#I love my French nonnies

[shinydixon]

Materazzi deserved it tho 💀

And you deserved to lose that match as well 👀

#I'm just kidding you know #I love my French nonnies #I'm just fucking with you

[rileyslibrary]

(Can i just say i love ur work, i too read them like bedtime stories, u perform a great service to humanity my good comrade)

Also, could i request perhaps Reader needing to go undercover for a mission and getting a bit too close for comfort with some baddies and thus making Ghost worry? He’s certainly not jealous by any means tho, of course not! Nope. Not jealous at all. Not even a smidge.

He is tho. He’s jealous. In his own Ghost way.

Thank you for your kind words, nonny and sorry for being so late!

Reader is an undercover tourist in Paris for this one. No warnings, other than a pretty sulky Ghost. More A/N at the end.)

———————————————————————

He hasn’t uttered a word since you returned to your temporary base. No “good job,” no “well done,” no “thank you for risking your life for the team.” Nothing. He didn’t even stick around for the debriefing. Instead, he stashed his gear in his locker and headed straight to the kitchen.

Usually, after a high-stress operation, Ghost would go to the kitchen to make some tea. Yet, the way he went about his business today seemed more like he was about to sharpen his knives than brew himself a ‘cuppa’.

There is a reason he’s upset, though, and you know it. While you are always prepared to risk your life for the team, your latest actions were pretty... out of character, so to speak, and Ghost took notice of that.

You stare at the closed kitchen door, wondering what’s unfolding behind it, how he feels, and whether he can communicate it without lashing out.

“Maybe it’s best to give him some space,” Price advises, narrowing his eyes. “You did a pretty risky thing back there; no reason to push your luck.”

“A whole kitchen’s worth of space, Captain?” you retort. “I’ll evacuate if things take a turn for the worse.”

“Call for backup if you can’t handle it,” he winks at you. “And don’t tell him I did that,” he says, pointing at his closed eye.

You smile at him, and push open the kitchen door. Ghost sits at the table, his back turned towards you, hunched over a cup of tea. He has his balaclava draped over his right thigh and his gloves on the table.

“Your hair is a mess.” You tease.

You reach to fix the stray hairs hanging over his forehead, but he pulls away from your touch. You lower your hand and go for the kettle instead. This will be much more difficult, you think to yourself.

“Coffee?” You offer. Although you know he’d refuse, you feel it’s a good way to break the ice.

Yet he doesn’t reply. Instead, he reclines on his chair and stirs the tea with a metal spoon. With your back turned to him, you pour the preheated water into your cup, add coffee granules, and cool it down with a gentle blow. The clinking of the metal spoon against the ceramic mug continues until it suddenly stops.

“Are you alright, mademoiselle?” He mocks, with a fake—and quite terrible—French accent, mimicking the enemy guard who “rescued” you when you dramatically pretended to twist your ankle in front of him.

A chuckle escapes you, and you turn to face him, leaning against the kitchen counter. He keeps his gaze fixed on his cup.

“I had to buy some time for Soap and Gaz, Lieutenant,” you explain. “They were inside that safehouse, gathering-”

“Intel,” he interjects. “I was there too; no need to rehash it.”

“The guards were dangerously close, sir,” you press on. “There was no time.”

He shakes his head. “No time doesn’t mean dropping to your hands and knees like a coquette, bawling your eyes out, waiting for a French knight in shining armour to come and save you now, does it?” he spats.

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Coquette’? You? He knows damn well the fall was staged, the tears were fabricated, the vulnerability was an act. The fall did hurt; otherwise, it wouldn’t have been believable. But shedding tears over twisting your ankle? No way. You’ve endured bullet wounds in the past, for heaven’s sake, and barely flinched. Ghost knows that. Yet, he looks more…

“Jealous, Lt.?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.” He murmurs, scratching his forehead.

“Say what you want,” You shrug. “But you must admit: it was a pretty convincing fall.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Nothing says more ‘convincing’ like kissing the cobblestones of Paris.”

“Alright,” you say, leaving your cup on the kitchen counter. You cross your arms in front of your chest and nod upwards. “What would you have done, then?”

“Shoot him,” he responds, his black-painted eyes shifting from the cup to you. “That’s why I was up on the rooftop, remember?”

“What’s the point of going undercover if you’d eliminate the threat like that?” You persist. “And in a public place like that? Come on, Lt.!”

He pushes his cup to the side, places his hands on the kitchen table and stands up.

“Have you ever thought of what would have happened if your cover was blown?” He asks, raising his voice. “How was I supposed to protect you if you were right in front of my bloody target?”

You keep staring at him, his last words replaying in your mind.

How was I supposed to protect you…

You look at your mug on the counter; the steam from the coffee is almost gone. It must have been transferred onto him instead, you think to yourself. Might as well let him blow it off. Let him vent.

“I know how to protect myself, Ghost.”

He sits back on his chair and brings his tea closer, shaking his head.

“You should’ve waited for the signal.” He says. “We’ve got a plan for a reason.”

“I understand, s-”

“Falling in front of the enemy, letting him scoop you up like a fucking princess in agony, removing your shoe, fetching you ice from the coffee shop wasn’t part of the plan.”

A smile threatens to escape your lips, but you suppress it. You turn your back to him and pretend to clean the counter. There’s no reason to anger him more.

“Sir,” you begin. “What is the problem here: me not following orders or letting the guard run to my aid?”

“I don’t care about that French prick touching your ankle.” He murmurs.

Well, seems that ‘French prick’ touching you bothered him as much as you not following the plan. You stop fake-wiping the counter, grab your mug and turn towards him.

“I apologise, sir,” you say. “It won’t happen again. But you could have voiced your concerns in a less... abrasive way.”

“Wasn’t the pavement abrasive enough?” He snaps. “What’s next? Are you going to cry over it?”

You click your tongue and approach the table, extending your hand for a handshake.

“Alright, enough,” you say. “Let’s make a truce and end this right now.”

He remains still, looking at you. He finally reaches for your hand, but instead of shaking it, he twists it so your palm faces down. With a smirk, he stands up, brings it to his mouth, and kisses it.

“Isn’t that how that fucker would have done it?” he asks, still smiling.

You roll your eyes. At least his anger has died down and you’re left with his—typical—snarky self. You pull a chair across from him.

“Mind if I sit?” You ask.

“Normally, I’d tell you to ‘hit the bricks’,” He murmurs, motioning for you to take your place. “But you’ve already done that.”

———————————————————————

A/N: I keep confusing “ankle” with “uncle”. You twist your ankle, not your uncle ffs.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley #call of duty #cod mwii #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #cod mw ghost #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley fic

[gojoroui]

what do your moots remind you of?

tysm for turning this in nonnie, i was really exited to try this <3 & the fact i thought i had NO MOOTS when i literally have like 33 💀

@wvnrqs — ribbons & bows, old newspapers, pretty swans, tulips, bubbles during a summer day, vintage books

@ode2rin — cats, plushies, desserts, pillow sheets, clouds during a sunset, slice of life vlogs

@yuzurins — chirping birds in pretty meadows, bubble tea, spring mornings, green tea, flowers, plants

@okkalo — golden coins, rainbows, duckies, cardigans, soft breeze at night, lakes, cherries

@noomon — the sun, diaries, simple yet beautiful things, love letters, projectors, mini fireworks

@yoisami — serenity, raindrops falling down a window, youth, modeling posters, strawberries, bunnies

@mikareo — twinkling stars, lattes, romance k dramas, museum of arts, recording studios, eclipse

@rinzsu — instagram posts, cookies, snowman, masquerade balls, photo albums, the beach

@hanrinz — stars, k-pop concerts, snowflakes, headphones, mini skirts, candles on a rainy day

@rosequarzo — japanese folktale, lucky money, headphones, fantasize by ariana grande, toast, waking up at 2am for a snack

@adoregojo — modern universities, polaroids, black & white manga, hairclips, milk tea, bonnets

@riekiss — winter wonderland, snow angels, jewelry, dolphins bumping noses, mini skirts, slowly plucking petals off a flower

@popponn — frogs ofc, matcha, perfectly healthy & straight grass, keroppi, bootcut jeans, chanel soap

@rewh0re — autumn leaves, wooden instruments, music notes, greek & rome mythology, poetry, sacred monuments

@y2kuromi — sand castles, colorful ice cream flavors, perfect pair by beabadoobee, staying up to talk with friends until 1am, pretty seashells, butterflies

@pokkomi — glitter & sparkles, staring at clouds, fantasy genre, cargos, hello kitty, angels

@yunymphs — models, laufey, coquette aesthetic, anything gucci, attractive girls, money

@520cafe — sparrows, cats chasing after yarn strings, thirsty by aespa, picture frames, rice with soy sauce, playlists

@etoiile — lipstick, fashion, staring at the starry night sky, french cookies, milk, daisies

@moonswolfie — coffee, studying with a candlelight during a rainy day, scarves, autumn breeze, biscuits, puppies

@kyoghurts — saturn, friendly aliens, lipstick stains on a white shirt, peach eyes by wave to earth, carp streamers, chalk

@kxttqi — lilies, sunrise & sunsets, lion cubs, melting candles, strawberries, pretty instagram posts

@kaiser1ns — book shelves, j-pop, cheesecake, birthday streamers, lucky money, tigers

@rninies — aventurine, unforgiven by le sserefim, pochacco, mangoes, flip phones, figurine boxes

@iluvies — kaomoji, koi ponds, expensive restaurants, red velvet cake, pottery, bunnies that have their nose scrunched up

@lovedazai — sweet bananas, lily of the valley, bouquet of roses, the smell when you walk into a bakery, prom nights, fairytales

@scopuo — jjk theme song, video games, dvds, tote bags, japanese apartments, thrift stores

@culturity — watching edits at 3am, stargirl, cleared remix by lilithzplug, nokia phone, laces, ramen

@myuroll — my melody, rubber duckies, alice from wonderland, koi fishes, cake rolls, the feeling when when someone gives you a compliment

@noirflms — flower petals, cherry blossoms, coquette clothing, hoodies, pinterest whispers, apocalypse by cigs after sex

@wishmemel — wish me mell, chocolate covered strawberries, the moon, pretty nails, new york at night, mcdonald’s chicken nuggets

@saelique — ocean waves, san-x, doves, kindergarteners (bc ur cute & fun ^^), friends to lovers trope, headphones, staying in bed for 5 more minutes b4 school

@yeritos — pudding, iced coffee, pearl necklaces, mesmerizing color palettes, skipping rocks, mary jane shoes, lamp

#letters ꕤ ˚₊⊹

[silverstonesainz-archive]

and now?

and when all is said and done... what now?

summary: the one where we hope the streets of monaco won't betray them again. pairing: charles leclerc x fem!driver (nicknamed fleur) word count: 6.1k warnings: google translate french, profanity, tad bit angsty and sad. depending on who you are, you may cry

note: this is it. the final chapter of this series. i hope that this provides enough closure for fleur and charles. i want to say thank you to every single person who has supported this fic and has encouraged me to continue. s/o to my ferrari antis for dealing with me and for hyping me up. truly would've never been able to finish this without them. and of course this story wouldn't be possible without my lovely 🌸 anon. luv u nonnie!!! cheers to the end of an era. cheers to charles and fleur

masterlist

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

True to his word, Charles left you alone. No calls, no surprise visits, no more waving to each other. Friends to lovers, lovers to friends, friends to strangers. But that’s what you wanted right? This is what you meant when you said you needed space and time. 

It hurts you, as much as you hate to admit it. Charles’ cold demeanor hurts you, stings like you’ve never known. But you could never bring yourself to right your wrongs, to knock on Charles’ door to say that you were wrong and that you need him in your life in some capacity or another. But that felt selfish and wrong. You love Charles too much to ever treat him that way, to ever deduce him down to anything less than what he’s worth. Because he is more than your best friend, more than your first love. He is a person worth loving back with as much ferocity as his, worth all the respect a person had to offer. But you’re not sure you’re ready to give that all back to him. You didn’t want to hurt him more than you already have.

2022 was a season filled with challenges, and 2023 was no different. You were fighting tooth and nail in your baby Blue, all while watching Charles completely dominate the season. You watched from afar, every podium, every win, every struggle, and every triumph. You supported him silently, and truly you knew you could never stop. You wonder if he still did the same for you. 

Monaco, a full year since you had won the race and set everything in motion. Your greatest win, and your biggest loss. Race weekend goes as it does, with media and practice all in between. You truly felt the pressure of the weekend starting to weigh you down, the judging stares wondering if you were going to pull it off like you did the year before. Your heart felt heavy as you climbed into your car as qualifying started, helmet on and hands gripping the wheel tightly. 

“Okay Fleur, Tsunoda, De Vries, Stroll, and Piastri are out on the track. You’re all set to go.”

The first two rounds of qualifying fly by, you manage a P13 and P7 respectively. Now, your hands are shaking, clammy beneath your gloves as you prepare for the final round. You ask Lucas to read you the top times of Q2, and low and behold Charles topped the field. 

“Just need to be ahead of the Mclarens Fluer, that’s all we ask.”

Lucas’ reminder is of no comfort, but it is what he sends you off with. By the time you make it onto the track, Carlos, Max, and Checo were zooming past you on their flying lap. You did your best to stay out of their way, moving left and right to heat up your tires while creating enough space to give yourself a good start. Nerves begin to settle deep in your gut as you approach the starting line. You inhale deeply, pushing full throttle as you speed through your flying lap. The track is engraved in your memory, you could drive the circuit with your eyes closed. 

You steer, shift gears, you try to do everything correct. And at the end of it all, by some twist of fate you end up P2. 

“I don’t know how the fuck you did it Fluer, but you’re P2. Charles is P1.”

You don’t hear the rest of what your team has to say to you. All the congratulatory remarks fly over your head, ears ringing as you pull in front of the number two. Your blue Alpine, splitting Charles and Max. You have to sit in your car for a moment longer, trying to calm your nerves. Slowly, you begin to climb out of your car, slipping off your headgear as you approach the two boys who were in deep conversation. You try to make yourself small as you grab your water bottle and towel, but Max is quick to come over and shake you by the shoulders.

“Look at you Flower!” Max teases, “Beat me by eight–hundredths of a second!” 

Your cheeks turn red, “It’s Fleur,” is all you manage to say. 

“Be careful Charles, she might come and take your title.” 

You choke on the water you’re drinking. Charles smiles, avoiding your eyes, as he shakes his head at Max’s comment. You know the Dutchman meant nothing by it, the cheeky smile on his face proving he was just trying to make a joke. He didn’t know any better, didn’t understand the newer significance Monaco held for the both of you. Max walks off, leaving you and Charles to stand there awkwardly. 

“Good job today,” you say. 

He smiles, muttering a thank you before he turns to watch Max give his interview. He doesn’t try to talk to you, doesn’t even spare you another glance. You nibble on your bottom lip, eyes fixated on the opening of your water bottle as you try to distract from the pang in your chest. Max doesn’t take too long, and soon you are taking the mic from him to take your turn in front of the camera. It’s all a blur, just one generic question after the other. You keep your answers short and curt, and you wonder if it’s obvious you’re aching to disappear. The photo op was nothing short of awkward, with Charles hovering over your skin as he pretends to hold you close. You feel your throat tightening as you walk away, and you try to fight back the tears throughout the rest of the day.

You find yourself dreading to get into the car that Sunday. The nerves were sitting, brewing within you and you found yourself bent over the toilet just thirty minutes before you had to get into your seat.

“Fleur, if you can’t do it it’s okay. No one will be mad. Mick is on standby, ready to hop in if you need it,” Lo coos, rubbing your back. 

You shake your head, grabbing some toilet paper to wipe the sides of your mouth. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” 

“Are you sure?”

You nod, flushing the toilet and standing back up. Your reflection shows you your bloodshot eyes, tear tracks staining your cheeks, and your nose runny. You looked ridiculous. You quickly rinse out your mouth, blotting your face dry with the paper towel before returning to the garage. All eyes are on you, everyone suddenly worried and well aware of how differently you’ve been acting all week. Esteban is by your car, smiling sympathetically.

“Est-ce que ça va?” He asks, rubbing your back. 

“Je vais bien.” 

He bids you goodluck before returning to his side of the garage. It isn’t long until you’re driving your car around the circuit, pulling up right next to Charles in the front row. Your eyes fall shut, head resting back against your seat as you take deep breaths. 

You don’t see it, the way Charles is looking over at you as he climbs out of his car. He watches the way you sit so still, so quietly in your baby Blue, he was worried you might’ve passed out. He only looks away when he sees you stir, undoing your seatbelts and removing the HANS device from around your neck. Lo is by your side immediately, coaxing you to drink water which you are quick to refuse. He wonders what’s wrong, almost tempted to walk the few short steps and ask. 

It must be the nerves again, he thinks to himself. You were always one to get sick before important races, sometimes resorting to throwing up just to feel a little at ease. He wonders if you still pop Mentos in your mouth– specifically spearmint– to remove the acidic taste in your mouth. You do, his question answered when he sees Lo hand you a green cylindrical package. He nearly does it, nearly brings himself to walk over and wish you luck, but soon Max is patting his back and he realizes the anthem is about to start.

You and Charles are placed right next to each other, ahead of all the drivers, as you wait for the anthem to play. You don’t say anything to each other, don’t spare him a glance, nothing. The air is thick, awkward, as you both try to pretend that the other isn’t there. The anthem plays, and your head falls backward ever so slightly. Your eyes close and you begin to get your mind back in the proper headspace. You try to forget the nerves, to forget about the event of last year, reminding yourself that they don’t matter anymore. You try to talk yourself off a cliff you’ve made for yourself, and hope to god that you’ll come out of it alive. 

The anthem ends, and the roars of the crowd begin to grow in volume. Goosebumps form on your skin at the sound of the fans chanting for you and Charles, screaming wishes of good luck and love. It fills you with courage, happiness, and almost makes you feel whole. It is only then do you look up at Charles, smile small but resilient and filled with good intentions. His eyes are curious as he stares back at you, watching to see what you were about to say next.

“Bonne route, je suis si fière de toi.” Have a good drive, I'm so proud of you.

Charles’ eyes grow wide, surprised that that was the first thing you’ve said to him since Monza the previous year. Your father’s words, an old tradition you both had packed away for nearly a year. It sparks a bit of hope in him, but he’s quick to shut it down, shaking his head. He smiles back, genuine and shy as he nods.

“Bonne chance Fleur,”Good luck Fleur. His voice is soft, clipped of any emotion. They both stand there, unsure of what to say or do next. No one moves to hug the other, no knocks on the helmet, just frozen in place. Charles finally makes the first move, nodding and turning away to move straight to his car. 

You can’t help but feel slightly defeated, almost downright foolish for saying those words. You shouldn’t be surprised at his response, and you scold yourself for hoping for anything different. 

You climb into your car, gear on and fingers gripping the wheel tightly. Once again it was you, your car, and the streets you call home. And just as last year, the roads you grew up on did not betray you in the slightest, and neither did it betray Charles. 

“P2 Fleur! Amazing drive today, fucking phenomenal once again. The people are happy, singing!

You scream out in utter joy, rounds of thank yous to every single person on your team tumbling past your lips. Your P2 can only mean one thing and it makes your heart soar.

“Results are Leclerc P1, you P2, and Sainz P3. Again, amazing drive today Fleur. Can’t wait to celebrate tonight!”

You let out a giggle, all too giddy about the outcome of the race. You slow down slightly on your cool down lap, placing yourself only a couple of feet behind Charles’ car as you both wave to the crowds of people who screamed for the two of you. Monaco’s pride and joy, the top two finishers of the race. 

By the time you park in park femme, Charles and Carlos are already being grabbed and pulled by the men in red. Your team greets you with the same enthusiasm, your smaller frame being carried left and right as they celebrate you. Just as they lower you, you spot the two Ferrari boys chatting on the side. Your feet move before your mind has time to process what you’re doing. You must’ve looked silly, helmet still on as you sprint across the way to jump on Charles. You hear his squeaky laughter, feel his hands wrap around your middle as he spins you around. 

“You did it!” You shriek, squeezing him tightly. 

“You did it too.” He lowers you, pulling your helmet off your head while you pull your balaclava off. 

You’re beaming up at the Monegasque, panting and overwhelmed with emotion. You can see the tears brimming over his green eyes as looks down at you. Your fingers find his, squeezing lightly. 

“Ils sont si fiers de toi, je le sais.” They're so proud of you, I know they are.

Charles nods, shaking tears onto his rosy cheeks. You engulf him into a hug, one he gladly accepts as he buries his face into your shoulder. The people around you scream and cheer, in awe of the emotion shared between the two of you. When he pulls away, his face is wet with tears, eyes red, but a smile on his face. He rests his forehead against your own, trying to steady his breathing. It’s as if the rest of the world didn’t matter at that moment. It’s just you and Charles. 

Charles opens his mouth, about to say something, but the interviewer calling your name cuts the moment short. Charles’ hand squeezes yours before he finally pulls away and lets you go. There’s another shift in the air between you two, the happy moments you guys shared suddenly forgotten. It was as if that small, intimate moment never happened. You put on a brave face, taking the mic from Carlos and walking up to the presenter.

“Fleur, the fans are screaming for you. They’re excited, happy. How are you feeling?”

You smile, “Ah, it’s probably more so Charles than for me but… I’m so happy. This race was beyond amazing. I’m… I’m very happy.”

“Obviously, there were some intense moments between you and Charles during the race. You nearly took the lead a couple of times. Did you let Charles have this race?”

You have to suppress the scoff that wants to come up. Your lips are tight, a forced smile on them. “I’d never just give up a race, as much as I love Charles, I enjoy giving him a hard time just a little more.” you joke, “But no, I never came quite close enough to ever pass him. He’s on a different level today… What can I say, Charles is simply that great of a driver.”

There is a little more back and forth before you pass the microphone off to Charles. You lean against the door frame to the cool down room, completely enamored at the way Monaco loves him. His eyes are glowing, bright and filled with so much adoration and appreciation for the city he calls home. He looks so happy, and you can’t help but feel your heart melt for him. You only stare for a minute longer before you retreat into the building with the screams of Monaco behind you. 

The celebration that night was nothing short of grand, your teams and Charles’ coming together to celebrate Monaco’s pride and joy, plus Ferrari's double podium. The club is packed with people, everyone drunk and sweaty. You spot multiple drivers on the dance floor, all too intoxicated to bother greeting you. Your team is the first to spot you, screaming your name and cheering loudly. There is a loud chorus of your name and other French gibberish as Lucas yanks you towards the table. It took three shots in a row of straight tequila for you to finally find your way out of the crowd and towards the bar. The alcohol is already in your head, the room suddenly just a little warmer, and walking kind of felt like floating. 

You thought that moving to the bar meant being left alone, but really you should’ve known better. First it was Max, then Pierre, and soon after Daniel, all of them buying a round of shots and berating you until you take one (or three) with them. Now the club was hot, you were sweating, and walking felt like you were on a tightrope. In your drunken stupor, you order one Long Island Iced Tea, just one to get you through the rest of the night. You nurse your drink, sipping along as you dance your way through the crowd and towards the exit. The cool air feels like heaven against your clammy skin, wind blowing at you as you open the doors. You hold onto the wall, steadying yourself all while sipping on your drink.

“Fleur?”

Your head snaps up at the sound of a familiar voice. Charles is looking at you from a couple feet away, eyes squinting as he tries to confirm to himself that it is in fact you. He takes slow cautious steps towards you, only speeding up when his eyes adjust to the dim lighting and can make the features on your face. 

“Are you okay?” He asks.

You nod, taking the straw out of your mouth. “So good.” you slur.

He smiles. It’s a half smile, only one dimple indenting his right cheek. “What are you doing out here?”

“Need air, ‘twas hot in there.” 

He hums in agreement, “Yeah… too many people in there I think.”

There is a lull between you two, with Charles leaning on the wall next to you while you nurse your drink. His eyes are focused on the sky, jaw clenching every now and again. He only shifts his focus at the sound of your incessant slurping, as you try to drink every last drop from your cup. You freeze in your spot when you feel his gaze on you, lips parting ever so slightly. 

Charles is enamored by how innocent you look before him, even in your drunken state. Your eyes are slightly hooded as you stare at him, lips plump and shiny as you pull away from your straw and lick the remnants of your drink off them. He knows you’re blushing by the way your eyes dart away, and how your cheeks puff up while you try to fight an awkward smile. The kind of smile that puts your lips into a scrunched, tight line. If it weren’t so dark, he knows your cheek would be even redder than it probably already was. 

“Do you miss me?” you ask, voice small and nearly drowned out by the cars driving by.

His heart skips a beat at your words. It is completely on fire at the close proximity between the two of you. When you asked for space and time all those months ago, he did his best to stay away. He avoided you as much as his job allowed him, even if it pained him to do so. He wouldn’t talk to you unless it was absolutely necessary. The last eight– nearly nine–  months were some of the most unfulfilling times he’s ever lived. It all felt bland without you. Nothing has really ever been the same, and the longer you spend apart, the more he worries that it will always be that way. But in short, he always misses you.

“Do you miss me?” he counters, looking away and down at his black sneakers.

You choose to stay quiet, leaving the question hanging in the air. It’s thick again, thanks to the unanswered questions. Of course you missed him, but it didn’t feel right to say outside of a club while you were very drunk.

“Can we talk?” you ask, “But when I’m not drunk… I want to talk to you.” 

Charles raises his brow, “Will you even remember this?” 

You nod profusely, but even you doubted yourself. You hoped you would remember. Charles reaches in his back pocket, pulling out a sharpie and you can’t help but burst into a fit of drunken giggles. 

“Why do you just have a sharpie?” 

He looks to the marker then up at you before he smiles sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “I accidentally took it from a fan.” 

This had you giggling even more, hand moving over your mouth as you tried to stop. There really wasn’t anything funny about Charles having a sharpie, truth be told if you looked in your purse you probably had one too. But the alcohol was telling you otherwise, and so now you’re standing in front of a blushing Charles, giggling like he had just told you the funniest joke ever. 

“It’s not that funny Fleur.” He mumbles, a ghost of a smile beginning to form on his lips. 

“But it is. You’re always so prepared somehow, it’s weird.” 

“It’s not that weird.” He whines. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

You shake your head. “It’s not a bad thing, it’s just you. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

The laughter dies down at your confession, the smile slowly disappearing from your face. You begin to panic, feeling as if your comment might’ve ruined the moment, or even deter him from even wanting to speak with you. But then he moves closer to you, licking his lips before pulling the cap off with his teeth. He places the cap on the end, before grabbing your arm gently and scribbling along the inside of your wrist.

“This isn’t healthy you know,” You comment, referring to the sharpie against your skin.

“Yeah and neither is this back and forth thing,” Charles mutters, retracting his touch and shutting the sharpie. 

You’re about to say something but the door swings open, revealing a very drunk Mick. The boy’s face lights up when he sees you, screaming into the loud room that he found the two of you. 

“C’mon, everyone has been looking for the two of you!” 

Charles nods, walking towards Mick and leaving you completely dumbfounded. It takes Mick grabbing you by the arm and leading you in to finally make your way back to the party. The rest of the night is a blur, with more alcohol and even more dancing. You don’t remember exactly how you got home, but there are bits and pieces of Lo carrying you up and putting you to bed. 

You wake up the next morning, head pounding and eyes burning from the sun pouring through your open window. You groan softly, turning over and trying to go back to sleep. You move in every which way, trying to get comfortable and slip back into a peaceful slumber, but your headache and turning stomach keeps you awake. You sigh, eyes opening as you turn to lay on your back. You’re about to rub your face when you see marks of black on your wrist, and you have to do a double take.

Call if you remember. CL.

You were confused, brain scrambling to remember pieces of the night where you were with Charles. You can see Mick… Max… Daniel… but no Charles. You nibble your lip, grabbing your phone to see if there were any texts from the Monegasque, or literally anyone who could explain the writing on your wrist. Much to your disappointment, the only texts on your phone are from friends and your team, congratulating you and reminding you to drink lots of water. You groan softly, sitting up and clutching your head. 

You move about your day nursing your hangover. You sit on your couch, staring at the letters on your wrist over and over, just hoping that something will click. Call if you remember. Remember what? You wonder if you said something stupid, maybe pissed him off, or even worst: hurt him even further. You groan softly, falling back on your couch with your hands over your eyes. Your memories of the night are an incomplete jigsaw puzzle that you are so desperately trying to put together. The feeling of not knowing eats you alive. It makes your stomach turn, heart thumping sporadically beneath your chest. 

You must’ve laid like that for another ten or so minutes before finally deciding to pick up your phone and dial Charles’ number. The phone rings thrice before he picks up. 

“Hello?” His voice is rough, thick with sleep. 

“Hi,” your voice is small, you wonder if he even heard you. “Did I wake you?”

He hums, “Yes. Is everything okay?”

You stare at his messy handwriting on your skin, the black ink beginning to dull. It’s just quiet breathing for a couple more seconds before you decide to speak up. “You said call if I remember… and I remember.”

You lie through your teeth, and you hope and pray you get away with it.

Charles sighs on the other end. “Okay. I don’t want to do this on the phone. Can I come see you?”

“Yes. Yes I’ll be home all day… so just let me know when you’re coming over.” 

“Okay. I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

He hangs up before you get to say bye. Your hands begin to sweat, leg bouncing as the nerves begin to settle in again. You decide on a shower, hoping that it will help you feel better and clear your mind. But even after an entire routine, skincare and all, your mind was still drawing blanks. Charles’ text soon comes, letting you know he’s enroute, just two minutes away. You try to tidy up as best you can, making your bed and rearranging the throw pillow on your couch. These little things used to never matter, but now they’re the only thing keeping you together.

Three taps on the front door tell you that he’s here. You feel your nerve endings come alive, setting your skin on fire as you move closer to the door. You unlock the door, swinging it open to find Charles standing there, Monza hoodie over his head and sweatpants to match. He looks tired, his skin is dull and purple around his eyes. But even then, he smiles and mumbles a quiet hi. You step aside, allowing him to walk in. As soon as you shut your door, you’re trailing behind him all the way to the kitchen table. 

It’s funny how time works, the way the universe manages to bring you back to the same spot with the same person just one year ago. You cringe at the memory of Charles begging you not to let him go, and you wonder if he remembers too. He pulls a chair back, the same one from a year ago, and he pauses for a moment. You watch as he stands there, staring down at the chair. Of course he remembers. How could he forget one of the worst days of his life? 

“Do you want to go to the living room instead?” You offer meekly. He turns around, nodding, before walking towards your couch. 

You sit across each other, maybe two or so feet of space between the two of you. You bring your feet up on the couch, hugging your knees to your chest as you ponder over what you should say. Charles watches you from his seat, the blank look in your eyes as you stare at seemingly nothing. He leans back into the couch, pushing the hood off his head before resting his hands on his lap. He rubs his thighs slowly, trying to keep his hands busy and his anxiety at bay. 

You aren’t sure how long you both sit in silence before Charles finally says something. 

“I do miss you,” His voice is barely above a whisper, a slight waver in his gentle admission. “I always do.” 

Your head perks up, and like that memories of the night before come flooding back. You remember asking him if he did, if he missed you. You remember he asked you the same question back, and that you wanted to talk to him when you were no longer inebriated. You remember the way he looked at you, how good he looked under the street light. 

“Why am I here Fleur?” Charles speaks up again, “Are we going to go back and forth again? Am I going to beg to be in your life, and then you’re going to push me away? Because if that’s how it’s going to go I can save you the trouble and just leave.”

You shake your head, sitting up in your place. “No. At least I don’t think so. I want to talk. I want to fix us… whatever that means.” 

“What do you want it to mean?” He raises his brow.

You’re quiet again as you think about your answer. You know one thing for sure: that you wanted Charles in your life. That you didn’t want things to be awkward and to pretend like he was invisible when he clearly isn’t. You wanted the traditions, the helmet taps, and the juice boxes. You wanted it all back. 

“I still have juice boxes before quali,” You say, “do you?”

Charles’ eyebrows knit together in confusion, but he still answers. “Yes?” 

You smile, nodding. “I spent the last couple of months wondering how you were. Wondering if you still drank juice boxes, if you liked the coffee candies I got you in Austria. I think about whether or not you still hate ice baths or if you’re used to it by now.” 

“Fleur…”

“I wondered if you still thought of me even when you pretended like I wasn’t there… if that night in Monza made you hate me. I wonder what songs you listen to before getting in the car, and if you still tap your heart two times before the lights go out.” You lean back, eyes cast on your legs as your vision blurs with tears. “Truth is Charles I haven’t really stopped thinking about you and how you’re doing.” 

You turn away, looking out your glass sliding doors as you try to swipe away the stray tear that escapes your eyes. You can hear Charles move, feel his body heat as he shifts closer to you. The feeling of his thigh next to yours makes you look at him. You watch as he sticks his hand in the pocket of his sweatpants, pulling a balled fist and opening it in front of you to reveal two coffee candies. The same candies you sent him in Austria last year. 

“I have at least one in my day, maybe two when I miss you a little more than normal. I still hate ice baths, I don’t think I’ll ever be used to it. I have a new playlist for this season… I’ll have to show you sometime. And I tap my heart three times now. One for Jules, one for papa, and one for you.” He balls his hand into a fist, holding onto the candy.

“Avoiding you… ignoring you was the only way I could give you what you asked of me Fleur. But it killed me to do that. My heart always felt so heavy, and I felt like I was winding down this hopeless road. There were moments where I felt like I was going to cave, I came close to walking over and knocking on your door. There were countless times I almost called you, just to get a moment of you. But then… I’d see you smile and I’d hear you laugh and I stop myself. You looked so happy, and I didn’t want to ruin that.” 

At this point, you’re both crying. Every word that came out of Charles’ mouth set your heart on fire, released butterflies in the pit of your stomach, ignited a bit of hope in you. You look up at him, and he smiles at you with tear stained cheeks. He reaches over to you, cupping your cheek to swipe the wet from under your eyes. You lean into his touch for a moment before he retracts his hand.

“I’m so sorry Charles, for everything.” You stammer, your shaky voice betraying you. Tears fall from your eyes, and you scoff at yourself for crying once again. 

Charles frowns, his hand coming to swipe the tears with his thumb. “You don’t need to be sorry. As hard as it was for me, you were right. Time away from me might’ve been good for you, as weird as it is for me to say.” You both let out a short laugh. “It was good for me too I think…. It helped me appreciate things in my life even more. And I never pretended you weren’t there. I always saw you, always heard you. Truth be told Fleur, I’ve fallen even harder for you from afar.” 

Even through tears, he managed to make your heart soar. You are filled with warmth, his words sitting comfortably in your heart. It was like the air was beginning to thin out, that breathing was becoming easier with each passing second. 

“I want you back in my life,” You profess, “I really do Charles. I want juice boxes before qualifying, the pre-race traditions. I want to be able to celebrate with you, and to mourn with you too. I want all the good and bad, everything in between. And I know it’s been a year, and maybe a year too late, but I want to try again.”

You finally said the words Charles longed to hear. He dreamt of his moment for the last twelve months, and yet he finds himself frozen in place. He was drawing blanks, no words in any of the four languages he knows were coming to mind. All he could do was sit there and stare. 

You shift in your seat, leaning your top half back to create some distance between the two of you. “Charles?” No answer. You begin to panic, “If I’m too late then just say so.” Still no answer. “For Christ's sake Charles, say any-”

He kisses you. Charles grabs your face and smashes his lips against yours. Your hands are desperate, clutching onto his hoodie as you move your lips against his own. The kiss is passionate, messy, but filled with love. One of your hands moves from his chest to the back of his head, clutching onto his locks tightly. He kisses you like his life depends on it, like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind. Charles finally slows down, his kisses growing gentle until he stops. His green eyes search yours, looking for any sight of doubt.

“Did you get what you hoped for?” He questions softly, “Did you turn into who you wanted to be… who you hoped to be without me?”

Your forehead pressed against his as you contemplated your answer. The last year has shown you many things about you and what you needed in your life. It showed you the sweet life of independence and the tumultuous journey learning to love yourself can be. So you nod. 

“Yeah. It taught me patience, that being alone is okay. But it also reminded me of how weird life is without you and no matter how far I wander off, or how much I might’ve grown, that I still wanted you by my side. It made me want more. I want more… I want to go all in. Do you?”

He nods feverishly. “A year without you made me love you more, and love who you are beyond me more than I thought I ever could. I want all of you Fleur, so long as you let me have you.” 

You hold his face, kissing him again. He squeezes your sides and you finally pull away. You smile at him, thumb caressing his skin. And as you look at him, you feel yourself bloom under his gaze. His eyes twinkle when looks down at you, bright and lively like you were the sun and the stars in his sky. You’ve never been more sure of anything in your life other than this moment right now.

“I’m all yours Charles. I’ve always been yours.” 

Charles engulfs you into a tight hug, squeezing you tightly and pressing a kiss to your temple. He never wanted to let you go. A year ago to the day, he sat in this apartment with his heart falling out of his chest. He spent that year trying to love you, both next to you and from afar. Charles lived in constant heartache and regret, in fear that he fucked up the only good thing in his life. And now? None of it seemed to matter. All that matters is you and him, holding each other and ready to go all in. 

“Je vous aime. Et je prouverai que je le fais pour le reste de ma vie.” I love you. And I will prove that I do for the rest of my life.

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

taglist: @sluts-inc @sidcrosbyspuck @miniminescapist @amsofftrack @melancholyy-scorpio @strawberrypaul @somanyfandomsbruh @allisonxf1 @ohthemisssery @molliemoo3 @idkiwantchocolatee @charles-dimple @claramllera @ellethewitchbitch @sh4wtybrave @ifancycharlesleclerc @earfquak3 @kissatelier @bisexual-desi @alwaysclassyeagle @buenadiabebeta @allforkook @ironmaiden1313 @sachaa-ff @lovingonshawn @moonyinterlude @oneoftwoghosts @llarue @home-of-disaster @gryffindorbraveatheart

and ofc, my ferrari antis: @kodzubear @meteor-lights @coffeehurricanes @bigdiccricc @micks-afterglow

#wtia #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x you #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 one shot #charles leclerc angst

[matan4il]

There was a supposed fan at the airport, when Mile and Apo returned from Paris, on Oct 3, who body shamed Apo, asking repeatedly how much food did he eat in France and how much weight did he gain.

With or without connection (you decide), Mile posted the next day this story to his IG:

Then the following day, Apo posted this:

The song is Because You Loved Me, and the lyrics Apo included: "I was blessed because I was loved by you. You were my strength when I was weak, you were my voice when I couldn't speak..."

Today he also posted lots of pics of food, including this one of a breakfast at their Paris hotel, saying he wants to eat more, he could eat this every morning.

I'm also gonna add that the other day, Mile unliked a tweet by someone who is his fan, but turned out to be an Apo hater. Mile, who didn't even bother unliking a tweet by someone who turned out to be a Mile hater, went through the trouble of re-finding and unliking a tweet by someone who was being hateful towards Apo.

So, I didn't think I would post about this, I would generally prefer to keep away from fandom drama, but here I am, because whatever one may think Mile and Apo's r/s is, we should all be so lucky to have someone who stands by us like that.

Also, to the kind and lovely Nonnie who sent me a wonderful submission under the title "Oldies" - I loved it! Thank you SO MUCH! IDK if there was anything in particular you wanted me to do with it? If it was just for me to see, please know I did and I enjoyed it very much! I'm really grateful! If there's anything more, please do let me know. I'm wishing you the best of days, lovely! xoxox

(for more of my Mileapo/Kinnporsche posts, click here)

A bonus, thanks to the lovely @coralcherryblossomnightmare!

On Oct 4, same day that Mile shared the first pic in this post, Mile's mom also posted with the caption "One of his favorites." Despite the title saying 'one,' she added two pics of desserts, one that Mile loves (I mean, it IS green lol) and the other is french toast, which Apo loves and ate daily while in Paris!

#mileapo #mkp #mile phakphum #mile phakphum romsaithong #phakphum romsaithong #apo nattawin #apo nattawin wattanagitiphat #nattawin wattanagitiphat #man suang #man suang cast #kinnporsche #kinnporsche cast #kinnporsche the cast #kpts cast #kpts the cast #kinnporschedaily #mileapodaily #kinnporschesource

[bit-dodgy-innit]

Crème Fraîche (Fresh Cream)

Part of my 500 Follower Celebration set in The Shape of Youniverse 

The Prompt: You and the system go on a baby-moon when expecting Baby #2 (your parents watch Nyla) and rent a house in the French countryside. As a present for Steven, you dress up in a milkmaid costume and greet him in it, your recently re-lactating breasts already staining the material when he finds you.

Requested by: a lovely nonnie!

Pairing: Steven x afab!reader, background Marc x afab!reader and Jake x afab!reader, Reader is married to the system 

Spice-o-meter: 🌶🌶🌶🌶, Tré Explicit, Minors DNI!

Word Count: 4k

CW/TW: heavy breast play and lactation kink, Steven has a bit of an oral fixation, roleplaying with a costume, some softdom!daddy kink, dirty talk, pregnant!sex, table!sex, fingering, food kink, a bit of creampie or just a lot of bodily fluids, a dash of dumbification and cockwarming, and mentions of anal sex, masturbation, plus a little self-consciousness on the reader’s part because she is muy preggo. Also mucho aftercare because it’s Steven our beloved

A/N: I’M BACK BITCHES!!! Thank you to everyone who so patiently waited for me to return to my fics, I hope it’s worth the wait! Also special shoutout to @johnny-simpfinger​ since she let me take this idea, tweak it and run with it! 

And yes, this is the second fic in a row I’ve titled in a different language but I’m trying be *classy* okay? It was “Crème Fraîche” or “Got Milk?” 🤪 Also there’s translations of a few bits of dialogue at the end of the fic. 

You couldn’t be mad at Marc for almost spoiling the surprise, after all you had barked at him to get you another towel inside. In his haste to get back to where you were beached on the side of the pool, he’d knocked over your suitcase and found the costume when he was trying to put everything away.

The two of you were on your “babymoon” in advance of Caleb’s arrival, spending a long weekend at a darling cottage you and your husband rented in Provence, France. Nyla was home in London, no doubt being doted upon (if not completely spoiled), by your parents who were in town to watch her. With your daughter, there had been no time for a babymoon since she’d been a surprise souvenir from your honeymoon. Not to mention another trip felt excessive when there was so much preparation to do in advance of Nyla’s arrival. 

Baby Number Two, now recently named Caleb after much consideration and debate between you and your husband, was different. He’d been planned for starters, and with a three-year-old at home, you and the boys were eager to have an adults-only breather before there was another bundle of joy to contend with. The cottage was quiet, secluded, and had a heated pool which meant you could swim even though there was a fall chill in the French air. 

The weather was what had gotten you in your current predicament. You were cold after getting out of the pool, and crabby given that you were entering the home stretch of the pregnancy and Caleb was a big baby. You may have snapped at your husband to fetch you another towel for warmth, leading to him discovering what you’d packed for Steven. 

“He’s going to lose his mind when he sees you in that,” Marc said in no uncertain terms. 

“That’s kind of the point, hun.” Panic suddenly slid down your spine. “He can’t hear us, can he?” 

“No, I’m blocking him out,” Marc assured you. 

You explained that the getup was a “special treat” for Steven since your milk had come in once again last week. 

“Why don’t I ever get a special treat, eh?” Jake had pushed to the front to demand. 

You looked at him, wholly unphased. “You get plenty of treats.”

“Like what?”

“Anal,” you deadpanned. While Jake was rendered speechless (for once) you pressed, “Don’t spoil the surprise, bien Papi? Por favor? Para mi?” 

“Fine,” he grumbled and ceded control of the body back to Marc. 

“So if I send you out on an errand tomorrow, you’ll make sure he’s fronting when you get back?” you asked. 

“Yeah, don’t worry,” he promised you. 

You kissed Marc’s plush lips, taking a moment to admire his body in his swim trunks. Those broad hips and thick thighs never failed to leave you wanting. 

“Thank you baby,” you purred into his ear, drawing him into your arms. 

“Hmm, let’s get you inside, don’t want you to catch cold,” he decided, helping you up to waddle into the cottage. 

You couldn’t help but inquire, “You’re not jealous that Steven gets a special treat this week?” 

“Hmm? No,” Marc answered. “I had you all to myself for a year, and Steven’s become a lot more bearable to live with now that you rock his world on a regular basis.” 

You nearly fell over from laughing so hard at Marc’s blunt assessment. 

 ***

Pregnancy cravings provided the perfect cover for sending your husband out so you could get ready to surprise him. You gave Steven a specific brand of chocolate to retrieve in order to buy yourself as much time as possible. To be honest, it may not even have been sold in mainland Europe, but there was no doubt that you’d make the wild goose chase worth his while. 

“Darling!?” your husband called from the front entry way when he returned. “You alright? I had to go to three places but I found the chocolate! Picked up some stuff for dinner too and—“

Steven dropped the bag of groceries when he spotted you. Ignoring the sound of a jar shattering, you giggled and twirling one of your pigtail braids with your fingers. You twisted a stockinged knee and bit your lip, and trying to assume a very innocently-not-so-innocent pose for him. 

“Oh my days,” he groaned. “Can you have a heart attack from being turned on too quickly?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I’m not really the person to ask. I’m just a simple milkmaid you see.”

“Oh I can definitely see that,” Steven responded. His eyes raked over your form ravenously. 

He started at your white thigh-high stockings (your feet were too swollen and your back hurt too much for heels), then past the little frilly miniskirt with its purely decorative apron, up to the laces of the corset-like bodice that, even though they were let out, still strained over your bump. The pièce de résistance was the white off the shoulder top under the bodice that was stretched to its elasticated limits by your breasts, and sported twin stains where your recently re-lactating nipples were. 

“Merci for the chocolate, but I was hoping you could help me with something else,” you gripped your tits and gave them a squeeze. “Could you milk me, Monsieur? 

“Fuck, babe,” Steven dropped the act momentarily and crossed to you. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, drawing him in for a filthy kiss. 

“You’ve never looked sexier,” he rasped when you broke apart for air. 

Your hand dropped to grope him through his pants. “You’ve never felt so hard, baby.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think being able to cut glass is hyperbole at the moment,” he conceded, his hands flying to their prize. He contracted them around your boobs and was rewarded with a fresh burst of milk. “You didn’t tell me you started lactating again.” 

“Wan-wanted it to be a surprise,” you confessed, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of Steven’s large palms groping your sensitive tits through the fabric of your costume, “Wanted to maaay-make it special.” 

“I’m surprised, and this is very special” Steven confirmed while he dipped his fingers between the costume’s top and your skin. “Can’t bloody wait to get to the bedroom, need you now.” 

“I’m all yours,” you told him, whimpering when he turned you around and walked you into the ledge of the cottage's dining table. 

Your husband gave you a boost, hoisting you atop of the aged wood so you could lean back on your palms. Once you were situated, he wasted no time tugging down the dampened fabric right away and immediately attaching his mouth to one of your pearly nipples. 

His deep, satisfied groan drowned out your high-pitched mewl when Steven’s lips clamped around your teat and pulled the liquid out from it. He drank from you like a man starved, the unrelenting pressure of his mouth prompting you to tilt your head back in an ecstasy that bordered on overstimulation. It had been years since you two had been able to do this and your husband’s greedily suckling made another wave of slick gush from between your thighs. 

For several minutes, the only sounds between the pair of you were Steven’s grunts and your moans. But when he switched tits, you finally found the ability to ask him, “Have you missed this, Daddy?” 

He rumbled around your spit-slicked flesh in agreement. You couldn't help but goad him further, “Do I still taste good?” 

“Better than ever,” Steven popped off your tit to assure you. He brought his lips to yours, trading an absolutely obscene kiss with you that allowed you to sample the nutty, sweet liquid your husband craved. 

“Know what I’m missing?” you questioned breathlessly. Steven’s brow creased at your words. “Your fat cock inside me.” 

Another groan resonated in Steven’s chest in response and his fingertips snuck under your skirt to feel you. “Bloody hell, you’re absolutely dripping for me, aren't you?”

You nodded, your breath hitching when he circled his thumb around your clit. 

“And no knickers? Naughty girl,” he chuckled darkly while slipping a finger inside of you. Your keen encouraged him to insert another digit into your pussy soon after. 

“Buh-but I just want to be good for you, Daddy,” you whined in an attempt to keep up the milkmaid act. 

Your statement reduced Steven to another deep groan. “Yeah? Gonna be good and let me put my prick in you while I suck on these titties?”

You nodded feverishly and your husband did just that. He released his straining member from the confines of his trousers, its tip flushed and leaking already, and lined it up with your soaked entrance. Ever the gentleman and nurturer, Steven took a beat to drape your legs over forearms to support you before he pushed his rock hard cock into your folds. 

Both of you let out respective cries of relief when Steven breached you, and after a moment to adjust, he absolutely went to town on your cunt. The way he fucked you was so un-Steven-like, he preferred slow and deep strokes as opposed to Jake, who was the king of a fast and rough pounding. Marc, meanwhile, liked to play with rhythm, riling you up by hammering into you at an athletic speed, bringing you to the brink of orgasm, then moving to languid rolls of his hips to edge you and prolong each of your pleasure. 

Blame it on the outfit and lactating breasts, but Steven felt that he couldn’t thrust fast or hard enough. The deliciously brutal pace slowed slightly when your husband buried his face between your heaving bosom once more, mouthing at your left nipple before resuming his suckling. 

“Fuck yeah, baby,” you sighed. 

When you had sex this dirty, when Steven worshipped your body like this, you could almost temporarily forget about all anxiety you had about leaving your daughter in London, her brother’s impending arrival, not to mention the stress of prepping for your maternity leave. The combination of Steven’s cock and mouth was so good that you could push those ever-present concerns to the back of your mind and merely focus on how goddamn good it felt to get fucked. Feeling desirable as a heavily pregnant woman was a difficult feat, but Steven, with his bottomless brown eyes, girthy dick, and insatiable mouth, was able to achieve it. 

He moved to your right tit, his mouth latching onto your leaking teat with no hesitation. His grip on your legs tightened at the new stream of milk that entered his mouth. You spurred him on with another strangled sound of pleasure while your pussy involuntary clenched around your husband’s rigid length pummeling your insides. 

Steven wrapped your left leg around his ample hip and began grinding himself into you. You cried out at the change of position and how it allowed him to penetrate you deeper. 

Even in the midst of the mind-melting dicking down you were currently receiving, an errant thought did dance through your brain about the poor people who would rent the cottage after you, eating at this table blissfully unaware that you used it to feed your husband “straight from the source”, so to say. 

“Fuck, darling,” Steven rasped. You kept your leg locked in place around his hip so he could move both his hands to your breasts and pluck at your weeping nipples. “D’you know how much I’ve missed these huge knockers? Couldn’t come back soon enough.” 

“Yeah?” you urged him, your features pinching with pleasure since the change in position had allowed you to get some much-needed friction on your clit. “Did you think about them a lot?” 

“All the bloody time,” he groaned. “Any time I wanked off, I pictured your tits, full and dripping just like this.” 

He punctuated the revelation by squeezing the boobs in question so they both squirted liquid into his mouth. 

“That’s so hot, honey,” you sighed, “Love that you love my big boobies.” 

Your husband changed his assault on your cunt to short, stilted thrusts. “Love you. Such a good mumma to our kids and still so nasty for us.”

“Can’t help it,” you confessed, “you’re so sexy, you turn me on even when you don’t mean to.” 

You didn't get to voice your next thought. It was cut off with a little shriek since Steven sprayed more milk out of you directly into his mouth. 

“Wanna drink from these everyday,” Steven babbled as the force of his hips increased, “need your milk all the time, need to be full of–ohhhh, fuck, love…I’m coming! ” 

He planted his face back into your chest while his release raced through him. Rope after rope of Steven’s cum shot deep inside of you. As much as you wanted to bury a hand in his thick hair to hold him while his bliss crested, you knew you’d likely fall and spoil the moment. 

Besides, it was wickedly thrilling, effectively being forced to accept Steven’s adoration exactly how he wanted to provide it. 

After what felt like a private eternity between the two of you, Steven craned his neck to gaze up at you with besotted and sated eyes. “That was…you alright, love?” 

Speech hadn’t returned to you yet so you nodded as he gingerly extracted his soft cock. 

“You haven’t come, yeah?” 

You shook your head no. 

“I have an idea…if you’ll let me?” 

How was it after all these years and nearly two kids later, you still got lost in your husband’s eyes? 

“What is it, baby?” you whispered. 

“Well, first, I’ll get you a towel and put away the food so it doesn’t spoil,” he began. “Then uh maybe, I could…well you could ride me - back to front, given Caleb,  so I play with your clit?”

“That sounds lovely, but honey, I’m considerably heavier than usual.” 

“I’ve noticed,” he responded wryly. “What, you don’t think I'm strong enough?”

“No, babe–”

“What’s the point of having Marc drag us to the gym and waking up sore if I can’t, you know, put it to good use?” he countered. “Besides, I see the way you look at us.” 

You blushed, which was quite the achievement since your breasts were hanging out of a skanky costume and cum was dripping out of your used pussy. “What’s the point of dealing with my husband’s weird workout schedule if I can’t enjoy the results?”

“Touché,” he grinned back and kissed you gently. “I’m not that old yet, darling.” 

You connected your lips once again, giggling into the kiss. When you two broke apart, it was Steven who was blushing. “I had another idea actually.”

“Hmm?” 

“I…umm…when you said that thing earlier–”

“What thing?” 

“When you asked me to milk you,” he clarified, suddenly extremely interested in the floor. “Was…was that just part of the bit? Or did you mean that?”

You couldn’t mask the look of surprise that instantly colored your face. 

“Forget it, it’s fine,” Steven backpedaled, “Really. I mean you…you did this whole special thing with the costume and I–”

“No, Steven, wait,” you stopped him and angled his chin so he was looking directly at you. “What did you have in mind?” 

The flush on your husband’s face deepened, his eyes rolled back, and then Jake replied, “He wants to - no sé - pump your milk into glass. Because he wants to watch yo–alright that’s enough thank you!” 

Steven had interrupted his alter. “Sorry,” he muttered afterwards, back in control of the body.  

“Don’t be,” you soothed him, “um, we could try it? I think my tits need a bit of a refractory period, but maybe we do it once you’ve got me seated on top of you?” 

“Really?” Your husband's face brightened. When you confirmed it with another nod, he straightened and buzzed with excitement. “Alright, you just stay here, no need to move a muscle. Let me…I’ll get you a towel–”

Steven tucked himself away and hiked up his trousers to flit over to the kitchen in the open concept living area to do just that. He continued to ramble “--and put away the groceries. I mean I feel like I could go all night with you dressed like that and your boobs back in action, so to speak, but we could probably both use a refractory period.” 

You giggled as Steven cleaned the jar of tomato sauce that broke and stored the surviving food.

“You are bloody amazing, darling. I’m going to buy you the whole of Tiffany’s website for this–”

“As much as I appreciate that honey, maybe not the whole website,” you joked. “We have two kids to raise and put through school.” 

“Fair enough,” he laughed, now equipped with a damp towel. Unlike the way he’d just fucked you, Steven couldn’t have been more gentle when swiping the cloth across your nether regions. He finished with a kiss to your bump. “Do you want some of the chocolate?”

“Always.”

Steven returned with the confection as well as a glass for your other activities. Your mutual refractory period was shortened when he insisted on feeding you, so insisted on fellating his fingers while he did so. It wasn’t long before you were making out like animals, you still perched on top of the table. 

“You make me so horny,” Steven exhaled, “nearly everything you do gets my cock hard.” 

“Is that so?” you asked, putting the milkmaid persona back on for a moment as you reached down to feel his erection for yourself. “Oh, Daddy, you’re so big and stiff.” 

“You’re going to kill me,” he hissed through gritted teeth. 

You pushed him away from you and toward one of the dining room chairs. “But what a way to go.” 

“That’s ttue,” he admitted. Steven shoved his trousers and briefs down once again, this time discarding them completely. He sat bare-ass on the chair, legs spread to proudly display his swollen dick, and beckoned you over to him. “Come have a seat.” 

You carefully dismounted from the dining room table and crossed to join him as sexily as you could…which in all honesty, wasn’t that sexy, but thankfully Steven was too entranced by the sight of your still-exposed breasts to properly notice. 

Your husband guided you down onto his length as slowly and delicately as possible. It turned out it was better to stay standing, palms planted on the wood of the table top, as bent over as one could be with a massive baby bump. Steven stood behind you, one hand securely cradled over where Caleb rested and the other toyed with your clit while he speared you apart. 

“Yeah, that’s it, darling,” he coaxed you while he worked his magic on your body, “you gonna cum? Gonna cum for Daddy?”

Your answer was a nonverbal mix between a moan and a sob. Steven upped the ante by attacking your neck with his mouth. He nibbled on an earlobe then murmured, “C’mon, want you to feel good.” 

He combined a particularly devastating push of his hips with a flick to your clit, and the next thing you knew, you were screaming as your orgasm exploded within you. Thank goodness the cottage was on an acre of land, because otherwise the neighbors would definitely complain to the hosts about the noise. You shook like a leaf as your climax surged from your pelvis outward. Your toes curled in your stockings, and you were equally grateful that Steven had a steady grip on you since you feared your legs may give out. 

“Holy hell, Steven,” you panted once you’d floated back to Earth. 

“Good?”

“Understatement.” 

He held you to him and pressed a kiss to your cheek. The tender moment didn’t last long however, because Steven hooked his chin over your shoulder and peered down at your chest. “Hmmm, you’re still dribbling.” 

You glanced down and saw he was right. “And you’re still hard. Shall we?” 

It was a team, if not slightly awkward, effort to get you in a position when Steven could get his hands on your breasts and remain sheathed in you. He fetched a pillow from the sofa to wedge between your bump and the edge of the table to “protect” Caleb and aligned you with the glass. 

“This is a dream come true,” he raved once Steven had reentered you. He cupped your milk-filled mounds reverently. “Best wife in the world, you are.” 

You hummed at the praise, which swiftly transformed into a keen when your husband pumped a tit, angling your teat toward the interior of the glass. Both of you gasped in unison when the first spray of liquid left your nipple. Only about half made it into the glass, but Steven was far from discouraged. You swore you could feel him his erection surge inside of you. 

“Fucking hell,” he marveled and then repeated the action on your other breast. You couldn’t help that another wrecked little sound escaped you, and your husband couldn’t get enough of it. “Oh fuck.” 

Steven proceeded to drain your tits into the glass on the table and while you knew you could not have painted a more lewd scene, you were too cock-dumb and overstimulated to care. This was wildly kinky, profoundly intimate, and you never wanted it to end. 

You’d filled the glass about a quarter of the way before Steven’s hands lost their aim and his hips spasmed, filling you once again with his seed. Despite the post-orgasm exhaustion that must’ve been settling in, your husband had the presence of mind to keep a hand on your tit and drop the other to your overstuffed pussy. 

The pads of his fingers focused in on your nipple, while the ones in between your legs zeroed in on your clit yet again. His skilled hands worked you to orgasm rapidly while Steven’s cock softened inside of you. 

You came once more with a pathetic-sounding whimper and collapsed back into your husband’s torso once your peak had subsided. 

“Honey,” you mewled when he withdrew his member from you. Feeling empty after having his cock inside you for the better part of the afternoon, you nuzzled into his pectoral to compensate for the loss of contact.

“Daddy’s got you,” he cooed into your hair. Steven then remarked, “If you weren’t already pregnant, that certainly would have done it.”

You didn’t have much more in you than to offer an amused snort at his words. Your weak laughter was soon eclipsed by a yawn. “This milkmaid needs a nap.” 

“’Course,” Steve acquiesced. “Let me help you into the shower, okay love? Unless you’d rather me draw you a bath?” 

You shook your head at the idea. “I don’t think I’ll stay awake long enough for the tub to fill.” 

“Alright darling,” he obliged, leading you to the bedroom and en-suite. 

“Wuh–” you yawned again, “What are you going to do with my milk?” 

Steven’s fond smile darkened a tinge at your inquiry. “Well for now, I’m going to put it in the fridge.”

That didn’t satisfy your curiosity. “Are you going to put it into your tea?” 

“Don’t you worry about that love, I have a few thoughts on how to put it to good use,” Steven soothed you. 

“Oh I’m sure you do,” you retorted. The two of you had made it to the bathroom. Your husband turned on the shower tap and undressed you while you waited for the water to warm. 

“Do you want a cup?” he asked you. 

“Of my milk?” 

“No, darling, of tea.”

“Oh. Duh. Um…maybe when I wake up?” Tiredness clung to your eyelids and limbs. 

Before you stepped under the stream, Steven drew you into a final liplock. “I love you. More than words can ever say.” 

“Me too, sweetie,” you echoed. “This’ll be nice to look back on when we’re up in the middle of the night with two kids.” 

“Hmmm, it will, innit?” he agreed. “But we have a little more time until we get there, so let’s enjoy it okay?”

Steven deposited one more kiss to your forehead and then you got into the bone melting warmth and relief of the shower. 

A/N: *peeks out from behind my hands*. So was it good? I haven’t lost it, right? Anyhoo, Steven’s dialoge “you make me so horny” is a direct reference to the instant classic of a sketch he did with Aidy Bryant on SNL. 

Taglist: @twwcs, @rmoonstoner, @hot-mess-express1, @murdickdocked, @toracainz, @saahmi, @unspokenmoon, @winterbiipp, @avatarofseshat @ilikeoldermenhelp, @losers-club6, @harrys-tittie, @ninebluehearts​, @lucianadraven32, @dawnsutopia  @strawberry1042-blog @nikitawolfxo​ 

Translations: 

...bien Papi? Por favor? Para mi? : okay Papi? Please? For me? 

Merci: Thank you

Monsieur: Mister 

no sé -  I don’t know

#moon knight #moon knight smut #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #steven grant #steven grant x female reader #steven grant smut #steven grant x reader #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector x female reader #marc spector smut #jake lockley #jake lockely x female reader #jake lockley x female!reader #jake lockely smut #jake lockley x reader #moon knight x reader #bit-dodgy's 500 follower celebration #oscar isaac #oscar isaac smut #oscar isaac fanfic #oscar isaac fanfiction

[sebastianswallows]

okay so like maybe 7th year Sebastian but like taking a fluffy shower together? Like he's all like 😍😍😍 and MC is like 🤭🤭🤭 iykwim

My sweet anon 😭 My poor little nonny. You sent this ask, like, a month ago, and I just barely now got to it. I'm so so sorry. I really was caught up in other stuff and other WIPs.

But I finally have it for you 💚 I hope you enjoy it, my dear! I kept it fluffy and flirty for you 😘

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!MC [both 7th year]

— WARNINGS: Idiots in love, requited unrequited love, a lot of banter, sneaking glances and looking disrespectfully but also respectfully and just looking, a lot, while naked and wet

— WORDCOUNT: 2.4k

It was their third day travelling together, chasing after a relic that Sebastian was certain was once the property of Herpo the Foul. He didn’t care that Herpo had lived in Ancient Greece, no, somehow Sebastian was convinced that one of his artefacts ended up in the Scottish highlands.

“It makes perfect sense if you cross-reference the footnote from the Dictionnaire Infernal with the artist’s signature from the 7th illustration in the Compendio de i Secreti Rationali and —”

“Sebastian, need I remind you that you can speak neither French nor Italian?”

They shouted at each other as they crossed a mounted wilderness, climbing over rocks, tripping, heaving, and arguing the whole way.

“I have a translation quill, it works just fine,” he said, waving his hand dismissively — which caused him to lose his grip on the edge of cliff he was hanging on to and almost fall backwards.

“And what did you say this item was again?”

“The bowl in which he is said to have bred his basilisk,” said Sebastian excitedly.

“I swear, Sebastian, if we came all this way just for Herpo the Foul’s chamberpot…”

“I know, I know, you’ll make Crucio seem like a tickle, I know,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes.

Once they finally got on stable ground, they caught their breath and looked around. Sebastian checked the map again while she cast a Revelio.

“I think we need to head north from here,” he frowned.

“Yes, about 100 feet that way.”

They had managed a charm on their backpacks that let them store there everything they needed, including flying brooms, but for now they decided to continue on foot and better assess their surroundings. There were clear indicators of where they needed to look, according to Sebastian’s research, and they should have been getting closer. A cave inside an aspen forest, with a river flowing out of its mouth. That both narrowed it down and didn’t.

“There’s hundreds of caves littered all across this area,” he grumbled. “And there’s no way of knowing if the forest is still there from however long ago that book was.”

“Want to give up?” she smirked. “We can be back at Hogwarts in time for the school year to start.” It would be their 7th year, their last, and this is what they spent their last summer holiday doing.

“No. I won’t stop until I find it,” he said. “You’re free to leave whenever, though…”

“Oh please, as if I’d ever hear the end of it.”

In truth, she didn’t want to leave. She didn’t put much stock in Sebastian’s research this time, but she wanted to be by his side whether he succeeded or failed.

What the Revelio charm led them to was an old cottage hidden in the woods, abandoned since long before that map was even made, and right in the area where they intended to look come morning. No more sleeping with one eye open between rocks and crags. Night was falling around them just as the little building came into sight.

It was made of large and heavy stones, overgrown with grass and moss, and had a tilted, somewhat stooping roof. There were an encouraging amount of aspen trees growing around, scattered and few, with more growing thick and clustered in the distance. They looked at each other and smiled hopefully as they finally reached the cottage.

“It isn’t much,” said Sebastian, looking around the little place with Lumos shining at the end of his wand. “But it’ll do for tonight.”

“I claim the bed,” she said, putting her backpack down and rubbing her shoulders.

“Bold of you,” said Sebastian calmly, “to assume there’s any bed at all.”

The place was split roughly into two rooms, one of which seemed to serve as a kitchen, the other as a bedroom of sorts. Most of the furnishings had long since rotted away save for those made of stone. There was a fireplace and a rusty old cauldron still sitting there, and a few wooden stools to show that the cottage had once been lived in.

“I’m exhausted,” she sighed. “And tired and sore and exhausted.”

“I heard you,” smiled Sebastian kindly. “I am too. Tell you what, I’ll transfigure some of these little old chairs into something to sleep on, and you’ll summon us some water, alright?”

With a few lengthening and softening spells, Sebastian could make a pretty good pair of beds for them, with pebbles transformed into pillows, and moss turned into soft green blankets. He spent a bit of time afterwards casting Incendio at the spiderwebs that hung in the corners — after all, getting rid of the furry-legged insects (because that’s what they were) could always serve to make him feel better.

When he was done, he stepped back into the other room. He immediately saw that on the other side, by the two windows, a construction of wooden planks was put together like a little house within the house, and above it were a pair of buckets enchanted with ever-flowing water. Beneath, the stones were softened into a patch of earth out of which grass grew, and there the water disappeared. On the stone windows, which had no glass inside them anyway, were a small hard bar of tallow soap they once bought from a goat farmer in Feldcroft, and a pair of bathing brushes they had brought over from Hogwarts just in case.

“Where did you get buckets?” asked Sebastian.

“I found them just inside the cauldron,” she smiled, her hands resting on her hips. She seemed proud of her creation. “Well, what do you think?”

“I think I can’t wait to get this three days’ worth of dirt off me,” he grinned. “Check the beds, see if you approve.”

“Alright.”

While she assessed his handiwork, Sebastian lit the fireplace. It was small and wouldn’t last for long, but it would do. He sat down on one of the little chairs that were left and started to take his boots off. His feet were sore, his legs were sore, his back ached and his neck was stiff — his whole body needed the gentle caress of a soft trickle of water.

He ran his hand beneath it as it flowed. Not cold, but no more than lukewarm. Still, it seemed a luxury right now. He took his jacket off, and then started unbuttoning the vest beneath.

“What are you doing?” asked the girl as she stepped back into the room.

“What does it look like? I’m going to put your contraption to the test.”

“I made it, I want to use it first,” she pouted.

“Is that so?”

His eyes scanned her up and down. She was his friend… His best friend aside from Ominis. Sure, he liked to tease her now and then, but he never went further than that. She wouldn’t like it. She wouldn’t want it. If she did, she’d have made it clear by now, right?

“How about this?” started Sebastian slowly, grinning in the way he did when he got a really bad idea.

“What?”

Sebastian slid his tie from around his neck — which was already loose from him tugging at it when climbing made him breathless — and then began unbuttoning his shirt, from the top, one button at a time.

“You can use it first, on one condition…”

“I made it, you don’t get to set conditions,” she frowned, arms crossed, but he could tell her hands were shaking. He made her nervous. “But what is it?”

He smiled wider and finished unbuttoning his shirt, tugging it now out of his trousers but not taking it off. Then, he started tugging his belt out.

“The condition is,” he said with a sly smile, “that you can get to it first!”

He had the advantage and only needed to remove his trousers quickly enough, but he didn’t count on her quickly dipping back into the room to get her wand and disappear her robes away. She was naked and beneath the spray of water at the same time as he was.

“I was first!” she said, covering her modesty with her hands and letting her hair fall over her chest.

“No, I was!” said Sebastian over his shoulder. He could already feel a blush bloom on his cheeks.

“Sebastian!”

He threw his fingers through the water and sprayed her face, laughing without any guilt as she turned her head away and started spraying him back.

“Stop it!” she said.

“You stop first!”

“You started it!”

They sprayed each other silly until their hair was wet. Eventually, Sebastian raised his arms in a peaceful gesture and gave up.

“Alright! Alright, you win,” he sighed. “Menace…”

“You’re one to talk,” she scowled from beneath a curtain of wet hair.

Now that they could actually look at each other, they tried not to, standing almost back to back and sharing awkward looks. From the corner of his eye, Sebastian caught glimpses of her, and it was enough to make his face feel warm again.

“Well, I don’t care what you do,” he said, and quickly took the soap from the window sill.

He lathered his arms and neck, then down his chest, sighing as his muscles finally relaxed. The water didn’t seem so cold anymore. Outside, he could see the moon rising in a black sky.

“Give it here,” the girl muttered, taking the soap from his hand.

While she lathered her arms, he allowed himself a smile and let his eyes trace lower, from her shoulders to the small of her back, the angle of her hips, and lower, lower… Even from behind, she was completely ravishing. That was the pretty body that had been hiding beneath her Hogwarts robes? He felt like he’d never be able to see her in a skirt again without imagining those legs, those hips, that —

She caught him looking. He’d been staring for several minutes, his arms frozen in an awkward pose as he tried to wash the side of his chest. The water had nearly rinsed all the soap off him before he even got in with the brush, and his mouth was hanging open. He closed it shut when he caught her eyes, expecting her to scream at him or at least to get angry — but instead, she turned around and giggled.

Sebastian blushed again and turned around as well. He let the water cool his head as he tilted his head beneath it, closing his eyes and swallowing the knot in his throat. He waited for his body to relax, but it never did, it never could around her — not when she was in her skin right next to him.

He looked at her again. She was bent over, soaping down her legs, her hair covering her chest from him, but it was a delicious enough sight to make him moan.

“Did you say something?” she asked, straightening and shaking the water from her eyes.

“Give me that,” he muttered, taking the soap from her hand — but not before catching a glimpse of her from the front.

He closed his eyes and sighed his frustrations away, then started furiously working up a lather up and down his body to distract himself. Behind him, he heard her giggling again.

“Something funny?” he asked a little tersely.

“Yes,” she said. “You.”

“What about me?” he said, afraid of the answer.

“Nothing…”

Sebastian grumbled, but couldn’t be mad at her. He looked at her over his shoulder and smiled, and she did the same.

He picked up the brush and started scrubbing his body, rubbing his arms raw, and his chest and his legs and his back as well. It felt good, it made him feel clean, and each light breeze of air from the open windows beside them made him shiver in a fresh and invigorating way.

Bowing his head beneath the water, he tried to catch another glimpse of her from the corner of his eye. He did. The stretch of smooth skin of her torso with her hair licking down it like an ink spill, spots of white lather where she’d missed scrubbing it off, and enticing little shadows and angles and bends that he wished he could look past to see more of her. When his eyes trailed up her body, he found her waiting for him, as if she knew he would try to look at her again.

“Do you want to say something?” she asked, sounding more smug than he ever did.

“Nothing,” he mumbled, turning away. “Just… thank you, for this. It’s a, erm, neat little contraption.”

“I see you are very much enjoying my neat little contraption.”

“Well, naturally…” he said, daring to look at her again.

She still looked self-satisfied, and for a second, she trailed her eyes down his body as well — his shoulders sprinkled with freckles, his strong arms, broad back — but much like him, she shied away before really having her fill of him, and cooled her blushing face beneath the water.

They finished not long after, all scrubbed clean, the stress of their journey unwound from their bodies — only to be replaced by a new kind of stress. Stretching toward his pile of clothes, Sebastian picked up his wand and undid the water charm, making it stop flowing.

She bent and squeezed her hair dry while Sebastian buried his face in his hands and shook the water off — trying to shake his thoughts away as well. How could he sleep next to her, knowing what her body looked like from such a close, intimate angle? How could he walk with her tomorrow without wanting to see more, to watch her take her clothes off, to see her wash herself again? His thoughts were far away from Herpo the Foul’s basilisk basin now, and he wasn’t even sure he had it in him to be excited when they finally found it. He wanted to stay in the wilderness with her forever.

He needed to sleep, to rest, to think seriously about this, and after years and years he knew he needed to finally confront what she made him feel, and what it meant… He couldn’t wait to get back in the little bedroom.

“Wait,” he said, looking around them. “Did we bring any towels?”

#Sebastian Sallow #yes he used a wizarding version of Google Translate to find Herpo the Foul's long lost chamberpot #Hogwarts Legacy #Sebastian Sallow imagine #Sebastian Sallow x reader #Sebastian Sallow x MC #Sebastian Sallow fanfiction #sswallow;made a thing #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;answers

[holdmytesseract]

Baby Fever!Loki + Dear Theodosia (Hamilton)

a/n: Aww this was so much fun to write and super cute! 🥺🥰 Thank you, dear nonny! I hope you like this! ☺️

Warnings: None, this is pure heart-melting fluff

Word Count: 760

Tagging: @km-ffluv @lokisgoodgirl @eleniblue @vbecker10 @loz-3 @jennyggggrrr @lokisninerealms @peaches1958 @multifandom-worlds @fictive-sl0th @loki-laufeyson-1054 @lovingchoices14 @simping-for-marvel @stupidthoughtsinwriting @lou12346789 @kimanne723 @coldnique @lady-rose-moon @mostclevermiss @aagn360

Lyric-Drabble-Masterlist

Based on this song:

So Loved

The sun had sunken a long time ago now. The beautiful summer sky over Asgard had been replaced by the equally beautiful night sky. Loki stood on the little, yet majestic balcony of your and his chambers, staring into distance. He enjoyed the soft breeze in his hair and the stars twinkling above him. What a day this had been, the god thought. A day he'd never ever forget in his life. How could he anyway? It was the best day of his life (beside his wedding day). It was so clear and yet the realisation had to dawn on him again and again... He was a father now. A father... Something Loki considered would never happen in his life. Not after everything that happened. Not after everything he's been through. Not after all the pain he felt in his heart for years, decades, centuries. Not anymore. Not after he met you. Not since the day he had fallen in love so hopelessly. The pain got replaced by love. By heart-warming, soothing, pain relieving, endless love. This love doubled over the day. Loki's heart was so full and content; beating for his wife and daughter. For you and little Ella. He wouldn't trade this life for anything in the world, oh no... And Loki was going to protect this life he had now at all costs.

A tiny, soft whimper ripped the god out of his deep thoughts. Not even a day had passed and his fatherly senses and instincts seemed already sharpened. He turned to step back through the French doors and inside your and his chambers. Loki's feet led him immediately to the crib, which was placed beside the bed he shared with you. Looking inside, Ella was being awake again; sleepy eyes meeting his. Her little face scrunched up; a heart-wrenching cry left her pouty lips. Loki reacted immediately, of course, put one big hand underneath her body and the other underneath her head, lifting her out of the crib and straight into his arms. "Shhh, princess, I'm here. Daddy's here." Loki spoke in a hushed voice, not to wake you. Ella was still whimpering, but she quietened down, as soon as she felt and recognised, that she was in the safety of her father's arms. "There you go, baby girl..." Loki looked down at her, smiling, before his gaze wandered to you; checking, if you were still sound asleep. You were; clearly exhausted and knocked out by the birth. Your husband watched you sleeping for a moment, studied your beautiful, peaceful face, before he walked on quiet steps back out onto the balcony, taking little Ella with him.

Loki bounced his daughter ever so gently on his arms, trying to lull her back to sleep. He had her cradled tightly against his chest to keep her warm; eyes not leaving her. Ella held onto his free pointer finger for dear life, cooing quietly. The god smiled. Her hand was so tiny, compared to his finger. So sweet. She was so innocent and precious - and all his. "My sweet, little girl..." Loki started, eyes still glued to her. "My princess... Barely born and already so, so loved." Another small coo left the baby's lips, causing Loki to chuckle. "That's right, Ella. Daddy loves you so very much - just like your mama loves you." He leaned down, pressing a soft, delicate kiss on her black fuzz covered head. "You mean the world to me, princess... More than all the nine realms ever could give me." Ella seemed to enjoy to listen to her dad's voice, so he kept speaking. "Back when I was younger, my glorious purpose was to become a king. To sit upon a throne. Be it Asgard's or another. It was all I ever wanted, but now... Now, all I want is to spend all the time I have with you; watch you grow up... You and your mama are my glorious purpose." He smiled again. Crazy how things could change... "I want to be a good father for you, my sweet. You know, my father wasn't around. I swear that I'll be around for you. I'll do whatever it takes. I'll make the world safe and sound for you. I'd do everything for you. Go to Helheim and back for you. Die for you..." Loki swallowed hard; memories of his not always so great childhood flooding his mind. "I want to make everything different - better. I hope I can. I hope I'll be a better father than your grandfather ever was..."

#the baby fever au #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki x female reader #loki x you #tom hiddleston x reader #loki x y/n #loki fluff #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x female reader

[toldthatdevil]

hii this is my first time requesting, I was wondering if you could write something with mommy nat doing our hair for us?? maybe we are getting ready and she takes care of it whilst we play <3 thank you <3

Morning Braids | Mommy!Natasha Romanoff x Little!Reader

pairings: Mommy!Natasha Romanoff x Little!Reader

summary: mommy natasha braiding her little's hair

warnings: age regression, f reader

content: mommy natasha, hair braiding, soft moments, fluff

a/n: hello nonny, thank you for your request and i hope you enjoy it! (i honestly think i spend more time searching for matching gifs than writing)

⧗ ⧗ ⧗

It was morning. Your least favourite time of day. You were slightly grumpy from being out of the warmth of you bed, but it was time to start the day. Natasha would softly whisper to you and stroke the bridge of your nose, the same tactic she used to put you to sleep, to wake you up. She allowed for 10 minutes of grumpiness whilst you adjusted to being awake before scooping you out of bed to start your morning routine.

You sat patiently between Natasha’s legs, your shoulders leaning gently against the muscular thighs that you love so much.

She hummed softly as she brushed through your hair, working her way gently through all of your knots and tangles.

“Oh my dove, how do you even do this to yourself?” She mused, trying to untangle a particularly nasty clump of hair stuck together.

You yawned and shrugged, too preoccupied with the fidget toy in your hand that Natasha had given to you to occupy your time. Having your hair played with and receiving all of your mother's attention was heaven. She knew just how to make you feel safe and comforted.

Natasha carded her fingers through your hair, satisfied that it was smooth enough.

You couldn’t help but lean into her soft touch as her fingertips gently massaged your scalp. A soft moan escaped your lips making Natasha grin. She adored seeing her little girl so happy. She loved it even more that she was the reason why.

A few more minutes passed before Natasha moved to start sectioning your hair.  The loss of her fingers was sad but you were excited for your braids.

“Look up to the sky, Dove,” Natasha said, tilting your chin up for you.

You could feel Natasha gathering up sections of your hair, working her way slowly back, taking her time to make sure it was neat.

Every now and then she would have to adjust your head because you would slowly start to look down at your fidget and she didn’t want your braid to be wonky. 

Once she was done with the left side, she repeated on the other. She tilted your chin up once more, “and look up,” only this time she leaned over to give you a quick peck to your lips. 

“Mommy,” you giggled, her making you blush. You loved her so so much. More than anything in the world. She was your world. And you were hers.

It didn’t take her long to complete the right braid and with the final tighten of the hairband did you spin around to face her.

Your hands immediately went to feel the intertwined hair, impressed with how good it felt. You could only imagine how good it actually looked. Your mommy was the best at braiding hair. French, Dutch, she could do it all.  

“Thank you so much, mommy,” you said jumping into her arms and wrapping yourself around her.

“Anything for you my little dove,” 

⧗ ⧗ ⧗

#natasha romanoff x little reader #mommy natasha romanoff #age regression #natasha x reader #natasha braids your hair #sfw age regression #agere #avengers #toldthatdevil fics

[hellishradio]

🦴 I’ve always had a headcanon that alastor had a southern accent that shows when his mic breaks

"A southern accent! Unfortunately I don't have that, but good guess my friend!"

mod : i love accents <33 i have a similar headcanon where he does let some accents slip but instead of southern, it's french. i always imagined his mother speaking creole french with him sometimes when he was young and it just stuck with him. now sometimes he even slips out a few words like "non" and "oui". love the hc, nonnie!!

🦴 — you send hcs and we react!ㅤ| check out the event! | 100f event

#alastor #alastor roleplay #alastor rp #hazbin hotel rp #hazbin #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel roleplay #hellishradio!asks #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hellishradio!anons #hellishradio!100event #askcount: 142

[oh-saints]

Hi. I loved your last Ruben one, could you do a Ruben one of him suprising you on Valentines Day?

thank you, nonny, and have a blessed valentine's day to you! here's my lil vday choco for you

surprise

rúben remembers you never bother valentine’s day because you’re always busy with work, so he decides to do something out of your character for your first valentine’s day together. it’s always good for a change, no?

rúben dias x you

word count: 1.1k

note: happy valentine’s day, lovelies! <3 this is actually inspired by real-life happenings between me and my bf, whom accidentally had requested something to be inspired by him for my mini vday gift for him. so ofc, only fitting to fit the scenario with the only one he’d approved me cheating on him with. but as usual, i happen to write at dawn so this is yet to be proof-read.

“gatinha,”

rúben hears your whisper from above, just like an angel calling for him from the sky. he smiles involuntarily as he felt your hand grazing his broad shoulder, down to the scapula and lower to the spine. he always loves when you trace the silhouette of his back, something you’re unable to do when standing because he towers you like the giant to the goliath, and there’s also something in your touch that comforts him like no other.

“wake up,”

and he swears can hear your whisper above everything else, no matter how loud and obnoxious the world they’re living in might be. the clarity hidden behind your voice is unmistakable, so pure and rare, and he feels so privileged to be able to hear them. because you use an entirely different set of tone and voice to everyone you consider as colleague, as if you tuck away your wholesome personality under the sleek shirts and pristine suit jackets you always don to work.

“baby,”

the moment rúben feels you’ve placed a featherlight peck on the back of his neck, he’s a goner. he can no longer pretend to be asleep anymore. if there’s one thing that can fight the 1st place that belongs to your touch, it’s your pecks that you like to place all over his skin.

he groans at the sensation of your mouth. he has to, because he has to think of a way to make his blood rush back to his head and not down south. it’s too early in the morning and too early for what he has in mind for the rest of the day.

“good morning, my love,”

but of course, you don’t know what he’s planning so you kiss him breathless anyway. as much as he wants to complain you for taking the carpet off his feet, he’s not going to refuse the way your hands move up gently to cup his face and feel his stubbles underneath your palm. interesting how the soft skin and dainty, french nails contrast his unshaved facial hair.

“bom dia, meu anjo,” unlike rúben who’s into physical touch, you’re a puddle of water whenever you hear rúben’s morning voice. it’s rugged, rough and everything you imagine his voice is like from how he looks like. and that includes sexy in the list. “leaving me so soon?”

“you know i have to.”

you have to shut rúben up before he lets out another word from his beak. you can’t take it, not until you stand up and make distance between the two of you, so you kiss him again before he can speak again. slow and deep this time, your lips are goading him good, knowing you won’t get another dose of this until the day ends, and he growls inwardly at you nipping the bottom of his lips.

wrong move.

you pull away rather harshly and rúben’s momentarily shocked at your sudden movement. only when he notices the growing rose pink tint on your cheek does he realise you have to stop yourself before you have to explain to your boss why you’re late into a client meeting this morning.

“alright, sweetheart. you have a good day at work, yeah?”

but good is understatement to what you have, so far.

as soon as you arrive at work, a huge bouquet of colourful flowers has sat prettily on your desk. too pretty that you don’t want to move it anywhere else, but have to because you don’t have any space left to open your laptop. everyone openly throws playful jealous comments towards you, saying “sorry we don’t have a specific centre back to receive flowers from.”

and you wish they never do because goddamn, that specific centre back surely has a way with words.

Meu anjo, my angel,

I surely have lived thousand lives before this, one that have asked for you, but I thank God everyday that He only gives me you now. Happy Valentine’s Day, minha vida <3

the note succeeds to make you giddy from head to toe, like you’re celebrating this cliché day as if it’s your first.

well, technically, it is. it once slipped from your tongue, the fact that you never think of celebrating valentine’s day. somehow, life cruelly doesn’t give you a chance to celebrate it. it’s either your relationship doesn’t last till february the 14th or there’d always something that came up on that day that makes you have to cancel all your other plans. so you just gave up one day and think of it as any other day. if it’s weekend you sleep it off; if it’s weekday you go to work.

rúben vowed to make your first valentine’s day memorable, once he heard about your behind-the-story, and you know he keeps his words—he always does, like a perfect gentleman he is. but you never expect anything of this grandiose scale because it turns out, the flowers aren’t the only thing on his mind.

as soon as lunchtime grazes its presence to the world, your boss calls you into his office, only to let you know that you’re dismissed for the day. for whatever reason, you don’t know and he doesn’t want to blow the whistle. you have to ask him if he’s firing you.

thank god he’s not. he says, “enjoy the rest of the day,” though, which makes everything more peculiar than it is that you have to pray for the world not to end any moment, despite knowing that you have yet to apply for annual leave for the past year. but that is so you can hop on the jet and fly to spain on the summer, like what you plan with rúben.

but you have the answer as to why your boss is super nice to you on this special day when you’ve descended the building. your humongous boyfriend is already waiting by his car, sunglasses perched on his nose like it’s a sunny february in australia. his smile when he sees you might as well be considered the sun, at this point, and you can only take pity to your boss because rúben must’ve flocked him with his overwhelming persona so you can have a half-day off.

he basks you in his warmth that he radiates from his big, muscular body and you always like it when he bear-hugs you like that. it makes you feel small and short, yes, but it also makes you feel loved and secure—something you truthfully have been missing a lot in life, due to the hardworking life you lead to provide for your family.

“ready to go?”

“where to?”

“do you trust me, my love?”

“always, rúben.”

#anon asks #oh-saints answers #oh-saints writes #oh-saints writes requests #ruben dias #rúben dias #ruben dias blurb #ruben dias blurbs #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias imagines #ruben dias oneshot #ruben dias one shot #ruben dias fic #ruben dias fics #ruben dias fanfic #ruben dias fanfiction #ruben dias fluff #ruben dias x you #ruben dias x y/n #ruben dias x reader

[melodygatesauthor]

Nothing Like Home

Maxim "Kapkan" Basuda X gn!Reader

Original Request: Happy early birthday to you! May I request a Kapkan x Reader with the romantic line, "You remembered my favorite food?" It's the little things that count-

Nonnie YES, I love soft!Kapkan so much. Thanks for the prompt. I wrote this so corny but...I don't care teehee.

Tags/Warnings: SFW, food mentioned, comfort, fluff, romance, just a cute fluffy fic.

Word Count: 390

You were standing in the entryway of the house, waiting anxiously for Maxim to walk through the door. The moment you’d heard he was coming back home from another dangerous Rainbow Six mission, you’d been planning his meal. You knew he would be back early in the morning, so you’d been up since 6:30am just trying to make it perfect.

You knew his favorites, eggs sunny side up, French toast with cinnamon and fresh strawberries, and sausage links. You smirked thinking about the time you gave him patties instead.

“Krasivaya, what is this?” He picked up the patty in his fingers before slapping it into the plate.

“Sausage, why?”

“I will eat it, because you made it, but this is not right.” He did eat it, and every time you made sausage since, you thought back to that day with fondness.

The table was made, orange juice in the fancy glass bottle in the center; you normally only used it for special occasions and this one was as special as any. Your heart leapt when he walked through the door right at eight, tall and broad as you remembered. He wasted no time dropping his bags and grabbing you in his huge arms.

“Krasivaya, I missed you.” He said, squeezing you so hard you thought you might suffocate.

“Max, I missed you too but I can’t breathe.” You managed to choke out before he put you down.

He leaned in and kissed you deeply, you imagined he must’ve been a little touch deprived after having been gone for so long. When he stopped, his sharp eyes narrowed and he took in a deep inhale.

“Is that…” he looked at you with an affectionate smile, “you made breakfast.”

You nodded, “yes I did.”

Other than his obvious excitement to see you, Maxim was excited to finally be able to eat some real food. He made his way to the dining room where you’d put the meal out on display for him. You stood there proudly at your accomplishment.

“You remembered my favorite food…” he sounded a little surprised, “spasibo.”

“I’m glad you’re happy, and I’m glad you’re home.” You felt warm knowing he was there with you, and having a good hot meal.

“I love you.” He said softly, kissing you once more.

“I love you too, Max. Welcome home.”

Birthday Celebration Masterlist

#kapkan/reader #r6s kapkan #kapkan #kapkan r6s #maxim basuda #maxim basuda x reader #maxim #basuda #maxim basuda x you #kapkan x you #kapkan x reader #rainbow 6 siege #rainbow six seige #rainbow six #rainbow six siege #rainbow six siege fanfiction #r6s fanfiction #r6s x reader #kapkan fluff

[rehfan]

New Billy Knight Fic!

.gif by @princess-josephina

Hope in the Darkness

Pairing: Billy Knight X Fem!Reader; Billy Knight X AFAB!Reader

Fandom: CB Strike (TV) — and JK Rowling can still kiss my anti-TERF ass.

A/N: Based on a Nonnie prompt I got who wanted to see Billy take care of Reader during a bout of seasonal depression, so here’s my best effort. I actually don’t really suffer from any depression that I know of, so I’ve had to go off of what friends and the Internet could tell me. If anything is offensive/insulting/out-and-out incorrect, PLEASE let me know. Depression can hit differently for different people, but I hope I got the main parts right.

ALSO — if you liked this, consider this a continuation of the story BILLY’S PETAL which can be found on Tumblr HERE and on AO3 HERE. This story as well as Billy’s Petal may be read together or separately.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY PLEASE (minor children DNI); fluff; depressive symptoms; seasonal depression; seasonal affective disorder; discussion of past physical abuse/trauma; mental illness; physical tics; emotional hurt/comfort; established relationship; cuddling; spontaneous dancing; cute fluff; kissing; French kissing; neck kissing; vaginal fingering; light Dom/sub; cock warming

Find this work on AO3 HERE — I do not post any of my other work to any other site, nor do I give permission for anyone to do so.

***********************************************

You had always been the strong one. The one everyone could lean on. Not that you were superhuman, but you did your best. Most things came naturally to you and you could cope with most of your daily life with few exceptions.

You were also the one your boyfriend Billy could count on. And he was lovely. He tried so hard to support himself and loved you with all his strength, but there were times when he couldn’t handle certain things. Billy had his triggers. Any male voice shouting abuse at anyone about anything seemed to be the biggest one to send him into a tailspin. But these were simple things for you to manage.

You understood his sadness, the dreams that would trouble him. He had explained as best he was able about his father and brother and their specific brand of cruelty. The thought of them and their abuse made your blood boil. Two men, having some responsibility for a boy younger than they, through whose emotional immaturity led them to crush that beautiful soul and almost turn him completely mad. They should both be in jail instead of one in the grave and the other god only knew where.

And good riddance. You got the best of the Knight clan. Billy, beautiful boy, sweet soul, and all yours. He picked wild flowers for you. He danced to no music in your living room. He held your hand during thunderstorms. And he loved you unconditionally. The same way you loved him.

You didn’t plan on testing his love for you. You hadn’t expected to, at any rate. As much as you felt the need to support him, you had no intention of causing him to have to support you. But let’s face it, no one plans on being a burden except those that hold their own lives more precious than others’ lives. And you weren’t like that. Neither was Billy. The word ‘sorry’ was perpetually on his lips - even when things weren’t his fault.

But you understood that it came from a need for self-preservation on his part. Blame for things, real and imagined, had been piled on Billy’s shoulders for the whole of his life. The old man used to kick him like a dog and treat the actual dogs better. The brother would tell him the kick was all Billy’s fault when it wasn’t true. Billy learned that life was meant to be hidden from and people were to be avoided. Yet, there was something of the hopeful about him.

He hadn’t heard of the legend Pandora’s Box before you came along. Why would he have? His childhood was barely there and contained nothing but harsh reality rather than fairy stories. So late one night, you told him. You saw his eyes fill with fear at the thought of all the evil in the box released out into the world in the split second the box was opened, the unleashing of all things dark and vile worming their way through and over, up and around, down and down and down until the brightness of the world was dimmed and thunder crashed and lightning split the sky. “But,” you told him, as you two lay there in the dark listening to the rain outside, “there was one thing that didn’t get out. One thing that remained as a perpetual candle against the dark. Do you know what that was, darling?”

He shook his head. “Was it something worse?”

You considered this. “In a way, it could be, I suppose,” you finally said, “but according to the story, it wasn’t. It was the best thing. It was Hope.” You gave him a moment to let it sink in before adding, “Hope was the last thing left in Pandora’s box. It was small. It was fragile. But it glowed with an everlasting brightness that pushed away all the dark around it. And that, Pandora preserved for all humanity. To this day, it is the one thing that fights the darkness everywhere we look. “And Billy,” you said, kissing him on the cheek before burying your face in his neck to sleep against his warmth, “it’s the thing I love the most about you. Your hope. The thing that helps you fight the darkness that surrounds you. Don’t ever give up the fight, my darling. You’re worth it.”

He embraced you and you fell into the feel of him, comfort and softness leading you into your dreams that night and every night since you two had gotten together.

The overcast sky was muting the sunlight for the umpteenth time on a snap-cold day in late January as it attempted to lighten your shared bedroom. Billy was up with his alarm and turned to you across the pillow. “Good morning, lovely,” he whispered. “Shall I get the brekkie started?”

“M’not hungry, thanks,” you said. You felt awful. If you were honest, you had been feeling this way for a while. At first, you suspected a flu, but no sore throat or cough made an appearance. You only knew that you were more and more drained of energy as the days grew shorter and the nights grew longer. This morning, your body had had enough.

“You need something for breakfast,” he said. “You have to work today, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied, “don’t want to though. Going to call in today. Need to sleep.”

“You feeling peaky?” His hand was at your forehead.

“I’m fine, babes,” you reassured him. “Just tired.”

“Oh,” he said. “Okay.” You could hear the dismay and concern in his voice and you wished you had the strength to smile brightly at him, to fool him and yourself that you really felt much better than you did. Thing is, you had already been doing that. Today, the cupboard that contained all your fakery was bare. All you had were raw emotions. You were an exposed nerve and you needed to cover yourself in blankets and drown the world out with layers of cotton.

He got up and showered. As he was quietly dressing, you could hear him thinking. His mind was so loud sometimes. But he didn’t say anything to you. He simply padded his way to the kitchen where you heard him preparing something. Somewhere between the pan hitting the hob and water running in the sink, you drifted back off to sleep.

He spoke your name softly from the door of your bedroom and your eyes snapped open. Stocking feet came forward and a mug of tea was at your bedside table with some biscuits. He knelt down, his face close to yours. “Have some tea, petal.” He brushed your hair out of your eyes, caressing your face. “I’m off to my job now. Have you called in yet? You want me to?”

Damn. You had forgotten to call in. Your brain was made of mush and everything was too slow. “Please call Jackie for me,” you said. “Tell her I’m sorry.” It wasn’t like you to be irresponsible. You were the dependable one. How could you be so thoughtless and unprofessional? Tears welled up in your eyes and you let out a sob.

Billy’s forehead was against yours as he pet your hair and hushed you. “Please tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart? Did I do something? Did I forget something?”

“No no, Billy,” you said. “Nothing to do with you. It’s all me. Don’t know what my problem is. Just feel so fucking horrid. Just call Jackie for me and get to work, eh? I’ll be alright tomorrow.”

He didn’t want to leave you. But he did call Jacks. She was surprised but understanding. You never took days off that weren’t planned, so she knew if you did, you really needed it. You could hear him on the phone with her, thanking her profusely. Bit much, darling, you thought. You’re not asking for her to spare your life. But that was your Billy: always grateful for the least thing anyone could do for him. Another remnant of his past trauma morphed into something society would brand as ultra-polite and more than acceptable.

“Now go to work,” you insisted. “I’m the one feeling grotty. Not you. Go. Go earn a living.”

He gave you a tight smile. “I hate to,” he said. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

You didn’t say anything. What fight you had left was gone. Sleep called for you again. He came to you once more and kissed your forehead. “I’ll check back with you at lunch.” He made sure your phone was on the charge and within reach before saying, “Drink your tea. It’s getting cold. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The front door closed behind him and the house was silent. You slept.

A hand on your forehead woke you. “Shh, love. S’just me,” he said. You didn’t open your eyes. It took too much effort. “Still feeling poorly?” You uttered a grunt and felt him slide behind you in the bed above the covers.

“I’m on lunch, but I told Eric you needed me at home. That you weren’t yourself.”

A twist of guilt filled your gut. You groaned again, disparaging his decision. He hugged you tighter, the long line of his body braced you from behind and you couldn’t help but sigh a little. “I know, I know,” he said into the shell of your ear, “but you’d do the same for me. In fact, you have! Remember last October? You stayed with me for days after I ran into Jimmy.”

“You were off your meds,” you mumbled. “You needed me.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “and you need me now. You always take care of me. It’s my turn to take care of you. I just want to know what’s wrong.” He rubbed your arm and kissed your ear. “You said you’re not sick. You don’t have a fever that I can tell.”

“I’m tired,” you said. You felt small and fragile.

“Do you feel like you want to wrap your whole body in cotton wool?”

“Uh-huh,” you mumbled.

“I think I know what’s wrong,” he said. “You’re starved.”

“M’not hungry, Billy,” you said.

“Not for food,” he said, “for sunshine.”

Suddenly, you were moved onto your back and Billy hovered above. “I’ll dance for you, shall I?”

“Wha-? What?”

He pulled out his phone and fiddled with an app, moved to your stereo, and soon Katrina and the Waves were blasting “Walking on Sunshine” from the speakers. His arms flailed and his feet stomped. He had this comical way of biting his lower lip as his head bopped to the music and his eyes were screwed shut with the joy of feeling the music pulsing through the room. Eventually he caught your eye and smiled at you, shaking his hands toward you, then his hips, then wiggling his ass in your face.

It was all so sudden and ridiculous and over-the-top you couldn’t help but burst into uncontrollable laughter. By the time the song ended, you had tears coming down your face and you cheered and applauded your boyfriend as he took a deep bow. Hands on his knees and breathless, he stopped the music and smiled shyly at you, asking, “Did that help any?”

“I think it might have, yeah,” you said, hoping that your words would be the truth. You had never felt so overwhelmed by such sadness before. Only you weren’t grieving. It wasn’t “sad” as you had known it to be. It was as if you were longing for something that didn’t exist. Your body was in desperate need of a thing no one had invented yet. It took away your ability to breathe properly, to exist properly. You hated the feel of it, the slipping away of your power and control, leaving you a husk of yourself.

Billy was watching you carefully, his knuckles coming to his nose in his worry. His tic didn’t reveal itself often these days, but when it did, it always signaled agitation or nerves. A pang of guilt ran through you and you reached out to him. He came to you readily and you hugged him tightly, thanking him over and over for his kindness.

“I’m going to get you more sunshine, alright?” He pressed his forehead to yours. “You let me? You let me help you forget the brain gremlins?”

“Brain gremlins?”

“Yeah,” he said, kissing you sweetly on the mouth. “It’s what I call it when the meds aren’t working the way they should and I have my symptoms return. The whispers and the images, the memories of the pain. The brain gremlins convince you that you’re never going to get well. That you don’t deserve the good things you have. Brain gremlins always lie. You need to forget them.”

“And so you’re going to drown them out with-“

“More sunshine!” he said, a gleeful glint in his eye. “Stay right there. Don’t move.” He dashed madly about the room searching in the bottoms of all the drawers and digging in the wardrobe until he pulled out your floppy sun hat, sunglasses for you both, zinc sun cream that smeared bright yellow on your skin, and your bathing suits.

He threw your suit at you demanding you ‘get dressed’ and ran out of the room searching for something else. You had no idea what was happening, but slowly you peeled your sleep shirt off and slipped your panties down, arguing with him from across the flat that it was the middle of winter. It’s as far as you got when he came thundering back in the room with your Polaroid camera and a beach towel that had the image of a postcard with the word MIAMI written across it.

“What are you doing? What are we doing?” you asked as he leapt on the bed and tacked up the towel just above the headboard letting the material drape over it.

“Backdrop!” he said. “For the photo shoot!” as if it were the most self-explanatory thing in the world.

“Photo shoot,” you repeated dumbly.

His intentions were readily explained once you both had donned your swim suits. He intended to take selfies with the Polaroid as if you two were on vacation somewhere tropical. You couldn’t help but smile at all his efforts. He had you making silly faces, smearing each other’s noses with the zinc, sipping on fake tropical drinks he Frankensteined together in the kitchen, and other silliness. After a while, you grabbed the Polaroid from him and started taking snaps of him while flexing his muscles. He took ones of you in shy poses because without his strong arm around you, you didn’t have the energy for much more.

“God you’re pretty,” he smiled at you, snapping just one more to capture the blush that spread across your face. He collapsed next to you and kissed your cheek. Polaroid pictures were everywhere. “We’ll have to buy a scrapbook for all of these. You can look at them when you’re not feeling yourself.”

Tears welled in your eyes, a mixture of adoration and exhaustion. His efforts were wonderful, but you were done with activity. “Want to just cuddle now, babes. Can we do that?”

Slight alarm registered in his big doe eyes. “Of course! But first, let’s get you cleaned up? And you never touched your tea from before. Your blood sugar is probably low. Let me get you a cuppa, yeah?” He got up and brought back a warm washcloth to wipe the sun cream off then went to make some tea. After settling you in with your beaker and one for himself, you relished the warmth of both the tea and of his arm around your shoulders.

“Thank you, my love,” you said. The bone-weary feeling you had been fighting all day still had not let up, but knowing that you weren’t a burden, that you were loved and doted on, somehow made the weight you carried just that much lighter. You didn’t know when these doldrums would lift, when the ‘brain gremlins’ would stop their torture. You had no foolproof solution to your problem. But you did have a wonderful human who gave a damn about you and the longer he held you and gave you gentle kisses in your hair between sips of tea, the more your heart swelled with love for him.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured as you finished your tea. “That’s my good good girl.” His praise was warming certain other parts of you. He took the cup from you and returned them both to the kitchen before coming back to you, forming a warm, solid barrier against your back and wrapping a protective arm around your waist, hand splayed on your lower belly.

His mouth found your neck, pressing stubbly kisses into your skin. You hummed your approval, letting yourself fall into his touch. “Mind if i join you in there? I’m kind of cold now.”

“Please, baby,” you said softly. Sleep was calling you and you were torn between loving on your boyfriend and falling into slumber. The duvet ruffled and the mattress bounced with Billy’s fidgeting to get under and close to you once more. Once settled, he kissed you on the shoulder, nosing along your neck to kiss at your ear.

“You really are wonderful, you know,” you murmured.

“And you’re everything to me,” he said, his hand moving south to rest on your thigh. “I just want you to feel better, love. Can I do that?” He sucked at the pulse point on your neck and slid his hand between your thighs. “Say if you’d rather I didn’t, alright? Tell me to stop.”

“No, baby,” you said, pushing back toward him and raising your leg to give him better access. “You always make me feel so good.” And you wanted him. You wanted to feel better because of his touch. You needed it more than you could ever express.

His hand rested on your sex and you moaned a kiss into his mouth. He was in no rush, however. Your kiss was languid and deep. His hand held you, not pressing in, just resting, warming your mound, fingertips resting just above your clit as his tongue explored your mouth. You felt yourself get wet.

You kissed down his jawline as he said, “Love you so much, petal. You’re such a good woman to me. Want to do everything I can for you. We don’t need to have sex. Just want to please you. Make you sleepy and warm. Comfortable. Okay?” His hand smoothed against you, rubbing you gently with his whole palm. Your hips canted against his touch, instinctively seeking friction.

“Make me cum, Billy,” you sighed. “Your hands are amazing. Please, my love.”

Fatigue didn’t allow you to do too much except lay there and take Billy’s ministrations. And you were fine with that. His hands had become more and more familiar as your relationship had developed. Now he could make you mewl like a kitten with the suggestion of fingering you. And now here he was, willing to do just that. You felt a coil of heat in your belly as the scratch from his stubble rubbed against your neck and his middle finger pressed ever-so gently deeper, seeking out the depths of your folds from outside your bathing suit.

His breath was loud in your ear, your small whimpers joining it as he continued to massage your vulva, matching the rhythm your hips set. “So beautiful. My precious girl. Thank you for letting me help you. Only want good things for you.”

“Need your hands on me properly, Billy,” you said and he slipped his hand under your suit.

“Can never say no to you, can I?” he asked, huffing a laugh into your neck. Gasping at his touch, your hand came up, fingers weaving into his hair and coming around to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.

He mouthed at your ear again. “Can never resist you. Always want to do what you say. But today? Today I want to distract you. You need to get out of your head. It helps. You stop me if it’s bad, okay?”

“Such a good boy, Billy. Always my good b-boy. Thank you, ” His finger grazed your clit, just brushing it gently, teasing it. You bucked toward him for more contact and he pulled back.

“No, darling, no. Easy. Just be still. Let me do this,” he said. “Listen to your Billy, yeah? My turn to take care of you.” You shivered as he pressed again, not enough to satisfy, but just enough to turn your skin to goose flesh. You turned your face to him, eyes wide, watching him concentrate on you, his lips parted, pink tongue coming out to lick at his lower lip as he traced his thick finger lower against your inner folds, giving just enough sensation to your pussy to make you keen with want.

Your legs spread even farther apart. Your knee was now balanced on his thigh behind you as you dropped your foot to the mattress behind him. Your lower hand pulled the swimsuit material all the way over, giving him full access to every part of your cunt. The rest of you tried not to move as he had asked. It wasn’t easy.

All you wanted him to do was plunge his fingers deep inside you and give you every reason to scream his name. As it was, he was just barely touching you and it was pure delicious torture. Your breath was unsteady as you waited for him to explore further, but the less he gave, the more sensitive you became to anything he was giving you. It was as if the ridges of his fingerprint were the only friction you were going to ever get from him and your clit could feel each individual loop and whorl.

“M’barely touching you. You’re falling apart on me already, petal?” he teased. He was enjoying himself. “So gorgeous and all mine, yeah? Tell me? You are mine, aren’t you?”

Your words weren’t coming. You could only communicate through the helplessness in your eyes. Your mouth opened to speak but only your stuttered breath came out. When you didn’t verbally answer him, he sought your eyes. “Petal? Are you mine?” His hand stilled.

You swallowed hard. The depths of his eyes threatened to drown you. “I am yours,” you whispered. “I am always yours, Billy Knight. Yours to love forever. Are you mine?”

He pressed his forehead to yours. “I don’t know who I’d be without you. You make me want to be a better person every day. You pull it out of me. And now I’m going to give back to you. Because you deserve it. You deserve all the good things, love. My sweet understanding girl.” His thick finger fell into your wet folds as his mouth captured yours, tongue sliding along yours thick and heavy as he drew his digit’s length along your valley eliciting a groaning moan from your mouth as he finally gave your body the friction it had needed.

There was nothing languid about his motions now. Now he was driven to give you everything you wanted. He was smoothly aggressive, fingertip seeking your stiffened clit and circling it, flicking over it, only to circle back around it again. Your earlobe was being worked by his lips, tongue and teeth as he held you captive, your body ready to writhe, but your heart not wanting to disobey. It was all you could do to keep as still as you could and endure his touch, his exploration of every crevice and your heart skipped a beat when he plunged his finger two knuckles deep inside you, thumb hitting your clit and working it until you were keening again.

Tears were starting in your eyes with the strain it took not to buck into him and you cried into your pillow. “Baby?” he asked, his hand stilling again.

You grabbed his hand and urged him onward. “Please, Billy. Darling. Please.”

“B-but you’re crying, love?” he said, clearly terrified. “Have I hurt you?”

You answered him by kissing him passionately. “No, please. It’s so good. Please. I just can’t move, remember? It’s torture, but beautiful torture.”

He kissed you and eased you fully onto your back, his finger still inside you. “You were still doing as I told you?” He marveled at you. “What a good girl you are. Those tears were for me? Fuck.” He pressed further into you and you arched your back at the pressure. “Can you take another finger? I think you can. You’re really wet.” A second finger joined the first and he stilled them inside you waiting for you to adjust, kissing down your neck to your breasts.

“More, Billy baby,” you said, your body shaking again, hands carding through his curls at his mouth made its way down the valley between your breasts. Sighing at his movement, his fingers curled inside you, pulling at the coil of heat in your belly, your hips undulated, reacting without your permission, his thumb deliberately sending heat boiling through your veins.

His head came up. “Naughty,” he warned. You huffed a nervous laugh and pressed your ass to the mattress, willing your body to be still for him.

“Sorry, Billy,” you said. “W-won’t do it again. Please don’t stop. Please. Love this.” You never suspected he would be so willing to take charge, or that he would be just a little good at it. It was hot.

His brown eyes were already dark but they blew wider at your words. A feral look came upon him and he whispered: “Promise?”

“Promise.”

He smiled at you and his mouth was on your clit in a moment, tongue teasing, flicking, and pulling your next orgasm out of your body. You cried out, aching to move against him, begging him to cum. “Billy please. Please let me cum. Please- God! Fuck!”

He met your pleas with a grunt, then said: “So wet. So fucking delicious. Cum, petal. Come on. Cum for me. All over my hand.”

And you did. You let go with a scream of his name and a string of epithets. Billy sucked your clit through it all, his fingers and mouth finally scratching that proverbial itch that you had needed him to scratch for the better part of the last hour. You pulled his hair gently as you panted, needing to taste yourself on his mouth. He complied happily, humming into your mouth as he withdrew his fingers from your cunt. He fed them to you. They were glistening with your slick. He withdrew them slowly, his eyes devouring the sight.

“Can I put my cock in you? I’m really quite hard, love. All your fault, I’m afraid,” he laughed shyly.

And you would have loved nothing more, but your fatigue was through the roof. You were incredibly spent. “Don’t really have anything left for you, Billy, honey,” you said. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh but you don’t have to do a thing,” he said. “Here, let me just…” He rolled you back over to your side, your knee back on his thigh. You could hear him pulling his cock out, hissing with the sensitivity of it. For as long as he had been finger-fucking you, he had to have been hard for a long time. His self-restraint was remarkable.

The tip of his cock felt delicious against your opening and you closed your eyes. His breathy whisper was in your ear, “This is all I want. Just to rest here inside you.” His head entered you with that distinctive pressure-and-release followed by his shaft. The dizzying feel of him inside you, throbbing there, resting along your walls, filling you was everything you wanted. How did he know? You didn’t even know that this was something you wanted. “Just like this… Just this much… So warm. So beautiful and warm.”

He was as good as his word, his cock hardly moving inside you. Just small little adjustments that caused his breath to catch. You moaned when he did, sleep winning the fight between itself and your body getting fucked properly. You drifted off to sleep with him inside you, feeling satisfied and full and grateful for the man who held you and nuzzled his nose into your neck, kissing the skin there softly and loving you with his whole heart.

You may have been struggling in the darkness all day long, but Billy was your Hope, your candle against the evils of the world, real and imagined. And as long as you were together, neither one of you would struggle in the darkness alone.

************************************

Tagged readers: @chaoticgood-munson ; @h-ness1944

#fanfic #writing #fandom #joseph quinn #joe quinn #billy knight smut #billy knight x y/n #billy knight #billy knight strike #billy knight x reader #cb strike #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #ao3 author

[kydrogendragon]

I'd like to see 25 of the Valentine's prompts with Gault/Lucienne

Aaaa, we love these two together! This was a cute one to write, so thank you for the prompt, nonny!

Pairing: Gaucienne Words: 537 Warnings: None~ Ao3 Link here

Gault pushes open their bedroom door with her hip, the tray in her hands steady as she makes her way across the rug covered floors to the bed. Lucienne looks up, still sprawled out across the white sheets. She sighs, stretching her limbs high above her head as she slowly shifts herself up into a sitting position. Gault carefully climbs into bed beside her, balancing the tray with assorted breakfast goodies as she settles in.

Lucienne reaches over, sliding her glasses onto her face as she leans into Gault’s side. It’s early by Gault’s standards, late by Lucienne’s, so she’s glad to see her newly titled fiancee sleeping in for once.

Light streams in through the sheer curtains of the large sliding glass doors that lead to the outer balcony. The door is cracked open, just slightly, to allow in that fresh salty sea air and the gentle crashing of waves. The house sits just on the edge before the land turns to sand. It’s quiet out here, tucked away in a small corner so it almost feels like they’re all alone. It hadn’t been easy to reserve this spot—Hell, it’s usually booked out years in advance due to it’s perfect location—but if there was ever a time Gault was thankful to count Morpheus as a friend, it was now. There’s nothing those Endless connections of his couldn’t do. She owes him one.

“Good morning, my future wife,” Gault says, nuzzling into the side of Lucienne’s head. Lucienne chuckles, tilting her head up so as to press a kiss to Gault’s lips. They’re soft, as always, and part so sweetly for her that it makes Gault’s heart sing. As Lucienne sighs, blinking away the sleep from her eyes, Gault can’t help but feel incredibly lucky to have her in her life.

“Good morning,” Her eyes are soft as they ease on down to the french toast, eggs, fruit, and coffee that litter the tray between them. “Is this for me, then?”

Gault chuckles. “Well, I figured you wouldn’t be opposed to sharing. But yes.” She pressed another kiss to Lucienne’s cheek before handing a fork to her lover. “Here, dig in. You’ll need the energy for my plans for you.”

“Oh?” Lucienne says, arching her brow. “And what exactly is it that you have planned for me?”

“And ruin the surprise?”

“Not even a sneak peak?”

Gault shakes her head, fondly. “Fine. Let’s just say that extra suitcase I brought has very little clothes and a whole lot more fun packed inside. And I very much intend to use each and every one with you.”

“Is that so?” Lucienne’s gaze is sharp as she glances over at the smaller iridescent suitcase in the corner. “And is there the option for me to use these goodies you brought on you?”

“If you’re good.”

Lucienne smiles with a huff. She takes her fork and cuts off a corner of the syrup covered french toast and lifts it to Gault’s lips. “Well then, I best be on my best behavior.”

Gault closes her mouth around the bite, letting her tongue dart out, caressing the pronged metal as she stares Lucienne down with darkened eyes. “Yes, yes you will.

#ky writes #the sandman #gaulcienne #gault the sandman #lucienne the librarian #valentine's day prompts

[uchihaharlot]

Cross dressing Itachi on a public train and Shisui getting…touchy.

lol NONNY! It was so late when I originally started this, my eyes were bugging out. I had to be up for work at 4:15a…. Lol.

I…I don’t even know how Itachi even would end up in this situation? It had to be a misunderstanding. Something devious Shisui would do for his own pleasure, or maybe it was a dare and Itachi is such a hard ass that he won’t let Shisui call him a bitch…

Soft NSFW; cross dressing Itachi; mild voyeurism; itchy skirt; excessive teasing and one severely annoyed Itachi; mildly proof read.

…either way, here they are. Sitting on the newly built public transport system that Konoha’s tax payers decided they needed to have… regardless of the how or why. Itachi sat pretty in pink. Literal pink. The stupid skirt didn’t really fit properly, the thong that divided his ass cheeks allowed for the rough fabric of said skirt to itch his rear.

Even more irritating was the fucking twin French braids that Shisui paid Izumi to knot all through his hair. Shisui couldn’t hide the smug grin from his face as Itachi did everything in his power to subtly scratch his ass. Even if he dragged himself across the floor like a damn dog it wouldn’t help.

‘Where in this gods forsaken village did you find this thing?’ Itachi voiced his concern and annoyance to Shisui.

‘A thrift store.’ He chirped, watching as Itachi tirelessly crossed his legs and adjusted his manhood. Shisui briefly wondered which testicle would slip out of the thong first.

‘Which thrifty so I can avoid it at all costs.’ His low growl laced with venom, Shisui still chuckled.

‘The kind where undsold items from estate sales get donated to.’ No ounce of shame as Shisui slipped a hand under his skirt, ‘damn. I thought the right one would pop out first.’

What the actual fuck, was all the bitch face in the world that Itachi would manage before the perpetual wedgie started in again.

‘You’re despicable. I’m wearing someone’s dead relative’s clothes?’ He sneered at Shisui.

No wonder. It took him this long to figure out the fabric was wool. Itachi blamed it on his inability to focus on anything but the ass floss and the fact the Shisui was now cradling his left testicle. And now palming his soft dick.

‘…you’re not as aroused as I hoped you be.’ Shisui pouted.

Swatting his hand from under his skirt, ‘of course not. Nothing about this is arousing, or comfortable.’

Snickering even more, Shisui ran his hands under and then over Itachi’s thigh, ‘let’s do get help, hmm? Sounds fun.’

No, it didn’t fucking sound fun and here’s why. Because Itachi would have to play the damsel in distress, feigning he was incapable of taking care of himself. For the love of gods he did not want to play, ‘get help.’ Feeding Shisui’s childlike tendencies was exhausting.

‘..no.’ He hissed. ‘Final warning.’

Shisui raises his hands, ‘ok, ok. You could at least let me jack you off.’ How was any of this supposed to be arousing? This was Shisui’s, the golden genjutsu boy of Konoha, best idea of a date night? His genius must be deprecating with age.

‘…fine.’ Itachi hisses, ‘only because I don’t want to listen to you whine.’

Though Shisui sinking between his legs, and hiding underneath his skirt while servicing him was not merely a handy.

#shisui uchiha #itachi uchiha #shiita #shisuita #uchiha clan #uchiha family #uchiha shisui #uchiha itachi

[teecupangel]

Hi, I don't know if you know call of duty : modern warfare 1 and 2 but this been brainrotting me cos just imagine Desmond ending up enlisted in the millitary by some weird chance (like an undercovered mission after surviving from the Temple) and gets promoted really quick and somehow got to be got selected to be in task force 141 (they're SAS) and Desmond is like how the fuck I got selected? And everyone is like newbies doesn't take down very muscular soldiers four times their size easily and can walk silently on their feet. I also see him like some hot twink in the millitary because of Ezio charisma from his bleeds or maybe in an intimidating mysterious character because of the scar. I hope I didn't annoy you with this and btw I love your assassin's creed Ao3 works and would reread Yew Branches series and The White Aster of Masyaf 🥰❤

Hi nonny!

(Thank you! I'm so happy that the Yew Branches series and the White Aster of Masyaf so good that you would reread them and I would never be annoyed. I love getting asks of any kind and asks that makes me write plot are so fun to do ^w^)

So... My father and I play the campaign modes of all the COD games I can get my hands on for cheap XD (I have a soft spot for Advanced Warfare because the controls reminds me of Titantall 2 which is my favorite fps... next to Metro Last Light)

Unfortunately, this means that I haven’t played the reboot MW yet as I’m still waiting for them to go really cheap. :(

The OG MW Trilogy is my favorite COD campaign story though and I’ve seen some scenes so I have a vague idea of the plot of the reboot.

Anyway, let’s talk about how we can make this COD:MW x AC crossover work!

Of course, it will be set in Modern Day but that includes having all those advanced securities and other techs. Not to mention that military-grade tech is usually years ahead of the tech available to the public so it would be very risky for Desmond to falsify his records even if this was a joint Assassin-Erudito mission. Not just because of the army itself but also because Abstergo has got to have an ally or a plant there somewhere.

There is also that little thing with Abstergo posting his photos everywhere and going “have you seen this man?” but we’ll get back to that later.

I did briefly consider the idea of making this about Desmond joining the US army instead of becoming a bartender (maybe even going by the name 'Johnson' hmmmm?) but that wouldn't work since all those medical checkups would have flagged him immediately.

However…

A lot of military personnel having missions on foreign soil usually have a translator with them. Not only that, these translators are usually locals and, depending on the urgency and priority of the mission, background checks of translators could be spotty at times.

Enter Desmond using the fake id of one Eddie Richtofen (who is voiced by Nolan North in COD).

Now, in this setup, the mission has to be somewhere his Bleeds could help. This means a mission that needs a translator fluent in Italian, Arabic, or French. He’ll join as a translator for a ‘run in the mill’ job being conducted by the US Army, specifically by the US Army Rangers, 1st Battalion, 75th Regiment, Hunter 2-1 with Sergeant Foley and Private Ramirez.

They’re a special task force but this was meant to be one of the easy ones. Just a search and retrieve operation. Unfortunately, intel is too barebone so they have Desmond act as their translator when they need to talk to locals. Desmond was just there to confirm if there have been local Templar activities in the area and tagged along to make it easier to do recon.

Shit goes straight to the fan almost immediately because Desmond realizes all the locals they’re talking to are red. He and Ramirez have a kind of budding friendship going on because Desmond feels a kindred spirit for the quiet Ramirez who keeps getting ordered to do shit so he talks to Ramirez about it. Not about the Eagle Vision itself but about how something is just off with these locals. Something’s not right and all Desmond has is his guts.

Ramirez believes him because Desmond hasn’t lied to them and he gets Foley and the rest to be cautious.

That saves them when they get ambushed and the locals turn out to be an extremist group.

Things turned into a fucking shitstorm when the target they were sent to retrieve turns out to be a POE that is now hooked into this metal chamber and is emitting off the chart energy reading.

They have to retreat without retrieving the target because the extremists got reinforcement and Ramirez and Desmond get caught in a blast that sends them flying. Just as five men are about to shoot them, all five men dropped to the ground.

Desmond tries to get up but stops because he’s pretty sure he just broke a rib (or three) and sees three men quickly getting to their position. One of them knelt just ahead of them, semiautomatic aimed in front of them while the other two knelt next to Desmond and Ramirez.

The man next to Desmond wearing a tactical vest over a short sleeved black shirt informed calmly into the small radio strapped to his vest, “Bravo 7-1 to Bravo 0-6. We found two of the Americans.”

“Good work, Soap. Bring them in.”

“Roger that.”

And that’s when Desmond blacks out.

.

.

When Desmond wakes up, he’s now on a military base and he and Ramirez get debriefed about what just happened.

Long story short, Task Force 141 received more information about the POE (codename ‘Soma’) and they believe it’s being transported to Makarov who is their main target.

They still have no idea what ‘Soma’ is meant to do but those energy readings they had retrieved from Ramirez had given them an idea that it could be used to power something.

Or, worse, be used to cause a country-ending explosion.

Whatever Soma is meant to do, they must find it and intercept it before it could get to Makarov.

Of course, because there were American casualties, this has now become a joint mission between the US Army and SAS.

Taskforce 141 will be leading the operations and Ramirez gets drafted to join them as part of the whole ‘joint mission’ thing. Desmond gets roped in because they saw how he managed to take out many of the extremists with freaking knife throws and how everyone had a hard time seeing him as he stealth his way to taking out the extremists.

Of course, Desmond’s whole situation as part of the mission is iffy even when they received orders to take him in from the higher ups but someone Captain Price trusts vouches for him.

Captain MacMillan who may or may not be an Assassin who knows Bill Miles or may just be an ally of the Assassins. All Desmond knows is that MacMillan vouched for him with a “He’s my friend’s estranged son. Good man, terrible father. Kid went world-hopping to get away from his bastard of a father when he was sixteen.”

Not only that, this whole joint mission was scrambled together in a hurry and it was not helped by the fact that they need to find and retrieve Soma before it reaches Makarov so the Assassins were able to cobble together Desmond’s cover story and they had helped from the higher-ups in the US to make it all legit.

So Desmond Miles is now a military kid with a retired father who have all his missions classified. He’s now using his real name because the Assassins weren’t exactly that smart and they were on a time crunch too.

His world-hopping turned to him joining a secret task force (which may or may not have been implied to be the CIA) and the whole ‘terrorist thing’ was a way to get him some ‘street-cred’ so he could go undercover and infiltrate a secret terrorist group.

“Wait, if you were undercover since 2012, why are you now pretending to be a translator?” Soap asked with a slight frown.

“Mission was done.” Desmond shrugged, “Got a new mission. My handlers told me this translator job would be a good way to ease me back into the field.”

“And now you’re part of a joint task force under stressful time pressure. Wow, mate. Your luck sucks.”

“Yeah… it’s like the world hates me.”

.

.

.

Unorganized Notes:

Soap, Ramirez, and Desmond are usually called the three stooges and they get roped into doing tasks together a lot during missions.

Desmond’s Haytham Bleed once slips and he starts speaking in his posh British accent when he gets into an argument with a member of Shadow Company, after that Gaz starts teasing him and calling him ‘milord’ much to his chagrin.

141 starts making bets on what is Desmond’s actual nationality. Haytham’s Bleed has Gaz firmly believe that Desmond is from old money (like all boys boarding school trust fund baby type) and is a British pretending to be an American. Soap thinks he’s European, probably Italian or French. Ghost didn’t want to join in but Soap is persistent so fuck it. He picks Middle Eastern because he once heard Desmond speak Arabic and Ghost just knows that accent is Syrian. (“How do you know his accent is Syrian?” “I just know.” “That’s not an answer, LT.”)

They meet up with Alejandro and Rudy later on because they believe Soma is traveling to Mexico and all of 141 loses it when they learn Desmond speaks Spanish (thanks to Ezio traveling to Spain for a bit)

Because of Desmond’s secretive past, his ability to turn anything into a weapon (even a freaking spoon), being a polygot, being very quick on his feet but staying quiet even when he’s holding a grenade launcher of all things, everyone is pretty sure he’s CIA.

Desmond’s unofficial nickname is ‘Spooks’ because they believe he’s CIA and he has a habit of making people jump whenever he’s suddenly next to them and they didn’t even hear him.

I don’t like how they made Shepherd into a typical corrupt military commander in the reboot so we’re sticking with OG Shepherd’s personality in this idea…………… this does mean that he has a more drastic plan for the future though

Speaking of Shepherd, Shepherd is an Assassin in this one. To be more precise, he’s the Bellec type of Assassin.

Captain Price has an idea of what the Assassins and Templars are but he’s not fully in the know. However, he does know Berg because he once had a mission with him back when Berg was part of the Finnish Special Forces (and Berg’s name was part of the shortlist for 141 members, he was removed when Price learned of his Abstergo affiliations)

Speaking of: Kate Laswell has been secretly looking into Abstergo but she’s been hitting brick walls and she’s sure it’s because someone in Abstergo is on to her. Since she’s CIA, she doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty and she’s been secretly colluding with Erudito to gain more intel on Abstergo. She doesn’t know about the Assassins yet but she’s sure that this little favor of helping Desmond be a CIA operative (with possible deniability of course) means that Desmond is part of Erudito and that Soma is connected to Abstergo.

Both Kate and Shepherd prepared different backstories for Desmond and both of them didn’t know about the other’s plans until Desmond was already noted to be a military kid turned CIA operative with missions filled with so many black lines it would have been easier to just leave full black papers on his files instead. That was… an awkward conversation to have.

Desmond is on his own because it's too risky to stay in contact with Shaun and Rebecca. However, Shaun and Rebecca leave messages that Desmond could only find if he uses his Eagle Vision in the army bases they're sure Desmond would stop by (thanks to Kate's intel). One of them leads to a box that has Desmond's hidden blade.

Captain Price may or may not have Eagle Vision. Desmond isn't sure yet.

#technically ramirez doesn't have to be in this plot but fuck it #ramirez is one of our fav cod mc #ramirez! add the proper tags! #no seriously i don't know how to tag this properly #i guess we just do the usual #assassin's creed #desmond miles #james ramirez #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #john price #captain john price #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #simon riley #simon ghost riley #task force 141 #general shepherd #kate laswell #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #rodolfo rudy parra #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #modern warefare 2 #ask and answer #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed