keep you a secret, I wouldn’t, okay?” You smile up at him, nodding your head, “I promise it won’t always have to be like this, but just for now, okay?” 

“Okay,” You nod, “Now give me a kiss goodbye and let me go home.” 

He does just that, leans down and gives you a kiss, one that you would class as proper this time, where he opens his mouth against yours, licks into your mouth, the coarse hair above his lip scratching lightly at your skin. He pulls away just a touch, pecking you on the lips once, then twice, then a final time, when you grip the collar of his shirt to keep him there just a little moment more. 

“Go home, Javi.” You giggle when you finally let him go, “I’ll see you soon.” 

He gives you a final chaste kiss to your lips then shuts your door for you, walking around your car to get in his truck. You wonder for a while if there’s going to a weird stand-off between the two of you, but he turns the key in his ignition and drives off with a final wave, leaving you to do the same. 

When you pull up outside your home, you pull the mirror down, make sure nothing on your face gives away what you’d just been up to, smoothing down your hair. You take a second to take a few deep breaths, before you step out, going back to being the innocent daughter your parents still believe you to be. 

#Javier Peña #Javier Peña smut #Javier Peña fluff #Javier Peña angst #Javier Peña fic #Javier Peña fanfic #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña x you #Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña x female reader #Javier Peña x f!reader #Narcos #narcos fic #Pedro Pascal #javier pena #javier pena smut #javier pena fluff #javier pena angst #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfic #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x f!reader #narcos smut #narcos fanfic #narcos fanfiction

[antiquarianfics]

Taken pt. 2

If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would go back to that morning. He would hold you a little tighter in his arms, and he would kiss you a little deeper. He would pull your daughter in between the two of you, letting her giggle as loudly as she wants whilst her parents kiss her cheeks and tickle her belly. If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would have told you not to go to the park—to go anywhere else. But Bucky Barnes can’t time travel, and his wife and daughter are gone.

A/N: The response to pt. 1 was incredible! Thank you guys so much. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader Genre: Angst/Fluff / WC: 1,341 /Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Kidnapping, canon-typical violence. Note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to copy or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

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"What do we know?" Steve asks, rubbing his chin.

"Y/N and Becca have been missing approximately 52 hours; their last known location was Central Park; there are no leads as to who took them; Y/N's phone connected to a cell tower in Munich, Germany 42 hours ago but we've still had zero contact," Tony reports, reading his notes from a tablet.

The same information Tony reports is posted on the screen behind him alongside your official Avenger's photo and a photo of Becca from her 4th birthday party. It makes Bucky sick to see his wife and daughter on the screen as if they're just victims the Avenger's need to save--but they are.

"It just doesn't make sense," Natasha says, pulling everyone's--Bucky, Steve, Wanda, Sam, Clint, and Tony's--eyes to her. "How come we can track her phone? If whoever took them have it, they would have disconnected it. If she has it, she could send a signal, a hint, something to give us a lead."

"Unless she's being watched," Clint points out, anxiously messing with a pen, twirling it through his fingers.

Sam nods in agreement. "Yeah, maybe they--they being who took the better Barnes'--don't know she has the phone and she's hiding it. As long as it's got juice and they don't know it, we've got a chance at finding her." Bucky smirks lightly at Sam's attempt at a joke to lighten the mood; you would've laughed.

"Or it could be a trap," Clint offers in rebuttal to Sam's hypothesis.

"Trap or not," Steve says, "we've got to follow a lead. The longer we wait, the less likely we find them."

Bucky stays silent, sitting alone in the corner of the room. Listening. Worrying. Trying to stay calm. He's exhausted; he hasn't slept since his girls went missing. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he scans the room, eyes falling on his friends working tirelessly to rescue his family before returning to the photos of you and Becca on the screen. He balls his hands into tight fists.

"Tony?" Wanda asks, taking a few frantic steps towards a far screen that displays your phone's tracker.

"I see it," Tony says, typing away on his tablet. "F.R.I.D.A.Y., status report?"

"The cellular device belonging to Agent Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes connected to a cell tower in Novosibirsk, Russia approximately 3 minutes ago. The device is holding at 8% battery life," the A.I. reports.

Bucky sits up straight, eyes narrowing on the red dot indicating his wife's location. He recognizes Novosibirsk as a major city in Siberia. His stomach turns as gears turn in his head. He feels eyes on him and he pulls his gaze away from your location to see Natasha staring at him, lips pulled into a tight frown; he realizes she's making the same realization he is. His gaze flicks to Steve who's staring at the ground, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration.

"I know where they are," Bucky says, closing his eyes, breathing in painfully slow in an attempt to ease his frantic heart rate.

"Well?" Tony asks indignantly. "Care to share with the class, Terminator?"

Bucky's left fist connects with the wall beside him, birthing an indentation of his hand in drywall. Clenching his jaw tightly, Bucky can't bring himself to form the words.

"The Siberian HYDRA facility," Natasha sighs. Her tone indicates she is nervous.

"Wait," Sam interrupts, "that's..." He trails off, eyes widening as he looks at a livid Bucky.

"The birthplace of the Winter Soldier Program," Steve confirms.

—

"Mommy?" Becca calls softly as her eyes flutter open.

"I'm right here, baby," you quickly confirm, swiping a few flyaways from the little girl's face. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," you assure.

You are unsure just how long you've been in the aircraft, but you know it's been a few days. You've not seen the outside of the hanger you found yourself in since you woke up inside of it. No one has brought food, or water, or even so much as spoken near enough to you to hear. You think you felt a touchdown and another take off somewhere along the way, though, and you're pretty sure you're actively feeling a descent.

"Mommy, I'm hungry," Becca complains, pulling you from your thoughts.

"I know, baby, I know," you pull your daughter into your chest, soothingly running your fingers through her hair. You're trying so hard to keep Becca calm, but it's becoming more difficult the hungrier and filthier she gets.

"Where's Daddy?"

"He's looking for us, sweet pea."

"How do you know?"

"Because," you pinch her cheek playfully, "your Daddy loves you more than anything in the whole wide world, and he would never let anything happen to you. He'll find us."

Your response seems to appease her, but she doesn't have a chance to argue anyway as the plane touches ground with a jostling thunk and throws her off balance. You quickly reach out, steadying the girl.

"You okay, Becca?" You ask, hands holding her still as your eyes frantically run over her body. She nods.

About 30 minutes pass--you think--when the aircraft door finally opens. Behind the door are 3 tall, bulky men with rifles and 1 shorter, sleazy looking man who is clearly--somehow--in charge.

"Welcome! Welcome!" The mysterious man greets, clapping his hands together. You push bile down your throat as you stand as quickly as you can manage, pushing Rebecca behind you gently.

"Who the hell are you?" You ask with a grimace. "And where do you get off kidnapping innocent women and children?"

"Please, Mrs. Barnes and little Miss Barnes, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Igor Morozov, but you may call me Dr. Frost. I presume it may be easier for the little one," Morozov--Dr. Frost--introduces.

You take him in. He's small (perhaps 5'5 and skinny), and he does not exude power. His dark black hair is slicked back so much so that it appears greasy and hairsprayed directly to his scalp. His grin is unsettling, gummy and with a prominent gold capped tooth where one of his front teeth should be. He's wearing a military style jacket, pleated trousers, and dress shoes. You can hardly believe he is the man in charge; he looks like he's a man pretending he's in charge.

You say nothing, further stepping in front of your daughter to shield her from the men in front of you. Your hand grips her shoulder tighter than you think you've ever held her.

Morozov seems unfazed by your irritable and accusatory behavior, his sickening smile never leaving his face.

"It's such a pleasure to have the Asset's plaything and offspring in our midst!" He chuckles and it makes bile fill your mouth. You swallow it back down. "Welcome to HYDRA's Siberian Facility! You may recognize the place as a home of sorts; after all, the Winter Soldier was born here!" Morozov claps his hands together. Giddy.

You bite the inside of your cheek to ground yourself. In most circumstances, you would jump at the opportunity to fight your way out and towards freedom, but, in most cases, you're not holding yourself back for the safety of your 4 year old. Rebecca came first.

"What do you want with us?" You demand, but you're sure you'll be denied answers.

"All in good time, Mrs. Barnes. All in good time," Morozov assures, turning around and walking away. Your fingers twitch as you note you wish you could strike.

"Mrs. Barnes, do follow me, please," Morozov demands despite his polite formalities. "And I advise you keep the baby to your side. You never know where she may wander off to if you're not watching," he says ominously.

You clench your jaw as you scoop Becca into your arms. She clings to you, little arms surrounding your neck. The poor girl is terrified, and you know you have to pretend you're not, too. For her.

You follow after Morozov and pray your phone hasn't died yet.

Please, Buck. Find us.

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ko-fi

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky x you #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky x reader angst #winter soldier x reader angst #james barnes x reader #james barnes x reader angst

[mamachasesmayhem]

Shook Me All Night Long

I’ve been SO EXCITED for this one since @roosterforme told us her idea for her Rocktober Challenge! I adore 80s hair bands and knew I had to write this for Jake, with just a teensy twist 😉. Big thank you to Em for this super fun idea, enjoy my loves! 💕

Special thank you to @startrekfangirl2233, @cassiemitchell & @horseshoegirl for screeching at me and hyping me up as I shake the dust off my smut writing 😘

Warnings: smut- 18+, minors DNI! Unhealthy love for Texas football, Crimson Tide slander (I make zero apologies), Jake is a sap, Honey is goals

She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean

She was the best damn woman that I ever seen

Jake

Jake Seresin was a man with a deep rooted admiration and appreciation for exactly three things: Four Roses Small Batch bourbon on the rocks, Texas football, and a pretty girl in cutoff shorts. You can’t fault him on that last one, though. He grew up watching the original Dukes of Hazzard and was about 17 when the Jessica Simpson reboot rolled out. It’s safe to say Daisy Duke laid the framework for Jake’s type. Imagine Jake’s surprise when an afternoon at the Hard Deck provided him with all 3 of his favorite things.

Penny’s bar was the best place to catch a game in San Diego, she made sure non local team games were shown given that the majority of her clientele were naval personnel and Fightertown and Coronado transplants. And that’s exactly where you could catch Jake today, sticking out like a sore thumb in his bright Texas orange. Perched on a stool near the pool table, Jake’s eyes were locked on the screen hanging on the wall. College GameDay was on campus in Tuscaloosa, where the Longhorns will be taking on the overhyped University of Alabama, and a look of disgust slipped across his face when half of the hosts favored the Tide to win.

What redneck dumbfuck came up with that anyway? They’re the Crimson Tide but their mascot is an elephant, how does that even make sense?

Jake’s silent judgment was interrupted by a tinkling giggle coming from the bar. When he looks up, he immediately takes notice of the stunner in a familiar burnt orange. His eyes scan the big block letters that spell TEXAS across her shirt, then sink lower on their own volition. With her elbows laid on the bar top as she orders and chats with Penny, she’s slightly bent at her waist and it gives Jake a fantastic view of her ass in jean shorts and her long, tan legs that end in well worn boots.

His body kicks into autopilot, feet carrying him towards the bar and the bombshell leaned against it before he even knew what was happening. Sidling up to the bar next to the stranger, he leans on his own elbow in just enough time for him to hear her order a drink.

“A blackberry bourbon smash sounds like a dream, Pen.”

Jake’s jaw goes slack. A girl who drinks bourbon? On purpose? He must be dreaming.

“Ah, here’s the other culprit responsible for drinking me out of Four Roses on Saturdays. Jake, this is Honey. Honey, this is Jake.” Penny introduces them with a smile. “You need a refill?” She asks Jake, tipping her head towards his almost empty glass.

He manages a nod and a smile in response before the well loved bar back turns around to make their drinks.

“You know, I’ve been in the desert for a while, but I think this is the first time I’ve seen a mirage.” Jake says with a smile in Honey’s direction.

The sweet giggle fills the air again and Jake feels like he might be going into G-LOC at the sound.

“Not a mirage, I’m afraid. But thank you for the compliment.” Her responding grin is almost innocent enough for him to miss the underlying mischief.

Almost.

“I don’t catch a lot of orange around here, how’d a pretty girl like you end up at a hole in the wall with west coast rejects like me?” He teases.

Honey’s eyebrow pops up as she gestures between my Texas baseball jersey and her long sleeved shirt. “Unless you’re a bandwagon fan, I’d venture to say the same reason as you. My roommate might have banned me from watching games at the house after I threw the remote and broke a lamp…”

Jake almost fell over, convinced he’d found the perfect girl. He was on the verge of proposing on the spot, but Texas took off towards the end zone and they both jumped up in celebration. Penny returned shortly after, fresh drinks in hand, and Jake invited Honey to join him in the corner to watch the game. They spent the next two hours learning the who/what/when/where/why’s about each other. Honey grew up outside of San Antonio, did her undergrad at UT Austin, and earned her PhD in biological sciences with an emphasis on immunology at UCSD.

Jake would absolutely be lying if he said he didn’t get half hard when she listed her credentials, he’s always had a weakness for a gorgeous, competent woman who is probably smarter than him.

Four quarters, two drinks, and a tequila shot each later, the pair were riding the high of Texas upsetting Alabama in Tuscaloosa. Without thinking, Jake lifted Honey in the air and spun her around, each letting out victory cries of “Hook ‘em, baby!” or “fucking finally!”

By now, the bar is filled to capacity and the two are almost hidden away in their own corner. Honey stayed tucked under Jake’s arms, not noticing how close they were until the toes of her boots brushed against his. When she settles on her own two feet, her back is against the wall and Jake’s hands are braced on either side of her head. Her breath caught in her chest when she looked up to find bright green eyes staring down at her. Never one to back down from a challenge, she tilted her chin up even more, causing a devilish smirk to spread across his face.

Jake leans in even closer, his chest brushing against Honey’s, face inches away from hers. His intention is clear, his nose nudges hers, and, at the last second, Honey slips out from under his arms. Jake immediately pulls back, concerned he crossed a line. He doesn’t have the time to fully process the thought before Honey tangles her fingers with his and pulls him outside. The chill from the ocean breezes around them, providing a much needed reprieve from the heat swirling between them.

One more harsh tug from Honey has her back pressed against the wall, Jake caging her in once again. This time, she slips a finger in the neck of the obscenely well fitted tank under Jake’s jersey and pulls him forward until his lips are finally on hers. The kiss is tentative at first, just a soft connection to test the waters. But then Honey sweeps her tongue across Jake’s bottom lip and the switch is flipped. It’s all tangled tongues, roaming hands, and heavy breathing until they part for air.

“Wanna get out of here?” Jake asks in between kisses down her neck.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Honey replies, pushing away from the wall and heading inside to settle her tab.

She had the sightless eyes, telling me no lies

Knocking me out with those American thighs

And you shook me all night long

Jake’s lips were back on Honey’s before the front door was even shut all the way. His big hands found their way to her face, holding her to him and cushioning her head against the wall. Honey pushed up on her tiptoes needing the extra height to lock her arms around Jake’s neck, and the movement pushed her hips flush against Jake’s. Moaning into the kiss at the contact, he bends down, grips the backs of her thighs, and lifts her off the ground. His steps carry her in the direction of his bedroom and her legs wrap around his waist on instinct.

Honey can’t help herself, her hands push the unbuttoned jersey down his arms and then snake under the tank top that should be fucking illegal with how good it looks on him. His muscles jump at the contact, her skin soft against his own, and he unceremoniously drops her onto the bed to shed the offensive fabric preventing him from feeling her hands on every inch of him.

His top half is bare before her, and she whistles at the sight. “Damn, that just isn’t fair.”

Jake rushes to get the boots off of her feet, tugging hard enough to pull her flat on her back on his bed. Honey giggles at the thudding sounds they make as they land somewhere behind him, then damn near chokes on air at the sight of him on his knees between hers.

Warm hands grip her thighs and give them a tentative push, wordlessly asking for permission. Honey smirks then settles her feet flat on the bed, giving him the green light he was hoping for. Starting at her ankle, Jake leaves open mouth kisses up her thigh, stopping at the apex and repeating it on the opposite side. He leaves little nips with his teeth sporadically, sucking bruises in between each kiss.

“Shit. Fuck. Jake! It’s too hot to not be able to wear shorts, easy tiger,” Honey manages between sharp breaths.

Jake pauses, lips still pressed against the soft skin at her knee. “You really want me to stop?” He asks, a smug smirk on his face.

Honey sighs. “Dammit, no. Do your worst.”

Jake didn’t have to be told twice and quickly returned to leaving purple spots along her skin, loving the fact he was literally leaving his mark on her. He hooks a finger in the waistband of her shorts, pausing before going any further.

He looks up, his blown pupils meeting the ones belonging to Honey. “Can I?” He asks, ever the gentleman.

“Please,” comes Honey’s breathless reply.

“Oh, darlin’. You sound so pretty begging for me. And I haven’t even gotten started,” Jake grins before yanking the faded denim away from her body.

He pulls back and stands to his full height, making Honey whine in protest. “Don’t worry, pretty girl. Just tryin’ to get these clothes off of ya so I can see what else you’ve got hiding from me,” Jake explains. He grabs her hand and pulls until she’s sitting up, all but ripping the shirt over her head and off of her body.

“Don’t judge me, I wasn’t expecting to meet a fine ass fighter pilot from Texas at the bar tonight.” Honey gestures to the sports bra and plain seamless thong she’s wearing.

Jake groans at the sight before him. “Honestly, darlin’? I think I might have spontaneously combusted if you looked any hotter than you do right now. Arms up,” his voice drops with the command.

Honey follows his instruction and lifts her arms up, and Jake wastes no time in gripping the stretchy fabric and quickly ridding it from her body. His eyes land on her bare breasts and his brain short circuits, leaving him just starting for a good 30 seconds.

Honey bites her lip under his heavy gaze, heat blazing through her body as she watches his jaw go slack. “Like whatcha see, cowboy?”

Jake just nods dumbly, finally making eye contact with her once again. “You just gonna keep starin’ or are you gonna do something about it?”

The playful jab finally breaks him from his stupor and he pounces. Jake’s lips crash into hers and he pushes her to her back as his hands roam across the newly exposed skin before finally settling at her breasts. He pulls away from the kiss and sucks in a deep breath at the sight below him. Not one to believe in love at first sight, Jake changes his mind on the sentiment. How could he not when the most stunning human he’s ever seen is sprawled out on his bed, hair fanned out against the sheets, lips swollen from his kiss and her perfect tits in his hands?

His thumbs give a gentle brush across each nipple, testing the water. Honey arches further into his hands with a gasp and Jake groans into her neck. God, she really is his dream girl. “Mmm, I love a responsive woman.”

With that, Jake drops down to lave his tongue over one nipple while he tweaks the other between his finger and thumb. He alternates between each side, licking, sucking, and tugging with his teeth until Honey is a whimpering and writhing mess under him. Jake finally starts to trail kisses lower, slipping his thumbs under the fabric resting on each hip bone and inching the material down with him.

“Jesus Christ,” Jake mumbles when he’s at eye level with her now naked core. He reaches out, gently tracing a finger through the wetness in front of him. “All this for me, darlin’?”

“Uh huh, just for you, lieutenant.”

Her use of his title flipped a switch, sending him into a frenzy. He dives in, his tongue finding its new home in the warmth between her legs. The whines, moans, and mewls falling from her lips spur Jake on, his lips latching onto her clit and giving a gentle suck.

“OhmygodJake!” Honey cries out, her heels digging into his back.

He can feel how close she is and adds two fingers into the mix. They slip inside her easily with how wet she is, and Jake gently starts pumping them inside her. Rotating his wrist, he finds the spongy spot and pushes against it repeatedly until her thighs wrap around his head and squeeze. She pulls him as close to her as possible and he doubles down on his efforts, speeding up the thrusts of his fingers and sucking even harder at her clit. Honey comes with a scream of his name.

Jake works her through her high, pulling away when he feels her legs twitch at the sensitivity. He unwinds her legs from his shoulders and crawls up over her to litter kisses over her neck and face, finally settling on a soft kiss to her lips. Honey’s breathing returns to normal and her eyes slowly blink open.

“There she is,” Jake coos, thumb trailing her jaw.

“Hi,” she giggles. “Um, holy shit. That was a first.”

“That was just the first of many tonight. Think you can handle more?” Jake asks, hands rubbing up and down her thighs.

Honey reaches for the button of jeans, undoing it and his zipper with a quick flick of her wrist. “Let’s find out.”

She uses her feet to push at his jeans and he gets the message. He stands, shedding his jeans, boxers, and boots, and Honey’s mouth waters. The man exudes big dick energy, and can clearly back it up.

Jake catches her eyes widening and can hear the gears turning in her head. “It’ll fit, darlin’. You can take it,” he chuckles.

Honey opens her mouth, ready to pop off with a smart ass reply, but it’s cut off when he settles between her legs and drapes her thighs over his. Jake’s body stretches over hers as he reaches into the nightstand for a condom and pauses to roll it on.

“Ready?” he asks.

Honey nods and Jake rolls his hips forward, the thick head of his dick catching at her entrance. He pauses before pushing in further, looking up at Honey for the ok to continue.

“Jake, as sexy as it is that you keep making sure I’m ok, I might lose my mind. Fuck me, please.” Honey says, wrapping her legs around his waist and desperately pushing her hips towards his.

“Fuck, I already told ya that y’sound so pretty begging for me. But I think hearin’ ya beggin’ for my dick might be the best thing I ever heard. Gonna have ya beggin’ for it all the time now.” With that, he pushes forward, slowly sinking into Honey.

Over the course of the night, Jake’s words have slipped further into his native Texas accent, and Honey would be lying if she said it didn’t do things for her.

“Jake! Oh fuck, finally,” she cries out, nails clawing at his back as he pushed further into her.

“Goddamn, Honey. Y’feel so fuckin’ good. So wet, so tight. Fuuuuuuck,” Jake breathes into her neck when he’s filled her completely.

Honey’s brain shortcircuited, barely able to form words, definitely not capable of full sentences. “Shit. So full. So big,” she pants out. “Need a second.”

“Tell me when you’re ready,” Jake acknowledges, then drops his head into her neck to suck at her racing pulse.

Honey moans, loving the feeling of Jake stretching her, filling every inch of her. The slight burn of pain with his size almost makes her eyes cross, and him nipping at her collarbone with his teeth sends a shock through her whole body.

“Move. Please. Need you, Jake,” Honey pleads.

Jake does as she asks, pulling back and pushing right back in. He sets a slow, sensual pace at first, enjoying the sounds he’s pulling from Honey. But then she does something that makes his control snap. She takes the hand cradling her face and moves it down to her throat. “Faster. Harder,” she demands, fire in her eyes.

Who is Jake to deny her?

So he does as she asks, slamming his hips into hers and applying pressure with his thumb and index finger on either side of her throat.

“Look at ya, darlin’. You’re such a good girl, aren’t ya? Doin’ so good for me, takin’ me so well. Fuck, the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. Never gonna let ya leave my bed now,” Jake rains compliments down on her.

Honey’s on the verge of drooling, he feels so good. Her praise kink lights up, causing a new wave of wetness to flow out of her. “Ah, Jake! M’close. So close.”

“Give it to me, cum all over me. Let me feel ya,” Jake coos.

“Shit. Shit. Fuck. Jake!” Honey screams, doing as she’s told.

Jake isn’t far behind, spilling into the condom with a deep groan. After he catches his breath, he pulls out and Honey whines at the empty feeling he leaves her with. “I’ll be right back, just gotta toss this in the trash and clean you up, ok?”

True to his word, he returns with a warm washcloth and cleans Honey up before telling her to go pee then get back in bed. Jake lays on his back, arm outstretched for her to cuddle up when she joins him in bed.

He pulls her in close, her cheek resting against his chest as he plays with her hair. “I meant what I said, you know.”

“Hm?” Comes Honey’s sleepy reply.

“I’m not letting you leave my bed,” he mumbles into her hair with a chuckle, causing her to giggle too.

They soon drift off into the most peaceful sleep either of them have had since they were carefree kids.

Two years later

Honey sneaks down the hallway of the home she now shares with Jake, slightly concerned with the silence. Gently pushing open the door at the end of the hall, the sight that meets her has her heart melting.

Jake is clad only in his black boxers, leaning back in the gray rocker, their tiny newborn daughter laid on his bare chest, and he’s humming an all too familiar tune. They’ve come to learn that the deep vibrations in his chest when he hums is the only thing that soothes their colicky baby.

“You’re really humming AC/DC to our daughter?” Honey teases.

“Hey now, that song was playing when we left the Hard Deck that first night. It’s a staple in our relationship,” he shoots back, pretending to be offended. “Besides, we both know that her wails have the potential to shake the walls all night long.”

Honey smiles as he returns to humming, then settles between his spread legs and rests her head against one of his thighs before quietly singing along. Her eyes flutter closed when a large hand rubs along the top of her head before playing with her hair.

“You really are the best daddy, thank you for getting her to sleep,” she mutters with a smile.

“I’ve got my best girls cuddled up to me, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Honeyverse 🏷️s: @whatislovevavy @marvelousnightjengale @els-marvelvsp @sarahsmi13s @sweetwhispersofchaos @dempy @multifandomlover4life @wkndwlff @hangmanshoney @trickphotography2 @aviatorobsessed @buckysdollforlife @callsign-magnolia @beccaanne814 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @roosters-girl @kmc1989 @blackwidownat2814 @seresinsweetie @jynxmirage @teacupsandtopgun @withahappyrefrain @djs8891 @hardballoonlove @seresinhangmanjake @dingochef @everythingmarveltopgun @scarlettwidow19 @shanimallina87 @a-reader-and-a-writer @thewulf @penwieldingdreamer @desert-fern @thedroneranger @sebsxphia @disturbedbeautywrites

#top gun rocktober #roosterforme #mama mayhem writes #banshee collective construction company #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #dagger au #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin smut

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

If possible how about 9 & 22 with all four boys? And could you use They/Them pronouns for Reader please? (I'm a Non-binary myself) Thanks in advance <3

9. "I thought you said we were going out for dinner?"

22. "I love you, I really do, but I also really love garlic."

Sure thing! Thanks for requesting (and telling me the right pronouns to use!) I hope you like this!💜

------------------------------

The boardwalk was busing as ever, with people flooding the place, children screaming and crying with laughter and vendors yelling about how cheap - or expensive, depending on one's point of view - their goods were. In the midst of this wonderfully bright neon chaos, you could find five people that did not quite fit in. Four of them terrorised the people visiting the boardwalk. Sometimes they scared the children, stole from others, caused general chaos - and it so happened that if you angered them, the chance of ever being seen alive became very nihil. The fifth person with them was me. Even though I did not always go along with the chaotic tendencies of my mates, people did fear me just as much. It was a weird feeling, but appreciated. I could do what I wanted, wear what I wanted, and no one would even dare to say a thing.

"I don't know about you, but I am starving." I looked at the others.

"Why are you always hungry when we go to the boardwalk?" Paul asked with a sigh, one of his arms hanging loosely on my shoulder.

"Maybe because you forget I'm human?"

"So?"

"Also," I gave him a semi stern look. "I thought you said we were going out for dinner?"

"Yeah? Wait, did I?" Paul looked at Marko, who shrugged.

"I don't know, man. Probably."

"Paul, you can't blame them for being hungry," David looked at us as he lit a cigarette, appearing somewhat bored with the whole conversation. I realised however that he was scanning the crowds, probably to pick out the prey for his next hunt. "Go and get some food."

"You're not coming with?" I asked. Dwayne was already walking next to me, and Paul and Marko had practically run straight to the small Chinese restaurant. Seeing that made me sigh a little. It was always Chinese food. Always. And as much as one can enjoy noodles or rice, sometimes you really bloody crave some good pizza or pasta or a focaccia.

"I am. Just need to eat first."

"But-" I looked puzzled for a second. "Oh. Yeah, ehm, I think that's appreciated."

David chuckled, walking the opposite direction. As Dwayne and I walked towards where Paul and Marko were headed, I was glad to see that they were still outside.

"What took you so long?" Marko asked, a teasing grin on his face. I shrugged. "Just keeping tabs. Need to know where you all are and such."

"Ah, see, I told you it was simply because they care about us," Marko looked at Paul, who nodded.

"I think it's more than just 'care' at this point," Dwayne said as he was about to open the door towards the Chinese restaurant.

"Yeah, me too. Ehm-"

"What?"

"I mean, I don't want to be rude or anything..."

"What?" Paul looked at me, asking it again.

"And I mean, I love Chinese food, from time to time, but -"

"What's wrong with Chinese?" David's sudden presence caused me to jump - causing him to chuckle.

"Last time I was eating actual worms, David."

"It was all in good fun."

"That may be, and I mean, I truly don't mind it sometimes, but I am really craving Italian tonight."

"If you know a place that doesn't use garlic in everything, we can get Italian."

"Or-" I said, knowing that the chances of that were likely zero- "I could get Italian, you could get Chinese and everyone would be happy?"

"Why do you want Italian that badly? Spaghetti is just a different kind of noodle!" Marko grinned, causing me to roll my eyes.

"Because I love garlic? And I like my spaghetti or other pasta with garlic?"

"I feel betrayed!" Paul gasped, a huge grin on his face.

"I thought you loved us?" Dwayne asked, his tone serious. I nodded.

"I love you, I really do, but I also really love garlic."

"Well, lucky for you," David pulled me towards him, "garlic doesn't do shit to us."

"What the fuck? So I spent months avoiding garlic in everything so I wouldn't accidentally hurt you guys, and now you tell me?" I looked at David, then at the others, and back. "I shouod have known - they use garlic practically everywhere! Oh I hate you guys!"

Dwayne chuckled. "Do you still want to get Italian?"

"Yes! And just so you know, the next month it is only going to be Italian. I need to catch up on all the garlic I missed!"

#the lost boys #marko #david #paul #dwayne #tlb #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #star #the lost boys x reader

[elleloquently]

invisible string [2] : ellie williams

part one

| college!ellie - i wanted to get the second part out quickly because i was too excited and had too many ideas... thank you all for your love on the first part! i'm glad to be back and writing again... if only this story could inspire me to do my own coursework. maybe next time? <;3 do not count how many times i say 'note' in this chapter

| c/w- reader is anxious, zero rizz

friday at 2:30pm. in the library.

you lazily traced circles with a pencil around the jotted down note in your planner, eyes flickering between your own writing and the email shown on your laptop screen.

your professor had unwillingly agreed to lead a study group after several students in the class had nearly begged for it, but ultimately cancelled with short notice. the email urged students to still meet together on their own, as the study room in the library had already been reserved.

holding your breath, you opened the email details to scroll through all of the people it had been sent to, scanning the names until your eyes landed on one in particular.

ellie williams

quickly closing your laptop, you shook out your hands and closed your eyes, nearly forcing every lingering thought about her to leave your mind. but they hadn't left, and you felt completely stupid obsessing over one small question that had been asked during the previous class. she probably wasn't even going, especially not now.

still.

the thoughts lingered.

enough to make you consider attending a study group, something that anxious thoughts never quite allowed you to do before. enough to make you change your outfit more than once while you were getting ready, overthinking and then overthinking again.

maybe it was a momentary lapse of judgement, or maybe a stupid class crush was the courage you needed to finally participate in something outside of your own little bubble.

but was it even a crush?

maybe something about her was just special. maybe you just wanted to be her friend, and that's why you couldn't stop thinking about her. you just had a friend crush on her.

shoving your textbook, notes, and a book for reading into your bag, you went over your plan one last time, a weak attempt at settling the knots twisting in your stomach.

you planned to get to the library a little early, but not too early. if you were just early enough, you would be able to see if ellie was even going to be there without having to feel nervous about joining late. plus, if she wasn't there, you could just breeze past and do your own studying alone, somewhere quiet.

suddenly you frowned, chewing at your bottom lip as a new thought occured to you. what if ellie was late?

you hesitate for only a moment before closing your bag and throwing it over your shoulder... there was definitely no time for any adjustments in the plan, and you were about ready to drive yourself crazy.

─ ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ─

the brisk air nipping away at your face felt almost refreshing as you forced your nerves down.

motivated by the chilling air to walk quickly and with a slight overestimation of how long it would've taken you to walk to the library, you ended up making it earlier than you intended.

the library was more quiet than usual, which was to be expected. showing up with a bag full of study materials went against your strict code of never doing something school related on a friday, as long as you could help it.

a code that you had easily broken at the mere thought that someone you didn't even really know might potentially be there too.

even though you were early, you decided to try to find the dedicated study room. only a few of them were occupied, and your nerves finally began to subside as you realized it might've been a waste of a trip... until your eyes landed on a study room with numbers that matched those from the email, and the room was certainly not empty.

what was with her habit of suddenly always being much earlier than you?

you instantly recognized the familiar auburn hair of the freckled girl, and your feet were quick to carry you away without a second thought.

"stupid, it was a stupid idea," you mumbled to yourself, at least semi grateful that ellie hadn't looked up while you were gaping in the doorway. you thought for sure you had managed to make a clean getaway, she would never even know you had showed up, until you heard your name curiously being called.

the sound of your name from her voice was enough to make you stop instantly. you hesitated, only briefly, acknowledging mentally that once you went in there, there was no going back.

severely lacking courage, you turned slowly and walked a few paces until you were lingering once again in the doorway of the study room, greeted by ellie williams looking curiously up at you. she had things sprawled over half of the table, and she gestured for you to sit down.

"are you sure?" you asked slowly, pulling out a chair across from the one that ellie was sat in.

"of course," ellie replied, glancing briefly behind you at the hallway before meeting your eyes with a quirked up smile.

yeah. it was definitely a crush.

you both broke eye contact quickly after, lowering gently into the chair and ellie flicked a pen across her note pages.

"are you here for the study group or for... by yourself?" you asked lowly, almost feeling like you had to whisper. sitting across from her now almost felt more intimate than sitting next to her in class. you were afraid to lift your eyes, certain to be a fool under her gaze.

"uh," ellie laughed dryly, seemingly fidgeting with her hands and pages by shuffling them around.

your cheeks grew warm as an awkward feeling began to pull at your emotions but ellie cleared her throat and nodded.

"yeah, i'm here for the study group." she replied, dragging her eyes back up to meet yours. she sat back comfortably in her chair, resting her hands on the table space in front of her. ellie's unsure movements were quickly replaced with a confident demeanor.

you felt the pressure now, pressure to fill the long pauses with something interesting to say. a beat passed and it was only the two of you, none of the other students wandering the library even glanced in your direction.

"me too, i think..." your volume increased, wanting to take on the same easygoingness that ellie currently displayed.

ellie gave you an amused look. "you think?"

shaking your head, you sighed. "i couldn't really decide, and then it was canceled, sort of... and...here i am."

"here you are," ellie repeated, her eyebrows raising in a serious manner. "guess you made up your mind, huh?"

you nodded and the corners of ellie's mouth turned up.

"guess so," you murmured, sneaking a glance to the other side of the table.

the library felt too warm, and you pulled at your sweater sleeves while ellie hauled a textbook onto the middle of the table.

"well shit, what's your worst and best topic?"

blinking at ellie's eagerness, you were quick to begin shuffling through your notes as you felt her green eyes boring into you.

ellie's eyes flicked between yourself and the pages. some were neat and organized, completed with sticky notes and color coded information. other pages were long blocks of messy texts, all one color like they were frantically scribbled. sliding your notes over felt strangely vulnerable, like you were putting your intelligence on display to be judged, but you slid them over to ellie anyway.

"best," you responded, tapping the color coded papers, "and worst," you hesitated, pointing to the other pile.

"okay," ellie laughed. her hand hovered over her own papers for a moment but instead she reached for yours, examining your 'best' notes closer.

you nervously picked at the table during her silence, half heartedly attempting to stretch your neck to get a view of her own notes. it wasn't close enough for you to be able to actually read the writing, but you tried anyway.

she took her notes in black pen, and even her handwriting was enough to quicken your heartbeat. they seemed organized in structure, and she had doodled borders and little pictures around the paragraphs. it was cute.

you smiled softly but the sound of ellie speaking pulled you out of your trance.

"okay," she repeated, sounding determined like she had made up her mind about something. she covered some of her pages by placing a textbook over them, and opened her notebook to a fresh, blank page.

"tell me about... this, and... this?" she murmured, glancing up at you quickly and tracing the areas she was referring to with her finger. "my notes for that section suck," ellie offered.

your heart jumped and you swallowed hard, your voice failing you within seconds. this definitely wasn't the sort of situation that you were most comfortable in, and the sound of her voice with her eyes on you combined to make your head spin.

"okay," you mirrored ellie, trying to obtain any sense of false confidence that you could muster. public speaking didn't come easy to you, and though it was just the two of you, speaking directly to ellie almost made you feel worse.

pressing your palms together in an attempt to stop your hands from shaking, you figured reading off from your notes shouldn't be too bad.

"so, the first section i have are definitions... and the stuff in pink are like afterthoughts, to help me remember. i can show you both, if you want..." your eyebrows drew together in concentration as you looked over the page, feeling ellie's eyes on you once again but unaware of her expression.

"incredible," she mused, mumbling under her breath, watching your hands moving as you nervously explained.

"right, so, everything on here i know is right... but take these ones with a grain of sand," you continued.

ellie laughed suddenly at your words and you froze, your breath nearly hitching and you reminded yourself once again that you certainly must be pathetic.

pathetic or not, it didn't matter. meeting ellie's eyes made you feel warm as you returned her smile, and in that moment you realized you would do anything to have her looking at you like that again.

─ ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ─

ellie was a good listener, and her quick quips and little jokes throughout your study session had you laughing until your cheeks burned, though you were sure your nerves had played a part in that as well.

she was polite and wonderful, but you had done so much talking that you felt a little disappointed, and a little overwhelmed. if you were truly honest, you wanted to hear a lot less of your own voice and a lot more of ellie's voice.

the conversation had mostly been strictly academic, with the occasional slip of discussing your majors and the worst dining hall food.

as ellie started to pack up her things, you doodled a little flower on a green sticky note while she finished telling you about one of her least favorite professors.

"he sounds horrible," you remarked, slightly off guard as ellie took the pen from your hand and drew what looked like a fern, similar to the one on her arm, next to your flower.

when she finished, she passed it back to you, along with the pen. you thought for a moment while ellie watched, grinning curiously at the pen in your hand. you decided on a tiny planet, carefully placing it on the other side of her drawing.

"thanks for your help today," ellie mused as she regained possession of the material, placing the pen to paper without taking a moment to think.

"thank you," you returned, although not completely sure what you were thanking her for.

you watched her hand flex as she wrote, and the way her eyebrow raised as she examined the sticky note. ellie stood and you followed her lead, wishing for more time in her presence and not ready to face the cold.

to your surprise, she returned the sticky note to your hand. the slightest touch turned your senses on high and the way ellie's fingers grazed yours made you wonder if you were truly delusional.

"see you around, alright? get back to your dorm safe," ellie said sternly, smiling at you once more as she backed out of the room. once more her confidence faltered and she almost looked sheepish as she spoke again. "we should do this again."

you nodded maybe a little too enthusiastically and then ellie was gone, leaving you with an extreme whirlwind of emotions.

to suppress your excitement, you reminded yourself that maybe she was only being polite, but when you examined the sticky note your smile only grew.

your flower, ellie's fern, and your tiny planet.

underneath the three pictures, a phone number labeled with her name-

Ellie!!!!!

[ part three ]

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams college au #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie tlou x reader #ellie williams fanfic

[cinnamo6]

Friendship’s not in the field manual. pt 2.

part 1

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x GN!Reader

warning(s): angst-ish.. COMFORT!!

a/n: massive apology for the delay I live in hell... probably grammar mistakes

Ghost firmly believed in isolating himself. Pushing anyone away who dared to get close. Attachments were only a recipe for disaster, especially in his line of work. It was easier if he knew there was no one he had to come back to. So he didn’t hate you. But he was afraid of getting attached.

It was his goal to stay as far away from you as possible, even if it meant you hated him. However, in a cruel twist, by attempting to shield you from harm, he had only hurt you.

He leaned against the building outside. The cold air nipped against his fingers, cigarette long forgotten, and too focused on the guilt that swarmed his head to care. An awful feeling that ate him from the inside out. You deserved an apology, but he sure as hell didn’t deserve forgiveness. He flicked the cigarette on the ground without a second glance and made his way to your quarters. A million thoughts ran through his head.

Simon Riley was not a man who felt nervous, years in the task force made it so. But standing there at your door? He wished the world would've swallowed him whole.

He wrapped 3 times on the wood. When he is met with silence, he knocks again.

He relaxes only slightly when he finally hears shuffling on the other side.

“I'm sorry, this isn’t really a good time right now.” You muttered, cracking the door open. “Can you come back la-“

You froze at the sight of your lieutenant standing right at your door.

The thought of slamming the door shut briefly crossed your mind, but you remained in place. You always hated how easily you froze up. How easily you cry. You felt weak, maybe you were. That’s probably why Ghost couldn’t stand you. He was there to reprimand you again for sure.

You were broken from your thoughts at the sound of Ghost’s voice.

“We need to talk.” He gestured towards your room. You nodded and moved to let him through.

“This morning,” he began.

Hot shame washed over you at the memory of that morning, you had just run away from him in tears.

“Yeah.” You looked down at the floor.

“The meeting, I missed it i know. It won’t happen again, sir.”

“That’s.. that’s not why I’m here, L/N.” He said, gently.

His eyes scanned you and immediately zeroed in on your bandages. Evidence of what transpired earlier, and your poor attempt to hide it.

“When?”

You could've lied, that would probably sound better than what really happened. But he’d know, plus what’s the harm? He already thought of you so little.

Picking at your nails, you barely muttered out an answer.

“This morning. Coffee.” It was all you could manage to say, the embarrassment of it all preventing you from speaking any further.

His brows furrowed.

“It doesn’t hurt. Not even that bad, I don’t know why I have these on. It’s…silly.” You lied, but admitting you needed bandages for a coffee burn to him was absolutely humiliating.

“Bad enough to leave a burn.” Ghosts said under a breath. He felt even shittier now.

You stared at him in confusion. It was like you were talking to a completely different person right now.

“Let me see it.” He took a step forward.

You held out your arm and watched in confusion as he carefully unwrapped the gauze.

“This is...” He started.

Your head nearly exploded when he began to rub your arm and gently trace the area of the burn.

“Um..LT?

“I'm sorry.” Ghost said suddenly. “For this morning. For everything.”

You could only blink.

“You don’t deserve this.” The guilt was etched onto his features.

“Sir that’s..,” your eyes watered. “Thank you, for that.”

It was damn near euphoric hearing that, like a weight was just lifted off your shoulders.

He reached out and thumbed away your tears.

“No tears love. Please.” He said, cupping your cheek. “I will make everything up to you. I promise.”

He took your hands and held them gently.

“Can you let me do that for you?”

“Sure LT. Think you owe me a coffee anyway.”

Tags: @themoonitselff

#♚ #simon riley x reader #gn!reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost x gn reader #simon riley x gn reader #I REMEMBERED TO TAG TEEHEE #also i kinda hate the ending but we ball

[futbol16]

My baby sister ・ Leah Williamson

Based on this request, somewhat a part 3 to 'Wildest Dreams' . This is a lengthy one.

Request: "Can we please have a second part of Wildest Dreams it was so good 🥹 Maybe one during the friendlies and reader gets a head injury and know Lucy, Leah and the girls have to reflect their most important player and light of the team possibly being gone, just angsty with fluff, I would be insanely thankful"

Part 1 I Promised

Part 2 Wildest Dreams

Word count: 2.6k

You were excited to go into the friendly against the US, the rivalry between the two countries  fueling your team’s hunger for the win.

Sarina had a solid game plan, one that you all trusted even with some of your teammates being injured, but you weren’t the only ones missing players. The USWNT had their best, Alex Morgan, out as well as many other key players.

This didn’t mean that the match would be any easier.

Lining up in the tunnel of the stadium you stand behind Millie as you take a deep breath, eyes closed as you try to let go of any nervousness you have and focus on the game ahead. A hand makes its way into your’s before giving it a soft squeeze and you recognize her touch. 

“You’ll do amazing babe, show them who's the best!” Leah encourages you and you smile at her thankfully, pressing a discreet kiss to her shoulder. 

“Thanks Lee. You gonna be watching?”

“Yepp, I just wanted to wish you a goodluck before I make my way up there.” she tells you with a soft smile and she gives you a small wave as the ref signals that you’re about to walk out.

It felt amazing to be playing at Wembley again and you see a similar prideful look on your teammates faces as they take their positions.

You take your place as the attacking midfielder after doing your handshake with Beth and your eyes zero in on the ball as the whistle is blown.

England seem to be off to a great start and you’re running through the US players when Beth sends a pass your way and you quickly scan over the players in front of you then send the ball forward to Lauren who takes the shot and scores the first goal of the night for England. You celebrate it with a few of your teammates and as you look up you spot Leah clapping with a smile on her face.

It doesn’t take long for the other team to equalize though as Sophia Smith catches a loose pass for Georgia and she successfully puts the score to 1-1. You make your way towards Georgia as you see a disappointed look cross her face and you place a hand on her shoulder as you reach her.

“Hey G, it’s fine it happens to the best of us. Just don’t forget to get your revenge.” you tell her with a pat to the back and you nod to her when her expression morphs into one of determination.

“I’ll get it done.”

And she does, exactly 6 minutes later in a penalty goal, though not before your sister gets a boot to her face. What a wonderful way to celebrate her 100th cap, you think to yourself. 

You and Beth work your asses off running up and down, giving assists, shooting, but no shots on goal are successful.

The US doesn’t rest either, their goals continuously being offside.

You do make your own appearance nonetheless. You’re dribbling past four players while also keeping an eye on Beth who’s running close by, but when you finally make your way through the many American players, you decide to do it yourself and with the angle you have your shot reaches the top right corner of the goal before falling into the net behind.

You dedicate the goal to Lucy for her 100th cap and point to her with a gleeful look. You catch Beth who jumps on your back before the others join you as well. 3-1 for England in the 75th minute of the game. 

The game quickly takes a turn in the 82nd minute when Georgia attempts another goal. You watch as the ball slightly curves the wrong way and you jump to head it in, you don’t register the shove until you’re trying to catch yourself on the goal post.

You fall into the arms of Alana Cook and she gently lowers your now limp body to the ground. She straightens not even a second later with panic written all over her face and she frantically waves for the medical team. 

It takes a second for the Lionesses to realize that it’s one of their own laying on the turf, but a good number of them immediately surround you. 

“What’s going on?” Lucy asks with a confused look as she jogs over to Georgia. The brunette only shakes her head at that, she couldn’t see from the amount of white and blue jerseys standing around the scene. 

Lucy makes her way over to them, pushing players out of the way until she stays frozen in her step at the sight in front of her. 

There you lay, unconscious with blood pouring out of your head at an alarming rate both Chloe and Alana have their hands pressed against your forehead as they try to stop the bleeding. 

She’s quick to get out of her shock and kneels next to you with a terrified look and she fears the worst as she places a hand on your chest. She lets out a sigh of relief when she feels you breathing, but the relief is short-lived as the blood makes its way down to the grass below you.

“No, no come on Y/N, open your eyes!” she cups your cheeks as tears fall from her face. The medical team seems to take forever to get to you and when they finally do they listen to Lucy pleading.

She stays by your side even as the medics tell her to make more space for them and she listens until a shout catches her attention.

“It wasn’t on purpose! I swear!” She looks over to where most of the Lionesses are and watches as Millie shoves the girl, also shouting in her face.

“You knew what you were doing!” the blonde seethes and doesn’t budge when Rachel and Alex try to pull her away.

“Was this your doing? Are you the one who hurt my sister?!” Lucy is in the shorter girl’s face who looks terrified at the angered look on her face.

“It was an accident!” 

“Naomi!” one of her teammates warns, but it’s too late because Lucy shoves her to the ground. 

The referee blows her whistle and hands both of them a yellow card before she directs Bronze towards where you’re currently being placed on a stretcher.

Your team watches as the young US player is subbed off and then watches as you’re carried off the pitch leaving your sister silently crying.

“She’ll be okay Luce, she might be small but she’s one hell of a fighter.” Keira tries to reassure her.

Up in the stands Leah wobbles on her crutches as she makes her way down to where she saw the medics disappear to and when she finally reaches them she hurries over to you.

Her heart breaks at the sight, although the bleeding has stopped, the rag on your head is almost completely soaked red and she tries to keep her own tears at bay.

“Miss, would you like to go with her? To the hospital?” one of them asks and she eagerly nods, taking her place next to you in the ambulance.

Once you get to the hospital though, you’re separated from her as she’s told to wait in the waiting room while they take care of you.

That’s where the rest of the team finds her, and she looks over at them, still clad in their England kit and Lucy still has her cleats on.

“Where’s she?” 

“Hello, can I help you all?” a nurse interrupts with a kind smile as she takes in the lot standing in the middle of the hospital.

“We’re looking for Y/N Bronze.” Keira answers first.

“Y/N Raffaele Tough Bronze?” She questions and waits for a nod of confirmation before  continuing.

“Follow me, she’s in room 258, it will be to your right once you reach the second floor. She hasn't woken up from the light anesthesia and the pain medication yet, but she is okay and will most likely gain consciousness in the next hour or so” the nurse fills them in while standing in the elevator and then she lets them into the room they have you placed in.

Leah is the first to get to your bed and she reaches out a hand to caress your cheek before she feels Georgia gently push her into the chair next to your bed. “Oh god love, I’ll end whoever did this to you.”

“I think Lucy’s already taken care of that.” one of the girls joked lightly.

Your sister slowly walks over to you, reassured by the heart monitor beeping regularly and she takes a second to look over your bandaged up head. She sighs as she wipes another tear away and gently places her hand on your thigh, a reminder that you are actually there.

The lionesses watch the two people next to you with soft looks on their faces and some of them take a seat in the few chairs, others opting to sit on the floor instead.

Keira also guides her girlfriend to sit down. The group sits in silence for a few minutes before Georgia speaks up.

“You know, I wish to be at the level of football that Y/N is at. I mean, I know that she’s not much older than me but since the first time she stepped foot in a professional football match, I’ve wanted to be as good as her.”

The younger girl explains with a happy smile on her face and Lucy chuckles. A few of the younger girls also voice their agreements, the room erupting with chatter as everyone shares their own story with you.

“I met her only last year, well officially that is. When I made my debut for the team, she was the first one to approach me and helped me learn the ropes of being on the national team.” Ella continues. “Lessi already knew because she was in the squad before me, but she also admires her a lot.”

Lucy listens with a proud smile, her eyes welling up at the love her little sister is receiving, even if you can’t exactly hear them yourself.

She’s sure everyone has taken their turns at least two times when they suddenly all turn to her with expectant looks, she clears her throat. Keira places a comforting arm over her shoulders, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“Y/N’s always wanted to be like me, she wanted to have her hair in a bun during matches, wanted to have the same color cleats and such. She wanted to speak to me in Portuguese when we were younger, our secret language that most people around us wouldn’t understand. Said she wanted to be like me because she wanted to be the greatest, like me.”

she chuckled at the memory, a fond smile gracing her lips and the rest of the girls listened to her intently. “She might be a good 6 years younger than me, but if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be playing football today.” Lauren looked at her confused. 

“Why?” she voiced.

“When I transferred to Lyon she wanted to come with me because she didn’t want to play in a different country as me. So she asked for a loan from Arsenal knowing that the French club was also interested in her. And she was so happy when we made our debut together, god she was so young.” Lucy spoke, her voice full of pride.

“She eventually extended her contract and stayed at Lyon for the whole 3 years with me and when I got that knee injury, she was the first one at my side, she helped me through my rehab and pushed me to not give up. I wanted to quit, I felt so alone with the pandemic and all, but she never let me and it’s thanks to her that I’m still able to play professionally.”

“Wow, she really does have this superpower to lift others up.” Millie spoke with a surprised look on her face.

“Yeah, she’s the best baby sister I could’ve ever asked for.”

“So wait, if she wanted to be so much like you, how come she’s a midfielder?” Beth asked.

“She wanted to be the one scoring the goals.” Lucy answers making your team laugh.

“And she does it pretty damn well.” Keira added.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever heard her story behind her jersey number.” Leah speaks up and they turn to her with a shake of their heads. “She said she wanted a part of you to always be with her.” Leah said to Lucy.

“And your number for England is 2, she has three siblings so she chose the number 6. Multiplying the two numbers together. She even asked if she could have that number for Arsenal as it was mine, and of course I let her have it.” The blonde finished with a chuckle of her own, holding your hand in her own.

“I never knew that, I thought she just liked the number because her birthday is on the 6th.” Your sister spoke with surprise.

“Well I mean 6 is a pretty good number.” your hoarse voice was heard and Lucy immediately got up on her feet, getting to you as fast as she could before practically collapsing on you.

You stroke her back as she cries into you. You list Leah’s hand in yours and press a kiss to the back of it, reassuring her that you’re okay.

“Why are you crying Luce?”

“I failed to protect you, again.” she said with a sniffle, Keira’s hand now joining yours on her back. 

“Luce, it’s just how the game is, you won’t always be able to protect me.”

“I know, I know.” is all she says and the others take her silence as a chance to voice their own worries and you reassure them all that you’re okay and only needed to get a few stitches.

When they finally leave the room to get back to the hotel, you’re left with your three best friends who all help you get ready and discharged.

Your sister hasn’t let go of your hand since, even holding on as you make the short walk back to the hotel. 

“Just so you know, you’re not allowed to step foot on a pitch for the next two weeks!”

“Lucy!”

“Nope, no excuses.” you’re again about to protest when Leah interrupts you.

“She’s right. And even the doctor said so.”

“Who’s side are you on?” you question playfully and she shakes her head at you with a smile.

“At least I won’t be sitting alone on the sidelines.” the four of you laugh at that.

As you arrive at the hotel room, which you realize is your sister’s, Keira guides you into bed, insisting for you to be on bed rest even though you’ve been released from the hospital and you give in after a while.

Similar to last time, the four of you spend the night in one room and as you turn the bed lamp off you’re pulled into a kiss, one which you smile into. Pulling away you peck the blonde’s lips a final time before lazily draping an arm over her waist, careful of her injured leg.

You'd be out for a week or too, and sure, that sucked, but it would suck less with your best friends next to you.

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #lucy bronze x reader #engwnt x reader #england lionesses #futbol16

[sommerregenjuniluft]

76. for bartylily/rosekillily pls<3

76. "i need you to pretend we're dating..." from this post

ahhhahaahaa heeeeeyy elio what a coincidence to see you here on this fine evening with this fine ask lets get into it ~Slug Club shenanigans

"Crouch! Crouch," comes in a hiss and Barty's lips already tug in a wide grin before there's a painful pinch on his arm and he turns to no other than Lily Evans, cheeks flushed a delightful pink, aubern hair glinting beautifully in the backdrop of the chandeliers of Slughorn's office and green eyes intense as ever.

"Well, hello my dear Lilyflower," he drawls, cocking his head and letting his posture slouch even more to get closer to her. "What can I do you f—"

Another pinch, harder this time, "Shut up." And Barty's cheeks strain. "I need you to pretend we're dating."

"Lily, love, if you'd wanted a snog you could have just asked. You know tha—"

"Never fucking mind."

"Nooo, waitwaitwait," Barty reels her back in by the crook of her elbow, then sets on his best pokerface, "Who are we scaring off?"

Lily rolls her eyes, lips falling into a pout as she warily scans the crowd, "You know who."

Barty grins, exposing sharp teeth, "Yeah but I wanna hear you say it."

"You-" Lily's nostrils flare, glaring up at Barty, then presses out a long breath that's persumably supposed to be grounding, "Well, Potter obviously."

Barty hums understandingly, "And of course you know I'm the only one in school that could meassure up to him despite being one year younger, huh? So smart and talented I could even beat an upperclassman in a fair fight."

Lily's mouth has parted halfway through Barty's monologue, the knit in her eyebrows remaining, though she doesn't say a word against the way Barty's palms are slowly settling over the width of her hips, the velvety dress indecently warm against his skin.

The ginger girl tuts, poking the tip of an index finger against the middle of Barty's chest accusingly, "First of all, I'll have you know that I could take both Potter and Black in a fight on my own if I had to, thank you very much and second," she narrows her eyes, tugging on Barty's tie, "Since when have ever had a fair duel, Mr. Fighting Dirty?"

The smirk on Barty's face turns preditory and his hands squeeze over Lily's soft waist, "Keeping tabs on me, Evans? I feel flattered. Though I suppose that's not uncommen to do with your crush—I'd be lying if I told you I was here for any other reason than you tonight."

"Hm," Lily makes skeptically, "Sweet talker."

Barty shrugs the insult away before zeroing back in on her, "So what are our parameters here?"

Lily simply raises a brow at him.

Barty rolls his eyes overly dramatic, "Merlin, Lils, do you want us to sell this or not? C'mon, sweets, work with me here. Want me to snog your face off in front of him so he'll leave you alone once and for all?"

"Wha— Barty," she exclaims, eyes blitzing and making an excited shiver roll down Barty's spine, "Are you mad?! Nobody is snogging anyone's face off here."

Barty pouts, "Worth a shot."

"Excuse m—"

"Holding hands then?" Barty intervenes, swiping his thumbs over the knobs of Lily's hipbones and watching in satisfaction as her eyelids flutter.

She licks her lips quickly, "Sure."

Barty lets his eyes sweep over the crowd as he gradually pulls Lily in. He stares at a portrait on the opposite wall when he announces, "There he is. A cheek kiss perhaps?"

"Don't test your fucking luck," Lily growls, tough she makes an effort to cross her wrists behind Barty's neck. She starts playing with the short strands at the nape of his neck, even though Potter wouldn't even be able to see that given that he's supposed to be at Lily's back.

"Or maybe a real one after all?" he muses, ducking lower.

Lily's next inhale stutters a little on the intake, her breath spilling warm and humid and smelling like grapes over Barty's mouth. "Thin fucking ice, Crouch."

Barty chuckles softly, "Good thing I'm an excellent swimmer then." And then he closes the distance.

#aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh not proodread at all im falling alseep now tchh mimimi #bartylily #barty crouch jr #lily evans #lune’s tiny fic #lune writes

[marthawrites]

The Arbor and the Dragon: Chapter 3, Experience

Aemond Targaryen x Redwyne fem reader

word count: 4.8k+

about: As promised, Aemond takes you for another ride on Vhagar. This time he shows you a hidden place that he's always loved. New experiences unfold.

includes: gift receiving, some angst, explicit sexual content (mutual masturbation, fingering, mentions of solo masturbation), purity culture, Aemond is possessive, slight religious guilt

note: Hello lovely reader! While this is chapter 3, it CAN be read as a stand alone angst/comfort/smut fic! I'm gross and had this smut planned out almost as soon as I got the original idea for this series. To avoid the use of "Y/N" reader's name is Emeline, implied to have brown eyes (omg eyes, not hair, had to edit this in ugh), and freckles. However, NONE of this is mentioned in this chapter. As always, the rest of her appearance is up to the reader. Thanks for being patient and I hope you enjoy it! ♥

read chapter one here

read chapter two here

-

Above and below, the sky and sea glimmered the same color. Golden morning sunlight whispered out from gray clouds, and blue sky peeked out from between both. Wind whipped your once neat braid as you flew atop the oldest dragon while the dragon prince held you from behind. Aemond didn't mind the tickle of your hair across his face during the journey, for it gave him plenty of room to nuzzle the point of his nose along the sensitive skin of your neck. Goosebumps, entirely unrelated to the chilled air, rose atop your skin and he relished the sight.

"Are we almost there? I can't wait to see this place!" You gripped a little tighter to where you held the saddle, turning your head just enough to catch a glimpse of your betrothed from the corner of your eye.

"Patience, sweetling," he said softly by your ear, taking advantage of the swell in his chest to bravely nip over the smooth skin of your neck. You squeaked, and he felt more than heard that little noise in your throat. Smiling, he kissed the same spot. "It will be worth the wait."

As promised the previous night, Aemond took you for another ride on Vhagar. When you asked how long you two had, he refused to answer and instead replied with a, "hmm... as long as we like." Surely he was teasing! No way could you two have all the hours of the day together?

King's Landing shrunk behind you. Flying above the ocean was a dream. Vhagar's massive wings glided and sliced smoothly through the air; easy and effortless. If it weren't for the solid pressure of Aemond's chest against your back you could have fallen asleep. But, no, the young prince sent your entire aura sparking with desire, need, and want, and sleep was the last thing on your mind. You two had shared many kisses and you hoped this morning would be filled with more of those. Secret, private, finally completely alone to kiss his lips swollen and red.

Blinking out of your lustful daydream, you watched the way Aemond's hands pulled on Vhagar's reins to lead her into a different direction. Her leaning turn sent your thighs flexing around the saddle to keep your balance. "Soon, my Lady. We are almost there. This has always been one of my favorite places to go when I truly need time alone. No one will disturb us here."

You smiled, eyes scanning over the picturesque cliffs you were flying toward.

Vhagar circled once before landing upon a large, wide open space on the cliff's side. Aemond wasn't lying. There was zero chance anyone else would make an appearance. "Here? Gods! This is beautiful! It's like a place straight out of a storybook," you beamed, looking over the area. In the face of the cliff side was a huge flat ledge large enough for the she-dragon to comfortably rest. It was almost like a small meadow. Trees and bushes of various heights littered the area, and even patches of vibrant grass grew among the rocks. The most stunning part? A waterfall streamed down from the top of the cliffs into a pool, and snaked down the ledge into the ocean beneath.

"Since having Vhagar, I've spent many days here," Aemond proclaimed with a wistful smile, lowering from the saddle to help you off too. "This is only the first part of my surprise. Come, princess, let me show you down," he said offering his hand.

You happily took it and slid from the saddle, following as he led you down the rope ladder. Try as you might, your head couldn't help but swivel as you took in the surroundings. Everything about it reminded you of Aemond. His dragon resting was merely (the colossal) cherry on top. "There's nothing like this back home. Islands and cliffs, sure, but none like this," you said, in awe.

"We'll travel back to the Arbor one day. I'd love to see your home and any places you found respite growing up." Up here, away from King's Landing and the simmering tension only war could bring, Aemond's shoulders melted. His features were softer than you'd ever seen them.

For awhile, the only sound was the subtle shift of rocks and debris under your steps as you explored. How a place like this could exist among the cliffs was beyond you, and you became enchanted by the magic of it all. "I'm not sure how this could be topped... but if you wish to surprise me further, please be my guest," you said over your shoulder to him, carefully feeling over the feathery new growth of an unfamiliar sapling.

"It finished just this morning. I intended to keep it until our wedding – to give it to you as a proper wedding gift, but after yesterday I can't wait." Facing each other now, it was his turn to offer a wrapped box to you. He watched as you took it, keen on your reaction as you unveiled the present.

Carefully, you lifted the top and gasped. Inside, on a bed of velvet, was a dagger sheathed in its scabbard of black leather embroidered with golden grape vines. The hilt shone with iridescent mother of pearl, and its pommel was topped with a brilliantly cut sapphire. "Aemond! You didn't!" You exclaimed, looking up at him with dazzled admiration.

He grinned, satisfied at your reaction. "I had it commissioned shortly after your arrival. I want my lady protected when I'm not around. And, keep this secret between us, darling," he paused and leaned close, brushing his lips against your jaw as his hand trailed down the back of your arm. "I'd have paid twice the amount of that dagger to see you drive it into that swine of a peasant yesterday."

You shuddered with his closeness, his words sent fire licking up every single vertebrae of your spine. You thought about the splash of blood across his fist and the reaction it elicited from you – were someone else's blood to be on you, would he have a similar reaction? "Your secret is safe with me," you whispered in reply, blushing.

"Do you know how to use one?" He asked, leaning back to peer down at you with interest.

You gave a half shrug. "I can carve fish and chickens easy enough. So... I don't imagine it's much different?" One of your brows arched, squinting playfully.

"Hmm," he hummed, interest turning mischievous. "I'll see to it you have proper lessons soon. I could even teach you some basics here and now."

For a moment you considered the offer – a very, very small fraction of a moment, that is. "Now? No, I don't think so, my prince. Right now, I want to sit on your lap and thank you properly for that beautiful dagger."

Something changed in the softness of his face. The sharp angles of his features steeled. The small dot of his pupil in the sun widened. Even his shoulders flexed. He took the gift from you and placed it back in one of his coat's deep pockets, throat bobbing as he swallowed. "Do not play with me, princess."

"I'm not playing. I mean it," you breathed in answer, using the flats of your palms to push him in direction of a nearby fallen log; it lay upon a swath of dirt surrounded by soft grass. Your fingers squeezed into his tunic and you urged him to sit down.

He followed your gestures in a state of wonder, half struck with confusion as you seemed to gain more confidence by the second. He gripped your waist, easily pulling you down in the plush grass with him. "You're a needy thing, hm?" He asked as you straddled over his lap. He returned your bright wide smile with a clench of his teeth that sent his jaw feathering.

"We are finally alone and I want to kiss you silly. Is it wrong for a lady to desire the man she is to marry?" You asked, the pink of excitement warming your cheeks.

"It's not," he answered, large hand holding the side of your neck as his fingers curled around your skull, thumb along the curve of your chin. "You're lovely like this. Daring, eager, nervous...," he said lowly, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he tilted his head to press the first of many kisses to your plush lips.

A small moan broke from your throat. You dreamt of this, and more, almost since arriving. The kiss was hurried and slow alike. Soft, and hard. Needful, and reserved. Your tongues explored each other's lips and mouths, hands tentatively beginning to wander and touch.

He was first to break it, both breathing heavily. You looked at each other with half lidded eyes; the glaze of lust a shared mirror.

After a moment you broke the silence. "Aemond...," you said his name in a half question, fingers trembling on the lapels of his coat. Slowly, you moved them up his face, your attention shifting to the long, angry colored scar marring half of his hopelessly handsome visage. You ghosted your fingertips over the exposed scar. "Does it hurt?"

He watched you intently. Frozen in place. "Sometimes," he answered, barely blinking.

You touched along the strap of his eyepatch at his temple and made no move to do anything but graze over it. "Do you always wear it?"

By that point he may have stopped breathing all together, for you could visibly see and feel him use every ounce of willpower to not pull your hand away. "Yes."

"I want to see you without it. We are to marry in a week. I want to see all of you." A plead you hadn't intended warbled your voice.

"I fear you will change your mind. I'm not handsome, my Lady. I'm naught more than a cripple. The way you look at me and treat me? You won't once you see how ugly I am. I can't live with that." A piece of his heart audibly broke as he spoke, eye shining with shielded emotion.

Emotion welled in your own eyes and threatened to spill over. "You're lovely, Aemond. My mind won't change. I'm desperate to see all of you. Please?"

For perhaps the first time, you witnessed the young prince fight a silent inward war. Winning, losing, you hadn't a clue what his tactics were. Nor his chances of victory or defeat – much less what your chances of either were. Your lids fluttered in a series of blinks, lashes clumping together with moisture. A sigh escaped his lungs, and his breath cooled the hot tears rolling down your cheeks.

He kissed each cheek, lips wet with the salt of your tears. "Promise you won't change your mind," his voice cracked ever so slightly. Though it might as well have been a chasm for the way it cleaved you.

You nodded. "I promise," you said sincerely, holding his face between your hands.

Wordlessly he agreed, and his body tensed as your fingers delicately pulled the strap of his patch away to reveal what it hid. The scar was deeper and angrier than you imagined; jagged and red amidst the otherwise ethereal paleness of his complexion. Where his eye should be, sitting in place of his healed empty eye socket, was a sapphire on permanent display with its lidlessness.

You must have made a subconscious noise because Aemond turned his head and nearly threw you off him. "Aemond! What? No!" You said in a voice more shrill than you intended. You gripped his tunic at the center of his chest, thighs tightening around his lap, refusing to be tossed aside so easily. His heart drummed frantically beneath your hands.

"You promised you wouldn't look at me differently," he half hissed, voice low and dangerous, noses almost touching with his intensity. "And you just did. Still are."

You opened your mouth to say something but nothing came out.

Next thing you knew Aemond's hand gripped your throat, holding with enough pressure to let you know you were at his mercy. "Do I scare you, princess?" He asked, head tilting.

"No," you lied. He was scaring you. Yet, you'd never felt so alive. "Aemond. I don't care what anyone else has said to you about your eye. I stand by what I said earlier. To me you are lovely. Even missing one eye you are the most handsome man I've ever seen." Your airy voice shook, and your thighs tensed around his lap in a different fashion.

Without saying anything in return, the young prince crashed his mouth to yours with an intensity that burned through your clothes and senses. You moaned into his mouth. Raking your fingers through his hair, you gasped as his free hand dug into the soft flesh of your hip. His body hardened beneath you, fiery passion blazing through both of you as he urged your core to press down on him firmer. You whimpered helplessly when his hand left your throat to grip onto the other side of your hip.

"Have you ever been touched?" He asked, stilling your movements over him.

You shook your head, honest this time, and couldn't stop the rush of blood to your face. "No. I've only kissed others."

"How many others?"

"A few boys and girls," you answered and a new wave of shyness threatened to override your boldness.

That got a reaction out of him. "Girls too? Mmm, my princess, you are full of surprises aren't you?" He leaned forward and trailed his mouth along the line of your jaw, down the plane of your neck, stopping only once he reached the top of your shoulder, smirking. "And you've never touched yourself for pleasure?"

Pressure built behind your ears, making your head woozy with the combination of his affections and question. You knew you should answer him truthfully, but for a moment you considered lying again. Alas, honesty won. "I have," you said in a small voice, shyness wholly taking you over now.

A chuckle sounded from Aemond as he began to coax your hips into grinding down on him once more. "I can't blame you. A wet cunt is sooo much fun to play with, isn't it?"

Despite your unrelenting blush, you found the courage to ask, "you've touched others?"

"Mhm. A few."

Like a stone thrown into water, a nasty pang of jealousy rippled out from your stomach through your whole body. "Have you ever laid with any?"

He shook his head and a part of you felt instant relief. "No. I won't father bastards."

"Then it's a good thing we won't have to worry about that in a week, yes?" Your voice like sugar sweetened fruit dripped through him as if it were honey and it took all he had to not claim you right then and there. His arousal strained beneath you, the clothed length of him warm and solid in a way that made your head fuzzy with anticipation.

A throaty groan broke free from him at your words. "My sweet untouched betrothed... my whole lap is hot from your little cunt. You are driving me wild," he kissed you, rolling his hips up against you until you couldn't bite back your whimpers any longer. "I want to watch you touch yourself to peak."

Did he really just say that? You actually thought you might have heard him wrong, because surely...? "My prince?" You asked, shock evident upon your features. You could have died.

"I want to watch, and listen, as you fuck yourself until those pretty eyes roll back in your head," he explained, voice controlled and soft: the sin of lust given flesh. "If it will help, I'll touch myself along with you too. For... motivation," he actually purred with his last word, temptation branding your brain with scalding desire.

You considered his offer. Giddiness at the risk and thrill of it made your mouth form words before you properly thought them through. "Okay. I've never done it before, but... for you I will."

He could have exploded in his trousers right then. For him you would do something so depraved? So lecherous? "Sȳz hāedar. good girl. Now, go sit over there and I will sit over here. If we are too close, I won't be able to stop myself from defiling our proposal by taking your body as mine. God's be damned."

Your head swam as you followed his order, sitting at one end of the fallen log as he sat at the other. You were thankful for the grass as you leaned back on one elbow for support, tentatively lifting a knee to give yourself better access to where you ached with need. Even if you wanted, words failed to form in your head or on your tongue, eyes wide as you held contact with Aemond; lilac and sapphire utterly bewitching you. His posture mirrored yours.

As if on their own accord, your hands dragged the hems of your dress higher and higher, stopping only when it was bunched between your bent up thigh and belly. Shyly and lustfully alike, you tugged your small clothes down the length of your legs until they were forgotten around an ankle.

Aemond's nostrils flared, pupil blown wide, as he locked to that barely exposed space between your thighs. "Open your legs."

With shaking breath, you did. Your center glistened with slick. The mere motion sent a gasp trembling from your lips and you thought you might actually pass out.

Long fingers pulled at the laces of his trousers and he lazily opened the front, not yet pulling himself free. The sight was entirely casual and much too sensual – the ivory skin of his pelvis above his restrained cock on display. "Hold yourself open. I want to see all of you."

You did. You were pink and swollen, practically dripping, and the exposed underside of your thigh tensed with restrained fervor. The low sound Aemond made didn't quite reach your ears, but the way his features hardened and flared, you saw his approval. His eye shone dark as the deepest shadow in his sapphire.

With a muffling bite over your bottom lip, the pads of your fingers traced up your slit, then slowly down, and up again, the bud of your clit a single touch away from throbbing. You tipped your head to your shoulder and closed your eyes, allowing yourself to savor the pleasure in spite of the gnawing bashfulness that swelled in your chest. As you circled your clit your hips rolled into your own touch. You gasped softly and whimpered softer still. Your body was so eager. Wanton.

Aemond struggled to pay attention to your features and hand alike, his own head hazy with unfiltered lust. "Gevie. beautiful. Look at you. Gasping for your own touch already." He idly stroked over himself through his trousers, knowing once he gave into himself he wouldn't last long – not with you presenting yourself like this.

"I want to see you too, my prince," you said between a wavering breath, a lovely coil of pleasure beginning to build in your core. You continued to circle and flick that delightfully engorged and sensitive bud, back arching.

"Push a finger inside yourself first. And a second," he replied, voice rasping, the muscles in his low abdomen flexing.

A deep blush crept down your chest and warmed the tips of your ears alike. Yet, you needn't be told twice. Angling your wrist, you immediately pushed your middle and ring finger into your sopping, spongy walls. Your toes curled inside your shoes. Your mouth hung open with lewd moans, and you fought to look at him as your digits twirled.

The wet sounds of your cunt sent a blast of fire along each and every part of Aemond. No longer could he deny himself. He spat into his hand and began fisting his cock. It was nowhere near how your body would feel, no matter how firmly he squeezed, but that didn't stop him from trying. He pumped along his length needily, languidly, thumb swiping over his exposed head in rhythm. "A third."

Through your building bliss you watched him. You'd felt him a couple times before, and even that couldn't prepare you for truly seeing him. He had a beautiful cock. Not that you'd ever seen one like this before. Yet somewhere deep and primal in your brain knew: Aemond was impressive. Between his length and girth even the blushed color of him was alluring. You wondered what it'd feel like inside your own smaller palm, how your smaller fingers would look wrapped around him. How he'd feel squeezed inside you, splitting you in half.

"Won't fit...," you whispered across to him, forcing your eyes to focus on his – his eye, not his sapphire – though you found yourself switching between both.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, jaw relaxing with a silent gasp. "It will. You've the wettest cunt I've heard."

Surely you were in a purgatory of the Seven Heavens and Seven Hells alike. This didn't even feel real. "Aemond...," you whined in dubious protest. Relaxing your core sent your legs opening wider, and your pelvis rolled to give yourself a new angle. You made a tight triangle with the addition of your index finger. Carefully, you pushed into yourself. Immediately the sensation sent your eyes rolling closed, jaw slack, and your hips arched up into your touch. You couldn't help the sounds of pleasure that came from you. Divine; the closest you'd ever become to a goddess.

Aemond groaned. "Fuck... stretched all around your pretty little fingers." He struggled to keep his eye open as his pace increased, his movements deliberate, chasing his high the vision of you granted him. His tip shone with a slow ooze of his seed, thumb quick to swipe over it with agonizing need.

Something in your belly snapped and all the tension of the day, and all the days since arriving at King's Landing, released in an instant. Unrestrained pleasured sounds ripped from your throat and your body quivered in the aftershocks of your bliss. A thin sheen of sweat glowed along your skin. You were a panting mess. Part of you couldn't believe this was truly happening.

Focusing your gaze, it opened to see Aemond's sheened face furrowed in pleasure. The prince's mouth slackened and the softest, most delicious series of moans you'd ever heard escaped him. You wanted to hear that again, and again, and again. Orgasm burst through him with enough pressure to send the first spurt of his seed landing on his clothed abdomen. The final wave of his spend dribbled onto his hand and he made no move to wipe it away.

In two easy motions he stood and tucked himself back into his trousers, not yet bothering to lace them. He quickly closed the distance between you two and pulled you up to your feet. "The seed of a dragon isn't to be wasted. Open," he said much too huskily.

If that's how he always sounded after peak, you'd make sure to give them to him often. You looked up at him with hazy vision, post orgasm made everything seem heavy and magnificent. Your mouth parted and you slowly extended your tongue. You had a hunch to what he intended.

"Sȳz hāedar. good girl." He slid the meat between his thumb and forefinger down your tongue, lazily dragging the side of that same finger in the same path. Simultaneously, he lifted your guilty hand, hot mouth immediately wrapping around your fingers and sucking. The sensation sent another blazing wave of desire bolting right to your core. You swallowed. Mesmerized and abashed. "Pure and perfect and so sweet." He kissed you, then, the subtle salt and tang of both your bodies melding as your tongues collided.

"Let's not ever leave this rock," you said between kisses, smiling like a lovestruck fool; perhaps you were.

"There's time enough for one more thing before leaving...," he said slyly, holding you tight to him as he turned and lowered you to the ground once again. This time, however, he loomed above you. Silvery hair gleamed in the sunlight as it spilled over his shoulders, the ends tickling the exposed swath of your chest. "I won't yet take your maidenhead. But after your little show? I have to feel this cunny around something."

You gulped as he pulled your skirts up around your hips, excitement making them squirm. "I want you to take me though," you panted, needy and amoral.

"I intend to, my Lady," he replied, lolling his tongue to run the length of two fingers down it. The pads of those fingers instantly found your pearl and he wasted little time in circling your bud. Flicking, tracing, tantalizing.

You writhed beneath him, desperate and lascivious. "Please," you whined, half pathetic even to your own ears. You weren't sure what you were begging for, only for more of that sinfully wonderful euphoria. You grabbed the front of his coat and squeezed, rising your hips in an attempt to coax his fingers inside your fluttering core.

Aemond didn't have any fight in him for that, greedy to see you come undone beneath him. He followed your coax and slipped those two long digits inside the warm heat of your cunt and absolutely savored the sensation. He hissed an inward breath as your eyes unfocused and closed, whimpering the sweetest moan at his intrusion. "So wet. All of this for me? My lovely maiden. I will be the first and last man to touch you like this. You belong to me. ñuhon. mine. All mine," he laughed a dark sound as he began to rub and test along your walls. "My perfect virgin to shape how I see fit."

You simpered and melted beneath him. "Yours."

Dipping his head, he buried his face in the crook of your neck where he bit and sucked along the sensitive skin with the intention of leaving marks. Whoops. You might very well have to wear a high collar or your hair down for the next few days. With a flex of his forearm he began, unhurriedly, pumping in and out of you, shivering at the wet slaps his palm made on you.

You'd only ever been touched in such a way by your own exploration. The young dragon, whether intentional or not, seemed to know just how to stroke and slide around in you. His fingers, while not thick and meaty like some men's, were longer, rougher, and thicker than your own. He curled them up and you nearly choked on the absolute elation that radiated out from your core. Pulling his head up he kept the same pace and pressure, looking down at you with adoration and obsession. "Gevie. beautiful. I love the way you look with my fingers inside you." His free hand moved to your throat. He squeezed. Gently.

With a mind of their own your hips pushed and rolled against his hand. That extra little push was the final thing you needed. You cried out with orgasm beneath him, white lightening overtaking your entire nervous system so you only focused on one thing. Aemond Targaryen. Your pulse hammered beneath his delicate choke hold and your quim spasmed in tandem around his fingers. Overcome with the power your pulse granted him, he too came with you. He was going to need new breeches as soon as he returned to his chambers.

"I will have you like this, and many more ways, the night of our wedding."

Overwhelm crashed over you, eyes glassy as you looked up at him. "I look forward to it, my prince."

He laid beside you and pulled you tightly against him, kissing the crown of your head. "My sweet Arbor maiden."

You both laid there in the grass until the rumbling of your bellies demanded food and the sun moved across the sky.

-

That night, for the first time in a very long time, you found yourself kneeling before white candles and incense in prayer to the Maiden. You prayed for forgiveness for your lechery; prayed she would take pity on you for giving into the man who you would soon wed. A twist of guilt rang in your chest even as heat collected in your underclothes at the memory of earlier.

That night, in the privacy of his chamber, Aemond fucked his fist with your name on his lips. He held his own face throughout, for a trace of your scent still lingered there and he found himself already addicted.

Alone, in both of your beds, sleep overcame you with lovely blackened serenity.

-

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider a follow and reblog as I have plans to create and share more writings. 

taglist: @melsunshine @iiamthehybrid @womprat00 @arcielee @nina2697 @darylandbethfanforever9

masterlist here

have an idea? I'm open to requests!

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fic #aemond smut

[romantichomicide95]

Could I request Levi Headcanons or Drabble where they are both scouts and he has to go away and she can’t go with him? Something pretty much entirely fluff? About missing each other or whatever?

I’m not sure if you only do neutral characters or I can describe her a little? 👉🏻👈🏻 if she could be shorter with long hair and brown eyes. If not that’s okay to thanks!!!! <3

Sure thing!

summary: your boyfriend Levi has just come back from a scouting mission.

Warnings : Implied nsfw. A little angst and a little fluff.

Your eyes were scanning for him. You were searching for his jet-black hair among the mess of horses, wagons, and green cloaks. People kept stepping out in front of you; which would be fine if not for your short stature. You were worried, it had been two weeks, two excruciatingly long weeks. Two long weeks without him. You were supposed to be there, be with him, be by his side. Your horse and his riding together, always having each other's backs. Taking back the wall the Titans had carelessly demolished a few years ago together. But you hurt your foot and couldn’t go. It was better now and healed faster than the doctors expected, thank god because navigating through this crowd of people was no small feat.

At last, you spotted him. A small sigh of relief escaped you. His usually perfectly parted hair was a mess, more bags than usual under his beautiful blue eyes. He looked tired…more than that he looked defeated. You knew that look in his eyes, the look in your fellow soldier's eyes. A look that meant an unsuccessful mission, a mission where too many lives were lost. You thought for a fleeting moment if it wasn’t for your stupid foot, for that stupid training session where you sprained it, maybe you could have been on this mission. Maybe you could have helped. Somehow.

You push your way through the crowd to until you reach Levi. The look on his face shattered your heart into a million pieces. You wanted to hug him, but you knew right now wasn’t the time. Instead, you lace your fingers through his own “Your back” is all you say, he nods and you both silently walk together back to the scout base back to his room. God did you miss these hands; rough as they were, just the touch against his warm skin was enough to give you butterflies. It happened every time. With every touch. Always. Even after all these months.

“It didn’t go well, did it,” you ask once you both make it back to the comfort of his room.

One of the things you loved about Levi was his devotion to the scouts and to humanity. How big his heart was under all his rude remarks and sour attitude. You knew the Levi beneath that. The Levi who would fight through hell to give humanity a chance, slaughtering as many Titans as it took day in and day out. It was also one of the things that scared you about him. He would never stop fighting, never give up trying to give the people of Paradis a fighting chance in this shit world. He would never be able to settle down, he couldn’t…not when there was still a fight to be had.

“No” he sighs. Slumping himself down on his bed. Head in his hands. “We lost too many comrades today. Their deaths meant nothing, we had to pull out early.”

Levi hated death. He hated when his people had to die. As Captain, all he wanted was to go out there and do what he needed to do and have zero casualties on his team. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy. When they fought so hard and go nowhere, that was the worst. He needed their deaths to have meaning, to know they died for the rest of to carry forward.

“I’m so sorry. I wish I had been there. Though it probably wouldn’t have made a difference” You didn’t know what else to say. He looked so sad, so tired, all you wanted to do was scoop him up into your tiny little arms. You were too small for that of course. Short as he was, he was all muscle and you were much tinier. Instead, you wrap both arms around his neck and hold him close.

He sinks into your arms. Breathing in your scent. A scent he missed so much, burrowing his face into your long brown hair, if only for a moment. Levi wasn’t very vulnerable, even with you, the person he loved most in the world. It only came in fleeting moments, when he was too exhausted to care.

“I’m glad you weren’t there to be honest Y/N.” He says. “There were just too many of them. Nobody really stood a chance”.

Except you. You thought. Humanity’s strongest soldier. He was the strongest of you all, worth 100 of you. More powerful than a lone Titan. You admired him; admired his strength, his perseverance. But you wished he didn’t shoulder it all, the burden.

“I’m glad you’re here now though” he continued. “It’s good to be back.” He smiled. His beautiful smile. The smile he rarely showed to anyone, except for you.

“It’s good to have you back. I missed you so much babe, I almost couldn’t take it.” You say, hugging him again. “It’s like I’m little obsessed with you. Didn’t really know what to do without you.” DYou say playfully into his ear.

He shrugs you off and rolls his eyes. “I missed you too brat.” He says kissing your forehead. “I even missed your stupid little pet names and your dumb mushy shit.” His face brightened. He looked up at you brushing that stubborn piece of hair from your face and he kissed you. Hard, like he hadn’t kissed you before. Like he needed to kiss you; like kissing you would wash all the bad shit away. All the pain. All the sorrow. You lean all the way into it, kissing him back. His hands back their way into your hair, pulling you closer so there’s no space in between you at all. In that moment it felt like nothing else did matter.

He pulls away, staring at you for just a bit more than a moment. Taking a deep breathe he says “God. I needed that.” before slinking himself down onto his bed. “I needed to just look in your big dumb brown eyes, kiss you on your beautiful dumb lips and forget everything.” He looks at you. Really looks at you. Like you’re the only person that matters. Like he’s never looked at anyone else before. “It’s funny, how being with you does that to me. It’s like…”

You cut him off “Like the whole world stops for just a minute? Like we don’t have to hide behind these walls, like…like everything we deal with every day just fades away into nothing…it’s just me and you and you and me.” You say, laying down next to him on the bed, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah.” He says half chuckling, “I wouldn’t exactly say it like that but yeah. Just you and me.”

He reaches up and laces his fingers through your hair. His love language…touch. Not words. Just touch and actions; just fingers in your hair, or fingers laced between your own. The watchful eye he has on you wherever you are. His insistence that you drink enough tea and get enough sleep. The way he grazes your hand when he walks by during training. His constant “be careful” when your being your usual clumsy self. The love language you’ve grown used to, the one you couldn’t live without.

You smile to yourself “I missed this too.” You say. “The way you play with my hair. The way you kiss me, the way our bodies fit so perfectly together. I love you Levi. Forever.”

You turn to face him. To look into those beautiful blue eyes, the ones that looked like rivers flowing and sparkling in the sun, rivers that you could get washed away in. Those beautiful eyes looked back at you with love. Real love. He didn’t look defeated anymore. He didn’t look sad or tired. He looked…almost happy. Like being here with you washed all that away.

You kiss him. Soft at first, then with intensity. He turns over so he’s hovering over you, looking at you with lust in his eyes. He intertwines his fingers into yours and pushes your arms above your head. Coming down again to kiss and bite your neck. Leaving his marks, the ones he always leaves. The ones that tell everyone else you’re only his.

“I love you to Y/N” he says before moving to your lips and kissing you again.

You think to yourself "and of course, I really missed this."

#levi ackerman #aot #attack on titan #captain levi #aot fandom #levi aot #levi attack on titan #levi x reader #snk levi #levi headcanon #levi x y/n #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi fan faction #levi fanfiction #levi ackerman x reader

[stevetonyisendgame]

It’s the fifth day of work reveals for A Second Chance: A Steve/Tony Endgame Mini-Exchange and we have 12 fics and 1 artwork today!

Thank you to all participants - we’re so excited to share all these beautiful gifts with you! Enjoy and remember to leave kudos/comments for our hardworking creators to show your appreciation!! ❤️

A reminder to our dear creators that you can change the publication date of your works now that they have been revealed, so that they appear on the first page of the tags.

Let’s Stay a While for geekymoviemom | ART - M

Some one had to return the stones just with a little company this time around and hopefully a little less chaos. They’d dealt with a life time supply of crazy already as it was if you asked Steve.

2. Sound the Reveille for AirlocksandAviaries | FIC - 2.1k, T

Steve wasn't in denial about his feelings toward Tony but they weren't something he expected to confront on the battlefield, either. Then Tony put the gauntlet on and snapped his fingers, and Steve thought he wouldn't get another chance.

3. don't fear our futures and dreams for captainstars | FIC - 8.9k, T

“Do you accept this chance, Steve Rogers?” There is no trace of laughter in the Keeper’s voice now, only grave formality. “I do.” For the first time since Tony had looked at him in that long-ago-2012 and asked you trust me? and Steve had replied without hesitation, Steve feels completely sure in the choice he’s making. During his journey to return the Infinity Stones, Steve discovers to his horror that Tony is in fact, not dead, but trapped inside the Soul Stone. The Keeper grants Steve one chance to save Tony. He takes it.

4. ever be afraid to say for captainstars | FIC - 1.4k, T

Steve sees it happening a moment just before it does, Tony snapping on the Gauntlet and facing Thanos head-on, eyes bright and ever-defiant. And Steve—Steve’s heart falls to his feet. No.

5. Once More for the First Time for Neverever | FIC - 4.1k, G

It was like clockwork. Get together, do a mission, part ways. Steve wondered what would happen if he asked Tony to stay.

6. Zero to One for lomku | FIC - 2.8k, T

Steve returns the Stones, comes back to 2023, names Sam the successor to Captain America, and sets off on his bike. Life is transient, and grief is all-encompassing, until Steve starts dreaming of Tony every night.

7. you are all I was hoping for for Areiton | FIC - 4k, T

His life had been so much emptier without Tony in it, and he missed him. He missed him so much that he felt better being in his company for even a little while.

8. way to a father's heart for robertdowneyjjr | FIC - 6.8k, G

Steve loves kids, and kids like him. He’s never met one who hadn’t immediately taken a liking to him. He’s good with kids. At least, he thinks he is. But these are Tony's children, and that fact alone makes all the difference in the world. He needs to make sure that he gets along with them. Otherwise, he can kiss his chance to be with Tony goodbye.

9. Right Where I Belong for This_Is_Captain_Handsome | FIC - 1.8k, G

After Endgame, Steve struggles with Tony's injuries. Will he ever recover?

10. Here To Stay for wingheads | FIC - 5k, M

Steve visits Tony (not unscathed but alive) in his cabin, post-endgame, and stays there longer than intended, because they have so much to do and because Tony never tells him to leave.

11. A New Vision of the Future for Thahire | FIC - 3.8k, G

Natasha watches Steve and figures out he's watching Tony - a lot. She watches it all become a mess and watches as Steve never stops pining.

12. Momentum for Thahire | FIC - 6.9k, M

He had said “resentment is corrosive.” He had shaken Steve’s hand, had nearly said more. He wanted to say more, but what was left to say? “Resentment is corrosive and I hate it, but I still feel it, and also I feel a lot of things about you and I don’t know how to untangle them all?”

13. Darling, let’s run for IronChantress3000 | FIC - 1.7k, G

Now, if I were a supersoldier, where would I go? Tony quickly scanned the doors with his glasses for Steve. He spotted his figure behind the door labeled Margaret Carter, Director. Of course. Where else would he be? Tony thought wryly.

Creator reveals will take place tomorrow on June 21st! Get excited to see who created these awesome works!

#stevetony #stony #superhusbands #steve x tony #steve rogers x tony stark #announcement #endgame event #endgame event reveals day 5

[mamachasesmayhem]

Don’t Just Undress Me With Your Eyes

3 months. 12 weeks. 90 days. 2190 hours.

That’s how long my husband has been deployed. It’s also how many days it’s been since we had sex and I’ve been slowly dying.

As it turns out, pregnancy hormones are indeed a mother fucker. Which is, coincidentally, what I’m desperately hoping for one Jacob Seresin to be in the very near future. I have a handful of friends who have already had babies and they swore on their firstborns that pregnant sex is the best. I thought they had lost their marbles when they told me. I spent the few weeks between finding out I was pregnant and Jake shipping out vomiting and napping around the clock. And that’s when I wasn’t crying because the chains on my mood swing broke clean off. As of yesterday, I’m 19 weeks pregnant. I may have threatened Admiral Simpson with the insinuation that his balls would live in my purse for the rest of his neutered life if Jake wasn’t home for the anatomy scan at 20 weeks to find out the gender with me. Perks of being the aforementioned Admiral’s daughter: getting to threaten bodily harm against your husband’s CO and him not facing any repercussions.

The USS Gerald R. Ford carrying the love of my life is due to dock in about 2 hours and I’ve been squirming non stop. I’ve finally settled into the second trimester and the constant puking has settled and is well managed by medication when I have bad days. I’ve hit the sweet spot; my boobs are perky and amazing, my hair is full and shiny, my usually non existent hips have filled out a little, and my belly officially looks like a baby bump and not the burrito lunch special at the Mexican place down the road. I ordered the cutest little belly hugging dress off of Amazon a few weeks ago specifically for today, wanting to look as good as possible for the first time Jake lays eyes on me in person. I’ve taken the weekly bump pictures and shown him my belly during our weekly FaceTime opportunities, but he swears being able to finally lay his hands on it is gonna bring him to his knees. Ironically, a tight fitting dress and Jake on his knees is what found us here in the first place.

After I’ve rearranged the living room knick knacks for the 37th time today, I finally decide to give up the anxious pacing at home and head towards the dock. I know dad will be there early, making sure everything is ready for the crew to dock and welcome the fleet home. I hop into the driver’s seat of Jake’s truck, knowing he’ll want to drive the beast after being at someone else’s beck and call for the last few months. It also helps that his steering wheel sits higher and further away from my belly than the one in my car, which we’ve planned on upgrading once he gets home. I pull into the parking lot and steal dad’s reserved spot with zero remorse. It’s the prime location for a quick exit, and we will definitely be making a hasty escape. I drop the tailgate of the truck and sit, soaking up the early May sunshine. Eventually more cars start to fill the lot and my heart rate kicks up when I see the carrier on the horizon.

Dad finds me on the tailgate and shoots me a pointed look as he nods his head in the direction of the sign designating the parking spot as his. I send him the “get out of trouble” smile that has worked on him my entire life and he just shakes his head and reaches out to help me down. I slip my hand in his and hop off of the tailgate and wrap my arms around his waist in a hug as soon as my feet are on the ground.

“Thanks, Daddio. Not just for helping me down and letting me steal your spot, but for also making sure he was home for the appointment on Thursday.”

The usually stoic man lets a small grin cross his face as he gives my shoulders a quick squeeze. “Anything for you, kiddo. The little one too.”

We make our way through the crowd, the rest of the families parting like the Red Sea to let the large man that is my father through to the ship. Once the beltway is secured, he makes his way onboard to release the crew while I stay firmly planted on the dock. Anxious energy has me fidgeting where I stand as I watch the deck slowly fill with crewmembers. I can easily spot the small squadron of aviators, their olive green flight suits sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the flood of white uniforms. Dad goes through the routine and speech, triggering the crew to salute in a perfectly synchronized movement. The admiral returns the motion, officially relieving the sailors and aviators of duty and releasing them for shore leave. I look up at dad leaning over the railing as they all filter off the boat, our eyes lock and he sends me a wink before his eyes land on Jake. He knows the rest of the world will cease to exist once we’re reunited and it’s his way of saying goodbye. It’s a routine we’ve come to perfect throughout the multiple deployments Jake has gone on under his command. He’s admitted to not being particularly fond of how…passionate our reunions tend to be.

My gaze follows Jake’s path until his boots are landlocked and I take off in his direction at a speed I didn’t know I was capable of while pregnant. Within seconds, I’m wrapped in his arms and clinging to him like a koala, my face buried in his neck as I breathe in the combination of sweat, jet fuel, and Old Spice body wash that never seems to leave his skin. He smells like comfort, security, and home all wrapped into one and it makes every one of my senses launch into overdrive. One large and calloused hand is locked around my waist, holding me close to his body, and the other tangles itself in my hair and gently tugging until my head is tipped back and his fierce green eyes lock with mine.

“Hey, darlin’.”

His voice is pure sunshine and my body heats instantly with just two words.

“Hi, honey,” I manage to squeak out, my throat clogged with emotion as I speak.

Without breaking the intense eye contact, Jake gently bends down to place me on my feet. After I untangle my legs from his waist, the hand previously holding my torso to his joins the other in my hair and hauls me forward. His lips crash to mine with a ferocity that leaves me breathless before he dips me back in the picture perfect reunion kiss. Whoops and wolf whistles from the rest of Daggers fill the air and are quickly followed by laughter as soon I’m back upright and blushing furiously.

“Move, Bagman! I need to see my future god child!” Phoenix says as she playfully shoves at his shoulder and makes us all chuckle.

This prompts him to drop to his knees, plant a hand on each side of my belly, and lean in to leave a gentle kiss right above my belly button before mumbling to my belly. “Hey little nug, have you been nice to your mama?”

“I finally quit puking around the clock and have more energy, so I’ll take the win,” I shrug and cup his cheeks to encourage him to stand to his full height.

Don’t just undress me with your eyes, use your hands, let your mouth just glide.

He looks down at me with unfiltered lust evident in the thin ring of green surrounding his pupils. I grip the collar of his flight suit and tug until I can whisper in his ear. “If you eye fuck me any harder, you’re gonna catch a public indecency charge. Take me home and have your wicked way with me?”

He quickly straightens, clasps my hand in his, and turns to face the rest of his squadron. “Y’all have approximately 60 seconds to hug my wife before I drag her out of here, otherwise you’re getting a show nobody asked for.” His voice is gruff and it sends tingles through my entire body. I love it when he gets bossy.

The handful of aviators basically tackle me in a group hug and shove me back into Jake’s waiting arms in half the allotted time. Each of them has caught us in a compromising position of some sort at least once and not a single one of them wants a repeat. They’re quick to shove us away, scattering themselves, because they know without a doubt that Jake will make good on his promise.

“It’s been too long, sweet girl. I can’t wait to have you at my mercy,” he mumbles as I’m tugged along to the truck by our connected hands and I’m thoroughly impressed Jake didn’t start pushing small children out of the way in his haste.

A minimum of 12 traffic laws are broken in the span of the record breaking 9 minutes it takes us to get home. The truck screeches to a halt in the driveway, parked slightly crooked for the first time I can ever recall of my perfectionist husband, and I’m snatched out of the passenger seat before I can even reach the door handle.

Show me where you wanna take it. Grab the headboard, hold on tight, I think we ‘bout to break it

In a surprisingly tender fashion, I’m scooped up bridal style instead of the usual being thrown over his shoulder as he totes me inside the house. He’s admittedly less gentle as he tosses me on our bed, eyes locked on my extra perky tits as they bounce when I land. His warm hands find my ankles and tug me to the edge of the bed before my wedges are removed and disappear behind him, the telltale “thunk” of them hitting the wall assures me that he didn’t break any of the precious memories that are framed on the walls. Jake sits back on his heels as he pulls me to stand, quickly ridding me of my dress. The groan that escapes his mouth when he realizes I’m braless is nothing short of sinful, then his perfect lips are trailing kisses from my ankle to my thigh, making me squirm. He continues the teasing path up and down each leg twice before I whine, desperately needing that talented tongue elsewhere.

“What is it, pretty girl? Not where you need me, huh?” I can feel his smirk against my skin, but I need him too bad to call him on it.

“Jake, please,” leaves my mouth in a pathetic whimper.

“Scoot up, hands on the headboard,” he commands. I happily oblige and grip the tufted cushion attached to the wall. “They stay there or I stop. I don’t care if you break the damn thing off the wall, but if you don’t behave you’ll be punished. Understood?”

“Understood, Lieutenant.” I couldn’t not be at least a little bratty, intentionally using the term I know is capable of making his eyes cross.

I don’t have the time to be proud of my retort before one of his long, thick fingers slips under the elastic of my panties and traces through the wetness that’s been building since my eyes landed on his stupidly muscular frame at the port.

“I think my girl missed me. Fuck, you’re so gorgeous. I didn’t think I’d ever find you sexier than you were in that tiny white number on our wedding night, but your perfect little belly round with my baby has me harder than I’ve ever been.” He shows his appreciation by running his free hand across my belly, the rough calluses on his palm send goosebumps across my skin and I don’t even realize my hands shoot down to tangle in his hair.

She said “spank me, that’s the only way I learn.” I said “ok, good girl good girl.”

I can’t control my yelp and following moan when his left hand lands a firm snack against the side of my ass, the cool metal of his wedding band adding an extra wave of pleasure as he delivers the blow.

“You just don’t listen, do you? Gotta make me punish you a little before you behave, huh? You’re lucky I’ve been dreaming of being buried inside you, otherwise you’d be learning one hell of a lesson.” His tone is one of warning as he crawls up the bed to hover over me.

His lips meet mine again, this time he grabs my hands and places them in his hair, clearly granting me permission to sink them into his scalp. My nails gently rake across his head and he pulls away from the kiss to moan into my neck. He quickly latches onto my collarbone, surely sucking deep red and purple marks on my skin. Jake’s hips roll into mine, hardness pressing into the soaking wet mess that used to be my panties. I slip my hand down in between us to tease him over the rough fabric over his flight suit.

If those pants are botherin’ you, take ‘em off then

He groans, pushing further into my hand as his tongue soothes one of the love bites he left behind.

“As damn good as you look in it, what do you say we get you a little more comfortable? It’s keeping your hot as fuck body hidden from me and it needs to go.” As I speak, my fingers land on the zipper and slowly tug it down, exposing the tight, black undershirt that clings to his pecs and abs.

The sudden loss of the warmth his body always provides makes me shiver as he shoots back to kick off his boots and strip down naked.

“You won’t be needing these!” He smirks as he quickly pulls my panties off and tosses them somewhere behind him.

He takes his time returning to his perch above me and pauses when our eyes are level. “I missed you so much.” The emotion is clear in his mossy green irises.

“I missed you too, honey. Now come kiss me before my brain short circuits,” I tease as I grip the back of his neck and pull his mouth to mine.

You look so good when you put me inside you. Listen, there ain’t nothin’ like that moan when the tip’s in

I take advantage of his distraction and reach down to grab his hardness, guiding him to where I need him the most. He finally catches on and pushes my thighs open further, eyes locked on the sight of his impressive size inching closer to where I’m dripping with need for him. Just as he’s about to finally push in, he rips my hand away from him. He grabs the other and pins both my wrists in one of his giant hands above my head. His free hand is planted in the mattress next to my head as he dips back to my neck.

“This is my favorite part, you really think I was gonna let you take that from me?” He hums as he nips at my ear, making me whine like a sad puppy.

I’m about to snark back, but it’s replaced by a porn worthy moan as the first inch of him easily slips into me.

“Look at that, darlin’. I barely even touched you and you’re so wet that I could slide right in like I’ve been eating your pussy for hours.” The pride in his voice is evident and he feels too good for me to even try to argue.

“Fuck, Jake!” I whimper as he gently rocks back and forth, giving me time to adjust as he pushes deeper with each roll of his hips.

The shallow thrusts get deeper and I flex my wrists in his palm, wordlessly asking for my hands to be freed. He lets them go and his hand moves to cup my face, thumb lovingly rubbing back and forth across my cheekbone.

Good God, look at you, you’re doin’ such a good job

My hands slip under his arms and reach around to his back, finding purchase just under his shoulder blades.

“That’s a good girl, look at how well you’re taking me, even after I’ve been gone for months.” His hips pick up speed and my nails dig into the skin on his back as I gasp.

Jake’s hips pause immediately. “Shit, sweet girl. Are you ok? I’m not hurting you am I?”

His sudden concern melts my heart, but it’s completely unnecessary.

“I’m fine, honey. I just need you,” I tell him as I pull his chest to mine.

“You’re sure? You’re not uncomfortable right? I don’t wanna hurt you or the baby.” Protective Jake has entered the chat and a whole new wave of arousal washes over me.

“The only thing that hurts is the fact that you’re not moving right now. I think I might cry if you don’t fuck me like I know you want to, get to work!”

Girl, you’re mine now, you were made for me. Cum for me baby

Jake leans down and nips at my bottom lip and pulls back with a smirk on his face. “Yes ma’am.”

He shifts his balance on the bed and loops an arm under my knee, pulling it up over his shoulder with a firm grasp holding my thigh to his chest as he starts thrusting just how I like it. Each roll of hips pushes him impossibly deeper in me, the tip of him nudging against my cervix in the way that always has me seeing stars. His left hand slides from my cheek to cup my jaw and the feel of his wedding band pressed under my ear makes my eyes roll back. The word “mine” leaves me in a gasp, the slightly possessive side of me slipping out. Jake flips us in a flash, his golden hair glowing against our sheets as he lays beneath me. He’s even deeper now and I’m teetering on the edge of the most intense orgasm of my life. It feels so good that I’m not ready to let go, I need to ride the high for as long as possible.

“That’s right, gorgeous. Yours. Only yours. Just like you’re only mine. Fuck, you were made just for me. A literal wet dream made real. Come on baby, I can feel you squeezing me. You’re soaking my lap, I know you’re close. Give it to me, sweet girl. Cum all over me.” His hands are on the move again, one firmly planted on my hip as he helps guide my movement against him and the other tangles in my hair. He gives it a swift tug while he leans in to bite my jaw and I’m shoved over the cliff without warning.

I cum with a scream of his name, white hot pleasure shooting through my veins. Jake works me through it, pausing just long enough to flip me on my back once again. He wraps my legs around his waist and I lock my feet behind his back on muscle memory alone.

“Fuck, baby! That was perfect, you did so good. Gonna have to fuckin’ change the bedding after that one. That’s my good girl.” Jake mutters the words through delicious groans and pants, the sounds combined with his filthy words has me ready to come again.

“Mmmm, my dirty little wife. You love when I talk to you, don’t you?” He licks the shell of my ear and leaves a bite on my earlobe. The man and his perfect teeth damn near do me in. “I need one more, sweetheart. I need you to cum with me. Can you do that for me?”

“Uh huh. Need it too, honey,” I stutter out as my hands land on his shoulders once again.

“Atta girl, I’m right there. Need you to cum baby. Do it. Now!” Jake growls and I feel him twitch inside me. He absolutely will not finish unless I do and it’s so sexy to me. That’s the tiny push I need to gush all over him and I feel his warmth fill me almost immediately after.

Jake rolls us onto our sides as we catch our breath, his fingers running through my hair as my soul finally finds its way back to my body. Eventually, my breathing slows and my eyes flutter open to find the heart stopping grin that belongs to the love of my life staring back at me.

“There’s my girl. You did so good for me, darlin’. I love you so much,” he whispers as he nuzzles his nose against mine.

I giggle as his sex mussed hair brushes against my cheek. “I love you too, honey. I missed you more than you know.”

I’m pulled tightly to his chest, not a millimeter between us, save for the gap my baby bump provides. My bump is pressed against his abs when the baby throws a knee or an elbow to my belly. Jake gasps and jerks back.

“Was that…?!” He stammers, a hand pressing against where I felt the movement.

“You felt that?? I’ve been feeling movement for a while, but nobody else has been able to feel it.” My eyes full with tears as I’m suddenly overwhelmed with emotion.

Jake sweeps his thumbs under my eyes, wiping away the few drops that managed to escape. “Already a daddy’s girl, huh? She just didn’t wanna kick hard enough until she knew it was me, knew it needed to be a special moment.” He beams down at me as his hands return to their previous spot.

“She?” I ask, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Oh yeah, I’ve known we were having a girl for a while. Her giving her daddy a fist bump for a job well done just solidifies that. If she were a boy, he’d be kicking the shit outta me to keep me away from his mama.” His wink is so cheeky and I hate to admit he has a point.

“Guess we’ll find out tomorrow, won’t we? Now help your baby mama up so I can pee and we can shower. I look like a turtle stuck on its back when I try to get up by myself.” I boop his nose to punctuate the sentence.

“Anything for you, gorgeous. Up we go!” Jake helps me stand and leaves a sweet kiss on my lips before heading to the bathroom to start the shower for me.

We spend the rest of the night cuddled together, talking about nursery themes and baby names until we eventually pass out within seconds of each other.

5 months later, Harlow Seresin makes her dad the luckiest man to exist, because he somehow has the two most beautiful girls under his roof.

Holy shit, it took me forever to get this idea out of my brain and into words! Thanks to all my squirrels for all the love and support you sent me while I wrote this bad boy, hope y’all love it 💕

🏷️: @callsign-viper @bradleybeachbabe @sarahsmi13s @lovinglyeternal @horseshoegirl @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @dakotakazansky @desert-fern @footprintsinthesxnd @startrekfangirl2233 @roostette @cassiemitchell @galaxy-of-stories @roosterforme @lavenderbradshaw @callsignmeiga

#Spotify #controlled chaos squad #mama mayhem #jake seresin #mama mayhem writes #jake seresin fluff #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin smut #dagger au #i’m sweating #I squirreled so much but I did it!

[enigmatist17]

Basically, Angel comes to help Spike after he escapes from the Initiative, getting a call from Giles/a vision from Cordelia, because he's my blorbo and needs some love <3

Part 2

---

Cordelia had never really been afraid of Angel's driving before, he had a good few years on her in terms of experience. However, speeding so fast that the desert was more of a long dark tan blur was...unsettling, and a look in the backseat only confirms the speed is terrifying. Wesley gripped the backseat with one hand, the other clinging to the door so tight his knuckles were white as he tried to focus on anything that wasn't the blurred landscape.

Angel wasn't concerned as much as the others were, a sign noting Sunnydale was soon in their sights flashing by as he kept speeding towards the town he didn't think he'd be seeing so soon.

"So, how do you know Spike won't just try and kill you?" Cordelia half-yelled as the town began to appear before them.

"Oh, he will." Angel knows Spike, has for a long time, and just how much of a bastard he could be. "Or, I think he'll try."

"This chip may prevent that." Wesley piped up, finally releasing the seat when Angel finally slowed down to a reasonable speed.

"Mhm." Angel's grip tightened on the wheel, and he forced himself to relax as they headed for Giles' place. "The cooler still cold?"

"Yes Angel, as it shall remain until we break the seal." Wesley glanced over at a cooler in the foot well, filled to the brim with fresh blood.

"Good, good." Angel sighed as he cruised familiar streets, finally parking outside Giles' neighborhood, raising an eyebrow when Wesley all but bolted from the car. "What?"

"He's probably worshipping stable ground after your atrocious driving." Cordelia smiled, having also quickly unbuckled and gotten out with a relieved sigh.

'What she said." Wesley mumbled, watching Angel stop long enough to lock the car before he was gone in the blink of an eye. "Ruddy vampire speed...should we stay here? I doubt Spike is here, by the cooler he left behind, and he may need our encouragement and support."

"No, get your bag before he comes back." The other shook her head, moving for the trunk. "Giles said Spike was pretty bad, and just having us with our beating hearts and pumping blood will not help."

"....right, fair point." Wesley moved to assist, pausing only to move the cooler to the passenger seat. By the time they've gotten their bags out Angel appears on the hood of his car, thumb tapping against the warm metal nervously.

"Giles said he'll have us tonight, we'll update you later." Cordelia smiled, circling the car to give Angel a small hug. "Good luck with Spike, I'm going to source out the blood scene here...just in case."

"...thanks." Angel looked uncomfortable with the contact, but reached up with his free arm to pat her hand before Cordelia let him go. "Be safe, okay?"

"Always."

----

Angel is surprised the mansion he used to stay in is still there.

He's positive the Initiative would know about it, but a scan of the area after parking his car out of sight revealed no soldiers or devices of any kind. He's not oblivious to the quiet scuffling of someone inside his former home, however, and after grabbing some things from the trunk and the cooler, Angel heads inside. The scuffling stops entirely the moment he heaves the door open with his shoulder, and after closing the door, he drops his bags.

"I'm walkin' in slowly, so try not to jump at me like a feral cat or something." It's silent, big shocker there, and the older vampire progresses further into the house. Spike should have said something by now as Angel looked around, finally zeroing in on some disturbed dust leading towards the basement, and Angel went down maybe one step before the smell of antiseptic and other nasty things laced the air. "Spike?"

There is no answer, and Angel moves faster this time.

The first thing he sees is Spike's beloved duster on the ground, two large holes dragged down the back, and Angel can feel dried blood around the holes when he picks up the familiar leather. "Okay, Spike, where are you?"

Again, there is silence.

Angel's face shifts with a deep breath, and tilts his head when he hears sudden scuffling coming from his left. "Spike..."

He's not expecting the visceral snarl before he's suddenly knocked to the floor, snatching a pale fist before it connects with his face as Spike pins him to the floor with his other hand, crouched over the other man. Whatever retort he had died on his lips when Angel took one look at the other vampire, gut coiling at his condition.

Spike looked like shit.

No, scratch that, worse than shit. He's a shade or two paler than normal, which while that's a feat in and of itself, the grey veins all over exposed arms and bits of his face that weren't covered in nasty bruises were not normal. Nor were the reddened eyes that focused on everything yet nothing, chipped teeth bared as he hissed at his grandsire in warning or fear, Angel couldn't tell.

"Spike, listen to me." Angel watches dulled blue eyes dart around before staring at his face, and it's a start. "You're going to let me go, right now." There's a quiet growl in response to his words, but the arm pinned to the floor is slowly released as Spike backpedals before Angel can open his mouth, scrambling back until he's clear across the room pressed against the wall. Angel's seen that sort of behavior before, sitting up and shimmying out of his coat, tossing it just far enough to land at Spike's feet.

"Put it on, you're freezing." Slowly getting up and onto his feet, Angel watched as Spike stared at the jacket with a head cocked to the side, a trembling hand reaching out and poking it before whipping it back, as if expecting pain. When none makes itself known, Spike snatches the warm fabric and pulls it around his shoulders like a blanket, snarling when the now human-faced Angel approaches with a box.

"I have blood." The seal Wesley had conjured a few hours ago breaks when the lid is lifted, and the older vampire grabs the closest packet before closing the lid, turning to the cowering vampire. "O Neg, your favorite." He's fairly surprised when Spike scoots away from him, backing himself into a corner while eyeing the blood bag like it was going to stake him at any second.

Angel doesn't like the fear in his eyes.

"Okay, it's okay." Angel turned back to the cooler and set the bag inside, digging around to find a glass bottle he'd stuffed inside just in case they needed a small container for...well, at the time he hadn't been sure. However, he wasn't going to complain, filling it up from the blood in the packet before turning to Spike. He's properly put the coat on during his quick transfer of blood, and Angel can only hope the other doesn't tear any holes in it as he approaches Spike, kneeling down when he's close enough to hold out the bottle.

"Drink."

Spike stares at the bottle, then Angel, then back at the bottle over and over for a few minutes, before after what feels like an eon he snatches the bottle and downs it. It's a messy affair, Spike's hands trembling enough to cause some blood to drip down his chin, and as much as Angel would like to help, he knows for a fact the smaller man would try and rip out his throat, so he doesn't. The bottle is cradled to Spike's chest when he finishes, Spike burrowing himself into the large jacket as if it was going to hide him away from the world.

"It's okay, it'll be alright."

Angel shudders when he feels the familiar presence of Angelus surface from the dark depths of their shared mind, watching as Angel picks up his progeny and heads for the upper floor of the mansion. Spike is deposited on the couch so Angel can start a fire, moving to the bedroom afterward to shake off the dust and cover the bed with fresh sheets he'd brought from L.A.

"I can feel your anger," Angel murmurs to the empty room, cracking his neck when he receives an almost imperceptible growl from somewhere in the back of his mind. "For once, I agree. As much as Spike has been a pain in the fucking ass, he didn't deserve what he got, and I'm not leaving this shithole until I find who did this."

The beast fades away, but Angel knows it won't be for long, able to feel the thrumming of anger under his skin as he goes back for Spike. The pale man doesn't register being picked up, Angel shakes his head as Spike is laid on the bed, pausing to throw the blanket over the sleeping male before letting Spike have the room to himself.

---

Spike slept for a solid 48 hours, Angel dropping in every few hours to force blood down the Brit's throat. Some color has returned to, his admittedly already pale skin, and the rim around his eyes looks like a pale sunburn rather than the effects of starvation. It's better than nothing the older vampire supposed, eventually heading out to pick up more blood for the both of them. It felt strange stalking the streets of Sunnydale after all this time, ignoring the flashes of fear from various demons as he collected the blood he needed from the few sources dotted around town. Eyes are watching as he takes the time to stop at some clothing stores, the duffel bag he'd brought full to the brim by the time he'd checked off his list and headed back for the large home.

Spike is waiting for him.

He's perched on the back of the couch, those dulled eyes sizing Angel up as he slowly sets his bag down.

"Someone's up."

Spike doesn't respond, he just watches.

"Well, I got you some clothes and stocked up on blood, so you're welcome." Angel crossed his arms over his chest, unsure if Spike was even registering what he was saying. "Even scored some of that black nail polish you like, because I'm nice like that."

Spike raises an eyebrow as he scowls, and Angel rolls his eyes.

"That's something, I guess." No longer worried about the other lashing out, Angel scoops up the bag and heads for the kitchen, able to feel Spike's stare as he moves. "The Initiative-" The word is barely past his lips when there's a snarl, and Angel barely has enough time to chuck the bag on the counter before Spike tackles him to the floor, and Angel wishes the floor was carpeted as he slams into concrete.

"You will not send me back!"

It's a frenzied thing that forces its way out of Spike's mouth, and Angel lies completely still as the younger vampire pins him down, eyes darting around the room as he keeps low to the floor.

"They won't find you." Spike snarls again, focusing on Angel's face with an angry look. "They won't touch you."

"That's all they want, touch and take." Spike jerks away, crouching at Angel's feet while hugging himself. "I can't touch them the bloody bastards."

"What do you mean?" Angel can feel Angelus slowly rise again as he sits up, Spike trembling as he curls in on himself.

"Somethin' is in me 'ead, I can't fight, can't hunt, can't feed." Taking a deep breath for a heart that no longer beats, Angel scoots closer, blue eyes looking over before either could blink. "I'm so hungry..."

"I know." Angel sets one of his hands on Spike's shoulder, the other freezing as he stares at the man who shouldn't be this kind, this close, this bloody nice.

Falling into the waiting embrace was never so easy, and Spike decides that oblivion is a nice treat, going limp in familiar arms. He wouldn't be surprised if he never awakens, but just for a selfish moment his grandsire is there to protect him, and it makes the pain lessen just a little bit.

Angel is not as calm, carrying Spike back to the couch and setting him down before grabbing his phone. It takes him a second to pull up Cordelia's number (he still hates these things, if only she let him cast a communication spell) and dial, pacing back in forth in front of the fireplace until she answers.

"Hey, boss man."

"I want to talk to that Riley kid, and I want to talk to him yesterday."

"Okie dokie, just promise me you won't try and kill the guy?"

"...."

"Oh man." Cordelia looks over from her spot on Giles's couch, at Riley and Buffy sitting together at the table and chatting with quiet voices about something.

Angel was pissed, so this kid was screwed.

#buffy the vampire slayer #angel #angel btvs #spike #spike btvs #cordelia chase #wesley wyndam pryce #season 4 based #not sure what I'm doing with this #but Spike is my babygirl and babygirl's suffer #tis a law sadly