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munsonkitten · 2 days

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Sub Eddie Week day 3: Brat Eddie (with spanking & daddy Steve) | Read the full fic on AO3 [Explicit] @subeddieweek

Eddie gets into this mindset when he’s on stage. This headspace where he’s the most important person in the world because everyone’s singing his words and screaming his name. He’s a fucking diva, Steve won’t even deny that. He struts and he moves a certain way and he does whatever the hell he wants whenever he wants to do it.

And he gets a little mean. Just a tiny bit. Steve would call him bratty, but everyone else would probably say mean.

Steve has him in the dress tonight, skimpy underwear underneath, plugged up and ready to go the second he gets off stage because Eddie gets like this. He gets in this headspace, he floats up into the clouds, and Steve’s there to make sure he comes back down to earth gently, makes sure he doesn’t fly too close to the sun and come crashing down.

He makes sure Eddie doesn’t say anything he regrets when he gets off stage each night.

That’s kind of how this all started — Eddie had been high on god knows what, he’d been drinking, he’d been too fucking self centered, and Steve just… Snapped, really. He snapped because Eddie demanded another drink after a set and almost made someone cry.

He told Eddie to get his shit together. He told him to apologize.

That made Eddie stop dead in his tracks, and his eyes cleared, and he slumped a little bit, stumbled into Steve a little bit, and Steve steadied him because that’s what he does, and Eddie apologized, and then he turned and apologized to the person he yelled at, and after that — well, after that, they figured out Eddie responds well to Steve.

They’d been fooling around for a few weeks at that point. Nothing serious, just… Two guys in close quarters who trust each other, getting off together. They’d both been realizing things about themselves, both of them having only been with girls before that, both of them realizing it was never as good doing anything with girls as it is to get a simple handjob from a guy, and well…

It wasn’t hard to figure everything out. Their system for before shows and afterwards.

When Eddie needs to come back down to earth and Steve’s the one who gets him there.

Steve’s the one who really runs the show, after all.

Just as expected, Eddie takes a different guitar halfway through the set and he’s not entirely nice about it. Steve lets him go this time because now isn’t the time to remind Eddie who he belongs to. Eddie belongs to the crowd right now.

The crowd belongs to Eddie.

Steve just needs to wait, watch as his boyfriend acts like a whore for nearly twenty thousand people, watch as Eddie soars, his fingers dancing on his guitar, as he wails into his microphone.

He watches from his spot side stage, and he waits. He waits until the moment he needs to reclaim Eddie, and not a moment later.

The last notes of the set fall silent, but the venue lights stay dim. The crowd screams for an encore, and Eddie’s running around backstage trying to keep his energy up. Steve forces a bottle of water into his hand and makes him drink a few sips of it.

Eddie rolls his eyes, tugs anxiously at the hem of his dress, making sure it covers everything because he won’t have his guitar during the encore because he goes down into the crowd, standing on the floor as everyone parts around him, and sometimes he stage dives, but not tonight because Steve told him he can’t. No one can touch him tonight, not when he’s dressed the way he is with barely anything on underneath. He’s not flashing his dick to every poor sucker who gets stuck underneath him while he crowd surfs.

Before Eddie goes back out, Steve drags him in for a kiss, hidden in the safety of the darkness. They’re not exactly open about their relationship, the world isn’t quite ready for full openness, but they don’t exactly hide it either. Steve knows he’s allowed to do this, and Eddie needs it right now or he’s going to jump out of his skin.

He feels the moan against his lips more than he hears it, a sound just for him in the middle of a roaring crowd. He squeezes Eddie’s hip possessively, pulling him in even closer.

“Easy there, daddy,” Eddie says with a smirk. “They’re not done with me just yet.”

Steve’s blood burns red hot in his veins. That makes him want to take Eddie back to the dressing room and have his way with him right now.

But he can’t, so he just turns Eddie around by his shoulders and playfully smacks his ass to send him away.

Then Eddie’s off, running back on stage while the band kicks off their final song.

Hometown shows always get Eddie extra revved up. Something about being so loved in a place so close to where he was so hated. Steve knows assholes from high school are out in the crowd pretending they loved Eddie all along, telling stories to strangers about how Eddie was back then.

It makes Eddie feel bigger than the entire world.

When the last notes ring out and Eddie climbs back on stage and the lights come up, Steve’s there. He’s there to catch Eddie by the arm and drag him down the hallway to his dressing room. Everyone else has instructions on packing away equipment, everyone knows to give Steve and Eddie enough time to sort things out. They know not to touch any of Eddie’s guitars, even the ones that Steve already put away in cases when they were done being used for the night.

They know that Eddie will be useless after all of this, that he’ll follow Steve around like a lost puppy while Steve packs up amps and guitar cases and makes sure everything else is in order before they head to the next city.

“Stupid,” Eddie grumbles as Steve pulls him down the hallway backstage. “Fucking. Ex. Why the fuck — no, it’s — it’s fine. Maybe it’s not fine because why the fuck does she think — no. No, it’s fine.”

He’s always muttering about something or another after a show, and Steve knows he just needs to forget about everything, to be able to let it go. Steve likes when he gets like this — all mouthy and annoyed. It means they get to have fun, that Eddie will be mouthy and talk back to him and give Steve more to work with. It means he gets to put his hands on Eddie and make him fucking whine.

“You forgot who you belong to,” Steve tells him the second they’re behind a locked door.

“Oh yeah?” Eddie taunts. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Gonna have to remind you,” Steve whispers before pushing Eddie up against the door and crashing their lips together.

Eddie’s reaction is to push back, to shove Steve over to one of the old couches up against the wall, but Steve doesn’t let him. He pins Eddie where he is, a knee shoved between his thighs, hands on his wrists above his head against the door.

“I don’t think so, baby,” Steve warns. “Need you to remember.”

“C’mon, then,” Eddie says. “Get on with it.”

“Be patient,” Steve says. But he knows Eddie can’t be. It’s why he’s in a dress and just a pair of panties that can easily be pulled to the side — because they both need the easiest access they can get, no time for extra constraints tonight.

They learned their lesson last time they were in Indiana, when Eddie decided to wear fishnet tights, underwear, and a pair of ripped up jeans. Only the jeans made it through that encounter, and that’s only because, try as he might, Steve can’t rip through denim with his bare hands.

Eddie still pushes back against Steve, but he’s half hearted about it, already slipping down where Steve likes him.

“C’mon,” Eddie grunts, pushing his dick down onto Steve’s thigh. The dress is riding up, showing Eddie’s cock straining inside his underwear as it hardens against Steve’s jeans.

“Go over to the counter,” Steve tells him, releasing Eddie from his grip. “Bend over.”

“Make me,” Eddie challenges.

And so it goes like it always does — Steve picks up Eddie around the waist and carries him over to the counter. He shoves him down over it, pushing the dress up over Eddie’s ass to put him on full display. He tugs the black panties up by the waist band, making them disappear into his crack. Eddie whines, and Steve knows the plug just got pushed even deeper inside him.

He’s beautiful like this and Steve tells him. Scars and tattoos on pale skin. Steve thumbs at a scar on his back, slides over to the edge of a tattoo on Eddie’s side.

“So pretty,” Steve says again. He lightly grazes his fingers down, presses at the base of the plug inside Eddie.

Eddie jolts beneath his touch. He makes a noise of protest when Steve draws his fingers away, and he sighs in relief when Steve tugs the underwear down. A light tap to Eddie’s thigh has him stepping out of them and kicking them to the side, automatic in his movements.

“Aw, look at you,” Steve coos. He can’t hide the slight laughter in his voice. “So sweet and obedient for me.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie shoots back, looking at Steve over his shoulder with a playful glint in his eyes. The words aren’t all there, like Eddie’s forcing the front today, like he wants to give up the performance and just let Steve have him.

Read the rest on AO3

#steddie #my fics #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic #steve/eddie #stranger things #subeddieweek #rockstar eddie munson

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zialltops · 2 days

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honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

masterlist | ao3 | spotify playlist

You chance a glance over at the outlaw in the driver's seat while he scans his surroundings like he’s done this before, the rear view mirror and the road ahead never leaving his sight. “What if they catch up to us? I don’t want to get arrested, Joel!”

a/n: howdy folks! I’m pulling my head out of my ass and getting back into writing. These last few weeks have been leveling put for me and I’ve been feeling a lot better compared to how my life HAS been. These two were the perfect break even though this took my two whole months for only a few thousand words. I’ll be back sooner than last time with an update, but you’ll see me before then for another wip. Much love, hayhay 🤍

Chapter 8: What Was I Thinkin?

Three hours ago, if you asked Joel how the night would come to its end, he’d tell you he’d probably be in the cabin, laying in his cold bed, staring up at his ceiling fan, alone—with his right hand working his dick to the tune of the farmer’s daughter. In fact, three hours ago, he’d told Tommy something similar.

“Joel, man—I promise It looks fine.”

He adjusts the buttons on his shirt another time, stuck between leaving one undone and letting the opening linger down his chest. “Fine ain’t gonna cover it, Tom—ain’t no way in hell I’m walkin’ up to her lookin jus’ fine.” Tommy huffs from behind him and starts to go through the closet beside Joel while he stares at himself in the body length mirror behind the door.

“What about this one?” Tommy beams, He’s holding up a black shirt on a hanger, slight dust on the shoulders from it’s lack of use. He’s half surprised the moths haven’t gotten to it yet. Its buttons are made of iridescent pearls that snap in place, labyrinthian embroidery adorning the breast pockets. “Ain’t worn it since before the accident.” He lifts one of the sleeves in his hands, lingering on the fitted cuff.

His mind takes him back to half forgotten nights under neon lights, long neck bottles and ropers calluses on his rodeo-worn hands. To money wasted on buckle bunnies and broncs, to years taken off his life under the sharp hooves of a one ton animal—years he’ll never get back. Years he wishes he’d never taken for granted.

He was a more confident man then, not cocky—but proud of his abilities in the arena, proud enough to walk tall, speak surly. He was a master in his sport because he trained religiously, fully immersed in the idea that this was his only shot at making it. He still believes that, even now. He wishes you could have met him then, when he was that Joel—Rodeo buckles and spurs, cowboy hats and stadium lights. When he was a white straw hat and chaps, an unsullied grin with a thirst for adrenaline and belt buckles.

He holds the black cotton between his well worked fingers and longs to be that man again—if only for one night. Would you like him? A cowboy in his prime with worked muscles, before his beer belly and the softness in his chest really set in? “This one’s good,” he huffs, brushing the dust off the shoulders before unbuttoning it enough to remove it from the hanger. “Lemme help you.” His brother offers. Joel’s not naive, he knows the fear is visible atop the surface of his flushed skin, in the deepened frown lines and the shake in his hands.

Tommy is a lot of things, but once in a while he softens around his selfish edges and he bends a little, reaching out for the weeping limbs of his brother, struggling with all his might to keep himself standing up straight in the storm, a resilient and irrepressible figure to look up to. Tommy sees the way the longing shines through the perforations in his irises, the way his shoulders slump with oppressive burden—and he takes pity on the older man. “I’ll wash it real quick while you shower. It’ll be good as new, fresh outta the dryer by the time you're done.” He looks up at Joel, who’s still transfixed in the forgotten token of his former youth, of the man who he used to be. Items he’d left in storage down in Austin that Hank had so graciously shipped to Jackson.

He almost wishes he’d never gotten it all back, it was easier then—to hide from who he was when he wasn’t reminded of his past every single day, but once in a while—that reckless, spotlight chasing cowboy grasps for the surface. And tonight? Tonight is your birthday, the town dance, where you’re going to be, probably looking like something Joel doesn’t have a shot in hell with. It’s your damn birthday and he wants to ask you to dance but he’s not sure the fee quick dance lessons he got will suffice. What if he stumbles? Steps on your pretty little feet? Drops you?

“Joel—“ there's a snap in front of his face and he pulls himself out of the chaos inside of his mind. “Man, you are loosin’ it. I’ve never seen you this wound up over some girl—“ his eyes snap up to his brothers and he huffs lowly. “She ain’t just—some girl. She’s Hank and Lou’s daughter, people I think of as family. She’s smart and resourceful, sometimes a little reckless but she makes me feel like…like I’m alive for once.” Tommy sets the black shirt down and sit on the side of Joel's bed. Beside him, Joel's weight sinks onto the mattress. “M’gettin’ old, Tom. I don’t have a lot of good years left in me and I don’t know if I’ll ever have a opportunity like this again.”

Tommy takes a glance over at the distant look in his brothers eyes. “Opportunity?” Joel's eyes flick over and he sighs. He wishes Tommy had a little bit of what he had built inside of him, the innate goal of settling down, finding where he belongs and who he belongs with.

“At bein’ happy. Good memories for my restless nights.” If he fucked this up and missed his chance, he’s not sure he’ll have it in him again, if it will ever feel like this with anyone else. He thinks he’s done, thinks you’re it. He thinks he could give you forever if you’d let him.

“S’that why you’re so messed up in the head? What, do you think she’s going to shoot you down?” Tommy’s voice picks up in pitch, offense used like a weapon to get his point across and Joel appreciates the gusto. “Think I’m gonna go home alone tonight. Think it’s just gonna be me and the crickets and this damn hand again, dreamin’ bout how damn sweet she is.”

Tommy’s hand reaches into the breast pocket of his shirt and he retrieves a silver flask, offering it to his older brother who takes it with unsure fingers. “Just be yourself, man. Walk up to her like you belong there. Just need a little bit of confidence, don’t let her think you’re second guessing yourself. I don’t know her like you do—but I know that girl is more than willing when it comes to you.”

Joel takes a long swig of rot-gut whiskey, lets is sink into his bones and find the will to drag himself into the shower and wash away the saw dust lingering on his skin from the floor of the dance hall, ease some of the soreness in his knees and back from learning how to dance.

When he’s finished, there's a clean shirt and a flask laying on his bed. Joel finishes off the whiskey before he fastens the first button.

Liquid courage is the only thing that gets him to town.

He’s everywhere—everywhere. His hands burn on your thigh, on your hip where they dig in just a little too roughly when he pins you to the wall beside the back door. The second it closed behind you, there was a desperation clinging to the early spring air, perforating the slight chill until it shimmied beneath it and took life in the form of heat dripping across your exposed flesh. It was sticky and hot, sucking you in like a vortex straight to the center of what your world revolved around—Joel Miller and his touch that feels like fire.

He tastes like alcohol and tooth paste and part of you wonders if that’s what's changed about him, why he was so willing to let go of his reservations in-front of half of the town. He’s been drinking, drowning his insecurities enough to throw himself at you bravely.

Will he still be this Joel when you open your eyes in the morning? Will he regret it?

His teeth dig into your bottom lip and your brain goes fuzzy, stars forming behind your closed eyes. Insecurities can wait until tomorrow, you decide. His hips press forward ever so slightly and the outline of his cock can’t go unnoticed, not with the way it makes the fabric of your panties drag against your clit tantalizingly. Behind your closed eyes, the stars morph into crackles of fireworks, filling your senses with bright pleasure and desperate desire to chase those lights into the night.

You hike your legs higher, trying to drag him into the delicious delirium with you. The movement pulls a guttural groan out of the broad cowboy. “Joel—Joel,” you need his hands to leave brands on your skin where they’ve touched you, setting fire to your soul. “I know—fuck, baby, I know.” Is he crumbling like you, throwing himself into this very moment right here? Is he as desperate as you are? Does it feel like a travesty and a triumph? The yearning you’ve endured, for the victory of finally knowing what he feels like when he kisses the breath from your lungs.

It’s more than you know how to articulate—more devastating than you anticipated and yet—it’s still not enough. It won't be enough until his heart beats in time with your own and you feel him wrapped up in your body

His teeth dig into your jaw and your body reacts before you tell it to, searching for the release only he can bring you.

“Touch me, please—please, touch me.”

And suddenly, in the time it takes to flip on a light switch, he’s gluttonous, insatiable and voracious—a wild predator set loose just to turn on its careful handler. The only thing that comes to mind, in comparison, is a pack of wolves frenzied to sink their teeth into the supple flesh of their prey.

In your case—Joel is the starved pack—and you? You are but an unsuspecting doe, practically sacrificing yourself to his uncontrollable famine.

Those thick digits, adorned with callouses earned from laborious work, hastily push aside the fabric of your dress in search of your covered center. He feels so fucking good when those digits push their way past the hem of your panties and he gasps against the shell of your ear. Like it feels just as good to him, letting the pads of his index and middle finger tease the seam of your lips before slipping between and dragging those rough digits over your hardened clit. It’s all the built up want, longing, needing that makes him feel so other-worldly, you’ll never experience something like this, the rush of relief to finally be his.

His fingers dip lower, searching for the source of all this slick adorning his knuckles, when his thumb drags idly over your already sensitive clit. Its like an electric shock straight to your sternum, arching you forward in search of anchorage to this reality altering interaction. There's a hint of alcohol swimming behind your fluttering eyelids, but his shuddering groan is sickeningly sobering. You want to say something, tell him how good he makes you feel, but the words bubble up in your chest and hang in your throat in the form of a silent sob, your mouth hanging open and your toes curling against your shoes.

“There it is, huh? S’what finally gets you quiet? Just needed me to touch your pussy, didn’t you?” Where the hell has this Joel been hiding? He’s never been so vulgar, so vocal and confident in himself. His fingers tease the soft ring at your opening, smearing slick around on his fingers when he leans against your front to press his face against your heaving chest and neck. His fingers plunge in—and your body jerks against his solid form. He lets you shudder and tighten up against him while his thumb moves steadily, never coming off the peak of your nerve—locked on it with such perfected percussion that there is no jerky catch, just steady—drowning pleasure. His rough pant of breath paints your shoulder in sticky warmth and your thighs tighten around him, begging to draw him into your desperation.

“She’s just cryin’ for me, ain’t she, Honey?” His drawl sounds like sweet tea on a hot summer afternoon, like your sight set on the Austin sunset from the seat of an old saddle, driving cattle through tall grass and endless horizons.

Being touched by Joel Miller feels like coming home.

He finds a steady pace, working his fingers in and out, each drag punctuated by the ridges of his knuckles and the rough pads of his finger tips. Just faintly, you can make out the wet sound your sex makes every time he fucks his fingers into you intentionally. Its instantaneous the way heat blooms in your pelvis, knotting up in your stomach until you’re so overwhelmed, you’re trembling in his grip. “She’s so fuckin’ greedy, pretty little cunt needs to be stuffed, don’t she? G’damn, you’re quiverin’—you gonna cum f’me already?” His words are like a dirty secret, never meant to be revealed—knowing exactly what kind of storm that truth would bring. Let the rain pour down, let the thunder crack and the gusts rip the apprehension from your bones—because Joel Miller wants you and you’ve been waiting for this moment for two years.

You’ve imagined this a million times, slipped your fingers between your legs to the mere idea of this revered and dignified southern gentleman—more once you’d put a face to the elusive cowboy. No matter how deeply you lost yourself to your imagination, none of it will ever amount to the way cold brick feels against your exposed back, the way denim jeans ruffs up the insides of your smooth thighs, the way a felt Stetson bumps against your temple when his fingers curl against a spot inside of you no man has ever found, dragging the air from your lungs, robbing your vocal cords of their melody. With your eyes rolled back and your desire strung tight, you manage to string together enough sound to produce words.

“Yes-Yes, Joel—make me cum! Please!”

A third, assured finger slips in right beside the other two and slam forward, sending you spiraling down that one way path towards pure ecstasy. His fingers curl again and his thumb quickens, pushing you up and up until you’re sure you’re about to melt through his finger tips, a weeping puddle at his feet. “That’s it, pretty girl—cum on these fingers, let me feel her squeeze me.”

His command is your saving grace, the final twist that undoes the well wound rope holding you together. A variation of his name rips from your throat and consumes the space around you, invoking a bright euphoria that shrouds every nerve ending you possess. He doesn’t even know what he’s just subjected your body to—a life altering experience that you will never be able to recreate with another person. “S…s’the best orgasm I’ve ever had,” is the only thing your mind conjures up once you’ve come down enough to speak. He’s still holding onto you, slowly slipping his fingers out and letting you down with a satisfied chuckle.

“Wunna taste you,”

How will you handle another assault from that honed attention? How will you ever unsee that unruly tousle of curls between your thighs?

He doesn’t give you long enough to form a protest before he’s rushing you through the parking lot, a determination in his step that you’ve never seen. He’s surpassed the point of antsy when he yanks open the passenger door and finds leverage on your hips to hoist you up, then toss you down on the torn upholstery. You should say something—tell him to slow down before you pass out from the burn of his hands—but fuck you don’t want him to stop, consciousness be damned.

Instead, you watch him set his cowboy hat on the dusty dashboard, the silver trim of the band shimmering with luster in the golden street lamps. He drinks your body in visibly, relishing in every curve and inhale of breath. When his vision finds yours, they are nearly black with desire—his pupils having consumed every inch of bourbony brown. When his big hands find your thighs again, the resistance bleeds away and gives way to insurmountable, greedy hunger.

“C’mere, girl.” The hands on your thighs dig into the flesh, leaving finger shaped dimples in your sensitive skin. “Lemme see that fuckin’ pussy.” Jesus christ.

If your friends could see you now, they’d all laugh at how easy you are, but right now—it’s just you and your cowboy—you’ll never be anything but easy for him.

His hands move with fever, hastily pushing your dress up your hips. “I’m going to fucking ruin you, babygirl. Only word you’ll know is my name when I’m finished with you.” That same ferocious want consumes you, possessing your hands to work on their own accord, helping Joel shimmy your panties down your thighs and over your heels.

You have enough time to register the way he stuffs the black lace into the front pocket of his wranglers before that head of his is forcing its way under your dress. He spreads your legs easily, pushes and pulls with his hands until his mouth seals over your clit, drenching your nervous system in blinding heat.

He’s good, so good at this. His tongue slides through your dripping folds with a tedious, monotonous rhythm. He’s licking for a taste, for his own glutinous thirst based on the way he groans and sighs against the softness of your lips. His eyes flick up at the same time your body starts to quiver, trying to adjust to so much honed desire narrowed in on you. “J-Joel, please don’t st-top.” Your eyes start to leave his in favor of rolling back in your head when your chest arches out, searching for a breath of sobering air, for something to hold onto so you don’t crumble apart. “Feels so good—you feel so good.”

His mouth closes over you and he sucks, pulling your clit against the smoothness of his tongue as he flicks it over and over, soothing the sensitive bud, while actively robbing you of any coherent train of thought. The only sounds that leave your lungs are sharp gasps and whines, fueled by the low groaning sound he’s muffling between your thighs. He releases you and your body reels, drawing in breath after breath to catch up with your racing heart.

“Wunna split this little pussy open on me,”

Oh fuck, oh fuck fuck—fuck.

You have long enough to gaze down at him, watching as he slides the flat of his tongue through your lips, over the sensitive bud, before your head is dipping back again.

“I’ve been practicing—I got, oh, fuck Joel, like that,” you heave and he pulls away completely, shocking you into a mewling, whining mess. “You got what, baby, use your words.”

Your body bares down on nothing, /wish he would just give it up already, unbuckle that belt, push down those wranglers and fuck you like you deserve. Joel grunts while he watches, letting it rumble through his whole body. “Got a toy that’s as big as you so I could practice. So I'd be able to take you.”

His whole demeanor shifts, alternating from this brazen, confident cowboy to the man suddenly lost between your thighs, sucking and slurping, licking and moaning to himself. He’s gutless, starving and desperate, he whimpers when you squeeze your thighs and cry his name, holding on tight until the flash of blue and red and the sound of a loud voice rips him from his mission.

“Jackson Police department, step away from the vehicle!”

Joel rips himself away from your body before you even have a chance to cover yourself. “Fuck-fuck,” he looks around sharply, eying the lone officer in a tan blazer with flashing lights fastened to its hard top. The sheriff has a light in their hand, leaning over the side of the blazer. You manage to pull your dress down and scoot back, trying to hide yourself from the light shining on the two of you.

Joel's gaze falls away from the officer, parked behind the truck, blocking it in. Instead, he looks forward, into the clearing in front of the parking lot, half lit by the street lamp. His jaw clicks and he looks set on whatever is going through that big brain of his. “Put a seat belt on.”

What?

Joel grabs his hat and slides across the bench seat quickly, slamming the door behind him. He makes it across you and throws himself in front of the steering wheel, finding the ignition quickly to turn the keys in the shaft.

The chevy roars to life at the same time that he slams the gear shifter into drive and plows over the parking block. Before you have a chance to register what's happening, the blue pickup is sliding through mud and grass, leaving tire tracks in the field as he cuts through it towards the highway.

“Joel, what in the—fuck!“ you shout, reaching up for the oh-shit handle, while the other hand reaches for the solid form beside you, grasping him by the bicep as he snorts nervously. “Just—calm down for a second, we’ll lose ‘em.”

Your heart races and your nerves radiate through your entire body. You’re a good kid, you’ve never ran from the cops before, never been in trouble for crying out loud. You did your best in school, tried to make your parents proud despite your small side of rebellion. And yet, here you are—trying your best to hang on while he cuts corners and runs stop signs, old alleyways and back roads through the thickets. The truck roars past speed limit signs, loosing rodeo flyers pinned to telephone poles when he slams the gears—orange papers fluttering in the settling dust.

He snorts, taking another random left and speeding down the street. “Ain’t gonna get arrested, honey. Just trust me.”

Trust him? How could he even ask you that, like that wasn’t what this was all along. You trusted him like you trusted the sun to set and rise again, like you trusted the birds to sing and the rivers to run—you’d trusted Joel with your family’s dream and he never let you down.

Somewhere along the way, you lose the ability to fight off your grin, Joel manages to leave flashing red and blue in a cloud of dust. He cuts through a group of trees leading into a clearing and shuts off the lights. He drives by moonlight, effectively covering his tracks and making his way onto another road, leading up the mountain towards the ranch. He pulls off another dirt road that is cut out along the side of the hill, but he isn’t in as much of a hurry as he was before. He takes a last left, bringing the truck to the edge of the hillside that overlooks the entire town of jackson—from the dance hall—to the bar—to the red and blue set of lights on the south side of town, still looking for you and your cowboy.

The world grants you a few silent moments to catch your breath, before it completely robs you of tingling in your muscles, the conscious connection between the two of you. The reality of being truly alone with him is sobering, with nothing but the trees and the wildlife to offer a distraction.

Now that the air has cooled and your heart has finished pounding in your ears, you can make out the faint hum of the stereo, the FM dial lit up by the soft glow behind it. The station is still the same as it was when you were a girl, riding in your daddy’s pickup, playing old country music like it did in the days of your youth.

Now, it rings in your ears with the nerves seeping into your bones, settling into an uncomfortable dust. Right now, of all times? Anxiety has to claw up your chest and wrap around your throat while his saliva is still drying on the inside of your thighs?

Fuck, his beard is still glistening in the green-glow of the stereo.

“You’re starin’ at me.” He says almost quietly. You expected him to tease and flirt, maybe boast, but his voice waivers halfway through and you start to pick up on his slight nerve. Under all that charm and intensity is starting to give way to a much more vulnerable Joel—a man you know all too well.

“You’re just, uh—“ you swallow thickly and try to find the courage to meet his deep brown eyes. “Your beard is…wet.” When you do find his irises, his mouth picks up in a half smirk. If he’s as scared as you are right now, he’s doing a good job of hiding it. He’s giving it everything he’s got to hide it from you.

It’s been so long and you need this. Need to be touched, appreciated, worshipped.

The look in his eyes tells you that he’s eager to kneel.

“And who’s fault is that, hmm?” That sweet, sultry accent drags you in, sliding closer on the seat until you're nearly tucked into his side, leaned back against the seat while he looms over you. He’s still nervous, you can see it floating around in his dark eyes, but his jaw clicks like he’s trying to rein something in.

Silence falls upon you once more, but unbeknownst to the cicadas and the crickets, your dancing gazes say everything you need to hear. His eyes drop to your lips and yours to his. His tongue peaks out unconsciously, wetting his bottom lip ever so slightly—like he’s tasting you there.

His mouth clicks shut and it's then that you glance up. His eyes are back on yours, suddenly so much softer with a lulled arch to his eyebrows. In the depths of his eyes you find renewed hunger, fire burning in those pools of smooth chocolate. Your body relaxes, succumbs to the form of his plains of muscles adorning his body. When you tilt your head up to him in offering, you sink so deeply into those dark pools you can nearly taste the sweetness of him like velvety candy melting against your taste buds.

“Joel—“ you choke out, deciding then that if he waits a second longer you’ll suffocate.

There's things about this life that can never be stopped, inexorable phenomenons that are unavoidable. The seasons will always change. The storms will always come, lightning will always strike. The days will always end and the sun will rise again on the next.

And Joel Miller will always, always break when you say his name like that.

He falls into you with a sharp intake of breath, crashing his mouth against yours with surprising accuracy. It’s so easy to let him take over with the perfect combination of rush and savor he puts into the way he envelops you. His mouth is soft, but persistent, wrapping around your bottom lip when he sucks it between his teeth for a soft bite that makes you want to live in this moment forever.

You nearly do because you get absolutely lost in kissing him, you don’t protest when he leans you back on the bench seat, you don’t put up any sort of fight when he spreads your thighs with his wide hips. When his hands grip your knees, you know you’re completely done for.

He pulls away from your mouth and his eyes find yours in the low green glow and there, you find everything you’ve ever longed for.

“I…I think,” Joel shifts, looking down at his hands like he’s just woken up from sleep walking straight into your heart and soul. “I think I should get you home, s’gettin late.”

Late? Your poor muddled brain cannot keep up with how quickly he fades in and out of doing anything to have you, to be terrified to touch you. How quickly he slips into a starved desire to shaking in his boots.

Not for the first time, you wish you could reach right into his brain and pull out whatever it is that makes him think you don’t want those rough hands all over your bare body. He’s already had a taste of you, already kissed you—what more could be standing in his way?

“Home? Joel, we were just getting started—“ he clears his throat and sits up, trying to slide away from you but your heels dig into his tailbone and drag him back. “Started down a road we both know only leads to nothing but trouble and regret.”

What, the, fuck?

“I’m—you think this is a bad idea?”

The uncomfortable air settles back in between you and your legs around him loosen. “Think you're going to realize really quickly this ain’t what you want and this—I’ve got…too much on the line.”

He has too much on the line? What about the ranch? Your childhood home about to be lost to the bank? What about the dance hall where he’s built a new floor to make you smile? Does it all wash away with his assumed doom?

“What are you saying? This…this was a mistake? Joel I still have your fucking spit drying on my pussy and you—you regretted it already?” The realization feels like a dull blade straight to your gut, forcing it way in and twisting you from the inside out. It burns with shame and agony and you pull yourself out from under his sturdy build.

“I didn’t mean—I regret anything, fuck knows I don’t—“ no, no. You’ve given this man so much of yourself, committed so much to be thrown around and have your feelings stomped on.

“Then what the fuck does it mean, Joel! You—you made me cum while telling me you wanted to stuff my cunt but now you think this is…” you have a realization then, that maybe—just maybe, he does actually regret it. What does he think, you’d turn around and throw him out on his ass? If he truly thinks that low of you then maybe…

“This was a big fucking mistake.” You say coldly, making up your mind as you right your bunched up dress and adjust your fixed gaze on the passenger side window.

“Take me home.” It’s not a request.

It’s not an invitation, either, Joel understands as he watches you close the front door behind you later that night, settling his made up mind.

He presses his palm to his crotch twice and comes in his pants right there in the driveway, just like he knew he was going to.

And he feels like a fucking fool.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel the last of us #joel tlou #archive of our own #cowboy!joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut

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bleedingichorhearts · 1 day

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I need to be pet repeatedly and vigorously by big astartes men

𝕳𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖞 𝕻𝖆𝖙𝖘:

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: I’m assuming you just want very heavy pats from a very cuddle induced Space Man? Kinda just ended up as cuddles?

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

Dark Angels: Let’s just magically say he got affected by some… pollen? and that made him very eager to return to you. Never in his lifetime has he been wanting to curl up around you and nuzzle your hair while tracing his fingers up and down your back and massaging your head. That’s a lie, he always wanted to, just never did.

Emperor’s Children: Would do it, no orders/questions asked. Even if he was influenced by this “pollen thing.” Purple Space Man does/will do it in public. He will pat you on the head anytime he gets! You’re a pretty little thing, how could he not?

Iron Warriors: Stubborn, stubborn Space Man. He doesn’t know why he feels like he should just set you in his lap and pat the hell(Chaos?) out of you, but guess what? He does it anyway. You are snatched the moment you round him to see what he’s working on. His hands threading and patting your head while you sit there confused.

White Scars: From this speedster, you get the fastest Tapotement of your life. You won’t even know what he just did to you until you feel yourself become like jello. (No, he didn’t kill you. He just put you to sleep really quick. It had his hearts working extra time. All he wanted was to pat you!)

Space Wolves: You, pat the wolf? You get a pat back. It ends up in a pat battle, but it actually ends up with you winning. All yours praises, scritchs and pats to him are incredibly powerful against this weakening wolf. Please, continue your work.

Imperial Fists: After building/fortifying he has gotten very needy to return to you and just snuggle in bed, pat your head and drag his fingers down your back. Cooing sleepily above you. Feeling how different your skin is to compared to stone/metal he works with. It reduces his stressors. Not that he would admit it.

Night Lords: Why does he want to just drag his talons through your hair you so much? Why is he feeling this sudden urge to “pat” you like you did to him one time? He try’s this “patting” to you and quickly finds out that his likes the new hobby. He gets you at the worst times.

Blood Angels: He comes to you immediately to sedate this sudden urge. Feeling that effect of that “pollen” running around through his systems. He’ll have you sat in front of him with his legs trapped around you, close to him while he pats your head. Cooing softly into your ear.

Iron Hands: Grumpy Space Man. He tried to avoid these sudden urge to come to you and be… affectionate with you, but it simply got more stronger the more he prolongs the inevitable. So, once he sees you and snatches you up for a patting session. Do not say anything.

World Eaters: If angy spicy man wants to pat? He gets his pats. There is no escaping it. Space Man will pursue to pat you. He can’t help it! You calm him down!

Ultramarines: Classic, classic blueberry. He’ll have you wrapped around his torso (as much as you could, lol) and chuff at the top of your head. His hands dragging letters into your back. Probably reciting the codex.

Death Guard: His pats are slow and escape resistant. If you’re in his arms getting patted chuffed, and cooed at? Congratulations, you’ve earned your self a personal masseurs, that you are not escaping from for at least 12 hours.

Thousand Sons: He’ll pretend that he is not feeling such… affections for you. Avoiding you until the feeling begins to strengthen then he knows that is the only way to resolve the problem is to go ahead a pat you… and it ended up being comfortable. He plans to do it again soon.

Son of Horus: This Space Man will growl and purr while patting you down. What? You trying to leave while he’s patting you? Growl. You’re accepting his affections? Purr and growl.

Word Bearers: You’ll find yourself laying on top of him for this one. Dozing off on him as he slowly pats you. His whispered words and coos lulling you to sleep. Let him worship you darling.

Salamanders: To be stuck in a patting session with a Salamander is like being trapped in the flames of a furnace. You’ll be like a hand cooked kebab once he believes you got enough affection from him. It was a very pleasing experience though!

Raven Guard: Him patting you was uncommon, but also rare. Usually he’s too busy trying to find you shiny things until he got hit with a wave to adore you. He’ll come back to pat you and coo at you while keeping you close to his chest like a mother hen.

Alpha Legion: Patting sessions were already in progress. It was unknown pay back for the glitter you got him with the other day. So don’t be surprised if you find yourself covered in layers with glitter after the session. He definitely got sent to sleep outside that night.

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siensapsap · 10 months

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One af the most tragic things about the plot of Merlin is that if he had completely chosen either his own instincts or the prophecies it probably could have ended relatively well.

Like, if he had trusted himself, Morgana would have had a support network, he could have been there for Mordred more without the constant suspicion hindering him, and that would have prevented so many issues. Also everyone's mental health would be so much better, o my god.

If he had completely trusted the prophecies Morgana and Mordred would be dead, and Merlin would probably never forgive himself or be free of guilt ever again, but Arthur probably would have lived and there would be a path to a better future for them.

But instead all these problems were left to fester under the surface, because Kilgarrah and Gaius made him to scared to reach out and solve things the emotionally mature way, but hus own conscience prevented him from solving his problems with some good old-fashioned murder.

#merlin #bbc merlin #kilgarrah #gaius merlin #morgana #mordred #and that is why i love merlin fix it fics #because they genuinely feel like they could have happened without weird logical or emotional jumps #this point has probably been made a thousand times already #but idc #because I love this show

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lieximhuman · 1 year

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Awe- what a fricken weirdo :)

#I am extremely embarrassed for #drawing this but #HbBsbbsbsh #thought y’all might like it idk #art #jjba #jjba fanart #jojo's bizarre adventure #vento aureo #bruno bucciarati #leone abbacchio #brubba #Idk is that the ship name?? idk #very bad punchline that has been made a thousand times already #probably #(also my mom walked in on me drawing this thank god she has bad vision cuz I don’t think she read it 💀)#jjba part 5

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avaantares · 1 year

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I feel like there had to be some major mental and emotional recalibration in Shen Wei's universe after he met Zhao Yunlan.

After all, the one he's been waiting ten thousand years to meet is Kunlun -- the great hero who saved Shen Wei's life and brokered peace between warring civilizations, the kind stranger who reached out to the frightened youth hiding behind the mask of cold warrior, the philosopher who gave Shen Wei his name and taught him to live up to it, and very likely the first person since the loss of Shen Wei's own family to show him any sincere affection. The real Kunlun was already on something of a pedestal before Zhao Yunlan assumed his identity, and Shen Wei has elevated him so much higher and obsessed over what Kunlun meant to him personally for ten millennia since. The only worthy reappearance of a man he (and others) venerated so highly would have to be accompanied by blinding sunbeams and golden trumpets to live up to their expectations.

And then Shen Wei stumbles into professional irritant Zhao Yunlan, a man who wears Kunlun's face but specializes in being as obnoxious as possible, who can't be bothered to remove expired food from his refrigerator and leaves his dirty laundry all over the floor, who insinuates himself into situations where he doesn't belong and pries at the edges of Shen Wei's secrets without mercy -- in short, the opposite of everything Shen Wei has built Kunlun up to be in his idealized memories and hopes of reunion.

There had to be a moment where Shen Wei faced this disparity head-on in an attempt to reconcile his long-awaited hero with this persistent, self-destructive SID investigator who keeps showing up everywhere to annoy him... and it might have ended in a minor meltdown.

I'm sure there's a plot bunny here somewhere, if only I can capture it...

#guardian #zhen hun #c-drama #shen wei #I feel like novel!Shen Wei is a lot more stable (despite being a creature born of pure chaos) because he engineered the situation #they're in and understands what's going on #and also he's lived in the human world for thousands of years and watched kunlun's reincarnations for all that time #whereas drama!Shen Wei has only been mingling with humanity for a decade and doesn't know about the whole wormhole situation #so ZYL's appearance must come as a real shock to him #because even though he believed in kunlun's promise to meet again he probably didn't expect that kunlun wouldn't know him #so many ideas to explore!#there is actually a story I want to write about this but i'm swamped from now thru late january so i don't know when i'll have time #I've made two whole sentences worth of notes in a document and that's all i have time for today

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disdaidal · 2 years

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When someone adds one of my Billy gifs to their fic archive lists and I’m like ‘hold on... that’s my gif????’. And then I saw my watermark on it and feel incredibly stupid jhfjhgj.

#personal #in my defense i have made probably thousands of gifs at this point. ten years of gifmaking #hundreds for the st/hg fandom alone #and i _usually_ recognize mine still because i usually create my colorings from scratch #so i recognize reposters pretty easily too. because i spent a lot of time on that coloring so yeah #but this gif was from my billy + purple set #and i guess it's been a little while since i made that one #because i didn't actually remember making a purple-tinted version of that billy + max + arcade car scene too #because i remember that scene giving me a lot of trouble earlier and i kind of gave up on it #so then i was like is this really mine? because the coloring and quality looks almost decent here lol #and then i saw my watermark there and i was like hooooly shit what the fuuuuck #and yeah i felt really stupid. because i'm actually really proud of that billy + purple set and i took so much time tweaking it too #i should recognize my own making like i usually do but...#i guess when you post a lot over the years you kind of start forgetting some of your older stuff #definitely has happened to me than once already

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inkskinned · 2 months

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i don't mean to sound ungrateful, but as a content creator on this site, there's a part of me that's like. they absolutely just stole my work.

i'm not, like, unaware that tumblr has been shuffling downhill for years now. sometimes i play with the idea of switching platforms, turning myself into the shark. i often get tens of thousands of notes - i could be "doing numbers" on a platform that actually pays me to do so. i could have statistics that i could use to sell myself, i could rebrand and make content pay-to-play and make brand deals. i could have the other life, i mean.

but i don't want to. i like the quiet nature of tumblr. i like that it still feels like i'm writing poetry, not like i'm fulfilling ad spots. i like the community, and that i can sometimes still take someone by surprise and write something that really speaks to them. i like the tags and reading things like oh of course it's fucking inkskinned i love you inkskinned you gay mess. my girlfriend recently told me that people tag things "inkskinned" because they assume it is similar to tagging "creative writing". that's wild. i made this word up when i was 19, and have always assumed people tag me in things so i read it (and i often do). i have nothing but love and gratitude for you all, for this tiny scoop of family.

and i haven't made any money off it. i had opportunities, and i turned them down. i could have sold this thing like a thousand times. i thought about moving my work elsewhere - over and over and over i thought about it. i weighed each option specifically. but my tumblr felt like ... it's for you guys, only. if you're still here and reading this, you deserve to do it for free.

tumblr has now, most likely, skimmed my work (and yours) in order to make money. i will never see a single cent for that violation. something about landlords, i guess - my work pays their rent.

i just lost my job on valentine's day, and am working on scrambling for solutions. i am writing this to a blog that they will probably scrape with AI. and like, what number to do you think it was? do you think it was only a couple hundred thousand? no way it was close to a million, right? my time, effort, energy - it belongs to someone else now. how many silver pieces for them to completely sell out their user base.

and it's kind of like - funny? when it isn't very-sad. because i personally don't know what to do, ya know? i might as well move to a different platform, where my efforts are ai-scraped but could eventually pay me. where i know my privacy is the cost - but it could result in actual money. anyway. i need to figure out how i'm paying for meds. i need to email like six people about COBRA benefits.

my work is powering someone else's AI. it will be a beautiful fabricated poem, made from words i've already said.

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osaemu · 4 months

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GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ IS IT OVER NOW? (IT ISN'T) ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ streamer!au: all good things come to an end, including your relationship—but don't worry, broken hearts can be mended, but only if you're both willing to try.

contents: fem!reader. you two break up and make up! you guys fight/break up over something that coulda been resolved with better communication. kinda suggestive ending, maybe i'll drop a part two if this does alright. satoru announces your break-up on his stream. longest fic i've posted so far, 4k words (kms).

author's note: the long awaited angst has finally arrived.. big thank you to @screampied for beta-reading!! tagging @yunymphs who read it early and @sutorus + @kentopedia who i both miss very much!!

ever since you first joined satoru on his stream, it’s gotten way more popular than either of you could’ve ever expected. before he brought you onto his live, he was averaging about eight thousand views per stream. now, his average was well over fifteen thousand—and that wasn't even including the publicity he got from other websites. when satoru accidentally left the camera on while you two made out, you two went viral on twitter. and when another user tried to swipe him away, the clip got over a hundred thousand views on youtube.

at first, satoru didn't mind the change his stream was going through—in fact, he welcomed it. but lately, things have been… different.

last week, while satoru was playing in some competition, he won first out of hundreds of equally proficient players. had it been anyone else, their comments would've been filled with congratulations and good job's, but in his case, all satoru got were messages asking where you were. that wasn’t the first time—ever since that very first day, when you showed up on his stream, satoru’s audience has entirely shifted. and honestly, if you were in his position, you'd be a bit annoyed. anyone would be.

but you had never expected that it would be so big of a deal that you and satoru—the "cutest couple on the internet"—would break up over it.

you walk along the chilly, suburban sidewalk up to your boyfriend’s house. satoru had just sent you a message asking if you could come over, and like always, you answered with an immediate yes. a flock of crows fly by, raven feathers providing a stark contrast between them and the pale gray sky around you. it’s gray and gloomy, but not unpleasant.

a sweet, romantic song plays in your ears as you knock three times on satoru’s front door. his familiar voice calls out “coming!”, and you can hear his footsteps grow louder and louder until he swings open the door. satoru smiles down at you, cheeks already rosy from the cold winter air. “hey.”

you tilt your head and smile back at him. “that’s all i get? hey?” you huff, walking into his living room behind him as the door closes behind you. “d’you have any hot chocolate? i’m freezing,” you say, licking your lips. satoru turns and pauses, an unreadable expression on his face. “satoru?”

after a moment, your boyfriend snaps out of it. “oh, yeah, sorry,” he says ruefully. satoru rubs his eyes with one hand and uses the other to open the door to his bedroom, and as you follow him in, you’re hit with a blast of warm air. “i’m just kinda tired, but yeah, i have some hot cocoa in here. c’mon.”

“anything i can do for you?” you offer, sitting down on the corner of his bed. you’ve been to his house so many times that it feels like home—maybe even more so than your own place. everything about satoru’s room is comfortable, from his plush chairs to the faux-fur blankets draped over every single piece of his furniture. you could probably fall over at any given point and it wouldn’t actually hurt—you’d just land on something soft and/or fluffy.

but that wasn’t all that made you so in love with his home. it was just the way it felt—words couldn’t describe the way everything was just so right and just so perfect, and you really did hope that you’d never have to see a time where you wouldn’t be able to spend time with your boyfriend here.

it really is a shame that all good things had to come to an end. at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself as satoru finally told you why he called you over. unlike nearly every other time, it wasn’t because he missed you or wanted to cuddle—it was quite the opposite, really.

“i don’t think this is working.”

six words that shattered the life you had come to know and love.

“is this a joke?” you try, an unnerved smile spreading across your lips against your will. he doesn’t reply instantly, which is so out-of-character for him that it makes you stiffen up. “satoru, this isn’t funny—”

“i’m not kidding,” satoru murmurs, looking away. he refuses to meet your eyes, and some part of you is still desperately trying to find reason in the chaos that’s slowly taking over your mind. how could it be that everything was just fine two minutes ago and now it’s anything but that? did something happen? did you say the wrong thing? did you—

“it’s not funny,” you insist, still somehow clinging onto your slowly-dwindling hope. maybe you’re in denial, but still, you were sure that everything was fine—no, that everything is fine. there was no past-tense, right? how could the glass home you’d built with your bare hands just crash down at the throw of a pebble?

satoru finally meets your eyes, and your breath catches in your throat. there’s no amused glimmer in his eyes, no “just kidding” in sight, and even worse, you can’t even see an ounce of the love or adoration you’d come to grow so attached to in just a couple months.

“what happened?” you whisper, miraculously managing to keep yourself together. you’d never forgive yourself if you just started crying over a breakup you weren’t even sure was happening—what little’s left of your pride is holding on. you allow yourself to wrap your arms around your chest, curling into your own embrace.

satoru doesn’t reply for a long second. right when you’re sure he just won’t reply, he does, and it all comes spilling out in a messy stream of words. “it’s just… i can’t do this anymore. i can’t keep going online and seeing everyone on my stream talking about you. i love you, i really do, but it’s just—” satoru shakes his head frustratedly. “i don’t know how to say it, but you know what i mean, right?”

your eyebrows furrow and you shake your head. “you’re breaking up with me because you’re tired of seeing me?”

“no, fuck,” satoru groans, running a hand through his hair. his previously cool and collected demeanor starts to fall apart as he takes a step back. “i don’t know how to explain it, but— shit, you wouldn’t understand.”

you swallow and start to stand up, still willing to try. “then help me understand, satoru, i—”

“you’ve seen the comments, and you’ve seen all the posts on twitter,” satoru says, tilting his head back and glaring at the ceiling. “it’s not your fault, but i really just can’t stand everyone disregarding me and turning my own stream into a youtube channel starring you.”

his words sting like alcohol in an open wound, and you fight the battle of your life to prevent the thousands of tears hiding behind your eyes from being visible. even so, your voice wobbles ever so slightly as you say “that’s a bullshit reason to break up, satoru—”

your boyfriend—is he even still your boyfriend?—scoffs and shakes his head, stumbling back and falling into his chair. "for you, it isn't. you wouldn’t understand. for me, it's like everyone's just... invalidating the three years i've spent on this shit. and i can't do it anymore, i just can't."

you blink slowly, backing away towards his bedroom door. "what does that mean?"

satoru exhales a bitter laugh and turns away, the back of his chair facing you. you think you can hear him take a soft, shaky breath as the room falls silent. neither of you make a sound before satoru turns back toward you, a blank look on his face.

he looks up at you, azure eyes devoid of the sparkle you've become so familiar with. satoru smiles sadly, but to your dismay, there's no real emotion behind it. it's almost like he's already accepted it when he says, "it means we—" he pauses and looks away. "this is over."

you reach out toward him, desperate to hold on to him—to the invisible string that ties you and satoru together, but he's just out of your grasp. "satoru, it isn't even that big of a deal, why are you—"

satoru turns and fixes you with a stern glare, and just like that, the string that kept you and satoru together for months, maybe years snaps, and you're left with a limp strand of what it once was. taking the hint, you walk out of his room in a daze, hardly noticing the way he says "i'm sorry".

and the worst part? he said he still loved you. but apparently that wasn’t enough.

satoru has every right to be annoyed that his stream is only growing because of you—his stream was the way he made money, and after all, it was never meant to be about you.

and maybe he was never meant to be for you either.

the walk home is cold and lonely. you slip a hand into your pocket—the pocket of satoru's hoodie, which you should probably return to him—and extract your earphones. it probably isn't a good idea to wear both outside as you walk home, but you do it anyway—this day can't possibly get any worse.

a soft voice murmurs words of sorrow and encouragement in your ear as the music takes you to another world. maybe this—the breakup—was meant to happen. maybe it was a mistake to date a boy with thousands of fans.

as soon as you get home, your phone dings softly. you pick it up and frown when you see it's from toru. you'd have to change that name later.

toru: idk if u blocked me already but i still have a lot of ur things, do u wanna come pick them up later?

toru: or i can drop them off tmrw ig

you miss the way he used to text you—with an obnoxious amount of exclamation points and an even worse amount of emojis. now, it's like all of the flavor's gone from his words, and it hurts. that's when it actually settles in, that this is really over. it hurts like an icicle being driven straight through your heart, and it stings like one, too.

satoru's texts are left on delivered for five whole minutes before you reply, and it's only with an "i'll come by tmrw". he likes the message less than a minute later, and you're left to wallow in your misery alone until you finally drift off to sleep.

the next morning, you open your phone to a notification alerting you that satoru’ll be live on stream in ten minutes. curiosity kills the cat, but in this case, maybe it’d be worth it to see what he tells his viewers about your breakup. after all, there’s no way he wouldn’t tell them—he always had something to say about you, and he’d probably rather tell them for sure rather than let them come up with ridiculous theories on their own.

so you hastily make a new account using some email account you haven’t touched since middle school, trying a couple different passwords until you remember the one that works. the website hits you with a hundred questions, asking you about your favorite games and who’d you like to subscribe to first. you choose satoru, albeit after a second of hesitation. two minutes later, sparklingzebra672 joins your ex-boyfriend’s stream. you wait a second, holding your breath as the live loads. a brief moment later, satoru’s painfully familiar face appears on your screen.

“hey guys,” satoru says, forcing a smile on his face. even from behind a screen, you swear you can feel his eyes on you. “how’s everyone today?”

the already unstable smile on satoru’s face falls when he opens the comments and gets greeted with a flurry of where’s your girlfriend’s. had you been anyone else, you probably wouldn’t have noticed the way satoru’s eyes dulled ever so slightly or the way he curled into himself, but being the girl who once knew him best, you could tell.

“oh, she won’t be back on here for… a while,” satoru starts, dancing around the topic. he leans back against his chair and tilts his chin up, azure eyes focused on the ceiling. “we broke up.”

nothing could’ve prepared you for the way satoru’s comments explode. it’s almost like you can hear the shocked gasps coming from all fourteen—no, twenty thousand viewers as the words nobody thought would ever they’d hear from satoru are spoken.

suguru-geto: holy shit im so sorry

toji-fushiguro: wait wtf r u kidding?? that's fuckin crazy

yuuji-itadori: omg i thought u guys were together forever :(

inumaki: chat is this real??

satoru shrugs, averting his eyes from the hundreds of comments pouring in, but you scroll through and read them all. everyone, even satoru’s haters, seems genuinely shocked. in fact, had this not been your own breakup, you would’ve been one of them, begging and pleading satoru for more details.

“yeah, we did,” satoru murmurs, eyebrows furrowing just enough for you to read his expression. now that you’re looking closer, you can see the subtle redness underneath his eyes—had he been crying too? and maybe you’re imagining it, but his hair seems a bit dishelved too. your ex-boyfriend shrugs, forcing his face back into his usual lighthearted expression, but it’s not fooling anyone.

satoru scowls at the new flood of comments asking him why you two broke up. some people are already hypothesizing—maybe it’s because you got jealous of his fame, or maybe he got sick of you. maybe you left him to go date some other streamer, or maybe—

“i’m actually gonna end the stream here, ‘cause i don’t really want to deal with all of this right now,” satoru says with a frown. his eyes are narrowed irritably as a couple users protest, still begging for more details. “you guys know that i’m a real person with my own life, right? fuck off.”

and just like that, the stream ends. you’re left with a blank screen and a message saying that satoru’s ended the live, so you shut your laptop. your stomach turns as you groan, just remembering that you have to go over to his place later to retrieve your things, and somehow, you’d have to pretend that you didn’t just stalk his stream to see if he’d say anything substantial about the breakup.

a couple minutes after the stream ends, your phone blows up—every mutual friend you and satoru have is messaging you about what he said, but you can’t bring yourself to open any of them. except for one.

suguru: r u ok?

you: yeah ig

suguru: do u want anything?

satoru’s best friend’s question catches you off-guard—there are a lot of things you want. you want this whole situation to go away. you want the world to disappear. and most of all, you want satoru back, without the online world attached.

but suguru can’t do any of those things, can he? so you leave him on read.

somehow, you fall back asleep, tossing and turning in your bed without satoru’s steady arms to accompany you. a couple hours later, you wake up again, wincing from the dim sunlight that pours through your windows and directly into your eyes. it’s just past five, so you figure that you might as well go down to satoru’s house and get your things. better to do it now than drag it out for an uncertain amount of time.

the walk is shorter than you remember, but maybe it’s just the absence of music pouring into your ears that makes it seem that way. you watch the wilted autumn leaves flutter in the wind, falling down onto the sidewalk like pieces into place. once upon a time, you had walked these very streets with satoru—it’s a fond memory you remember only all too well.

when you finally step onto your ex’s doorstep, the door opens before you even have a chance to knock. and there he is—the boy who’d once been the love of your life. satoru looks down at you with an unreadable expression. “hey.”

you think you’ve seem this film before, and you didn’t like the ending.

satoru spares you from having to reply by opening the door wider and beckoning you inside. “i already put most of your stuff into a couple boxes, but i thought you’d wanna check on your own. just in case i forgot something.”

you nod and walk past him, not trusting your voice to be steady. this was harder than you expected—much harder. in fact, you’re practically on the verge of breaking down when you step into satoru’s room and look around and see just how different it looks without the touches of you everywhere.

the fortnite poster you’d given him as a joke for the second anniversary of his stream was gone from his wall, and so were the two mini succulents that used to sit on the corner of his desk. the white cat plushie that used to rest on his pillow was gone, too—probably stuffed somewhere in one of the boxes outside his bedroom door.

after nearly a minute of looking around, you decide that whatever satoru possibly could’ve missed wasn’t important enough for you to have to stick around any longer.

you turn and start to exit satoru’s room so fast that you nearly crash into him when he suddenly appears in the doorway. “shit, sorry about that,” you mumble, trying to walk around him. but of course, because the universe is actually praying on your downfall, you and satoru both walk the same way at the same time. you awkwardly try to go around each other, and eventually, the humiliation is over.

“so, you got everything?” satoru asks, walking beside you with his hands in his pockets. you nod, bending over to pick up one of the two boxes. it’s pretty heavy, but not unmanangable. you just don’t really seem to know if you’ll be able to carry both back home at once.

“oh, uh, i’ll be right back,” you say tentatively. a flash of confusion appears in satoru’s eyes, so you clarify, “i’m gonna go grab my car. that’ll make it easier.”

satoru’s eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head. “no, it’s alright. your place isn’t far from here at all, i’ll just take the other and walk back with you.”

“no, really, it’s alright.”

“it’s the easiest option, ba—” satoru cuts himself off, stopping himself from calling you baby for the first time since you two had started dating. “sorry.”

“let’s just go.”

the walk back to your house is brutal. you walk side by side with satoru since the path is wide enough for you to do so, and you two just keep bumping into each other. had you still been dating, satoru probably would’ve dropped the box and scooped you up instead, kissing your cold face to warm it up. of course, that would’ve added five minutes to your walk, but it would’ve been better than the tense silence dividing you and satoru right now.

the wind whistles around you, brushing at your skin and making you shiver with every gust—there’s nothing more you’d like than to go home, plop on your couch and cry while watching the titanic for the hundredth time.

after what seems like three hundred awkward hours later, you and satoru finally make it to your house. “thanks,” you say quietly, setting down your box in front of the door.

satoru places his next to yours and slips his hands back into his pockets. he nods and replies, “no problem,” but still doesn’t leave.

you cross your arms, and tilt your head, meeting his eyes hesitantly. “umm, do you need anything else?”

satoru coughs tensely and shrugs. “oh, uh, not really, just—” his eyes drift down to your top, and your face grows warm when you realize you’re still wearing his hoodie.

“shit, my bad,” you mumble, internally cringing and resisting the urge to say every curse word you know. could this day really get any worse?

well, at least satoru looks equally as embarrassed. he shakes his head and gestures for you to keep it on. “it’s fine, it’s kinda cold anyways. keep it.” satoru hesitates, shuffling his feet before continuing, “if you want something… to remember me by.”

what you say next was done entirely against your will. “do you still love me?” you ask suddenly, not sure what otherworldly force prompted you to do so. you instantly regret it when satoru’s face goes even redder, and you can tell it’s not from the cold the way his blush spreads to his ears.

“i— uh, i mean—”

“answer me, satoru, i think i have a right to know.”

he looks away and mumbles something about needing to go back home, to feed his fish or something (he doesn’t have a fish), and you grab his hand just as he starts to turn away. “please, satoru, i need to know,” you breathe, squeezing his hand harder when he flinches.

ten silent seconds tick by, but you still don’t let go. so satoru sighs, a soft white puff of air coming from his lips. “yeah.”

your heart breaks again.

“then why did you—”

“because i don’t know how to do this,” satoru says, blue eyes darting all over the place. “i love you, i really do, but i just can’t— i don’t like having thousands of people thinking that i’m only worth looking at if i’m with you, it’s annoying and it pisses me off and i don’t want to accidentally take it out on yo—”

you cut him off with a kiss, ignoring the way he yelps a little in surprise. but thankfully, he doesn’t push you away—instead, his arms instantly wrap around you and pull you closer into his warm, warm chest. satoru’s lips are a little dry, but still minty as ever from the peppermints he’s constantly munching on. he kisses you back like a man starved of affection, and when you two finally break apart, his eyes are just as hungry.

“you idiot,” you whisper, trailing your fingers through his hair as tears prick at the corner of your eyes. “you shoulda just talked to me about it first.”

“i know,” satoru mumbles, looking down bashfully. “‘m sorry.”

“you should be.” you pause, watching satoru’s lips curve into a pouty frown. “i’m sorry too,” you murmur, and he looks up, confused. “i should’ve seen this coming.”

satoru shakes his head and presses his lips to your forehead, lingering for a couple seconds before pulling back. “i missed you.”

“i was gone for less than a day, satoru.”

“oh, so you didn’t miss me?”

“i did,” you admit, exhaling a puff of air when satoru smiles smugly. “shut up, it’s not a competition!”

“yeah it is, but fine, you win,” satoru gives in with a dramatic sigh, reaching down and twining his fingers with yours. his hands, which are significantly bigger than yours, instantly warm you up. “but only ‘cause i don’t want you to break up with me next.”

“i hate you, y’know that?” you grumble, leaning into his side and letting satoru kiss the top of your head. he hums in agreement, reaching out and opening your front door.

“i’m sure you do, baby. now c’mon, let’s get inside n’ warm up. i wanna make it up to you,” satoru says with a grin, bending over and scooping up both boxes.

“oh, yeah? how do you plan to do that?” you challenge, going inside first and holding the door open for satoru. once he’s inside, you close the door and instantly get pinned against it by satoru, whose hands are already creeping underneath your clothes. “satoru, your hands are col—”

he cuts you off by pressing his equally cold lips to yours, smiling against your mouth as he tugs at your clothes. “i know, baby. but i’ll keep you nice n’ warm for the rest of the night, i promise!”

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twentyninth · 4 months

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☆ ❝ 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞? ❞ ⋆ hsr x reader

synopsis. whenever he wants to taste you so bad ...

warnings. cervix eating, afab!gn!reader, face sitting, dom!character, they/them pronouns are used on reader, squirting (done by reader), overstimulation, fingering

author's note. just finished a documentary on a serial killer then wrote an essay with my own free will

pairings. dan heng, blade, luocha, jing yuan, sampo, welt, caelus x afab!gn!reader / fem!reader (take this however you like because i still use they/them on reader but they're afab :p)

dan heng is just messy asf, like probably his first time too, never really has had gotten the chance to ever eat anyone out. kind of was too busy to do that. but when you offered, he couldn't help but think of how you'd be straddled atop his chest, and his tongue just went deeper and deeper into your sensitive hole, and honestly would slurp your aftermath all up after with no shame. the loud sounds of him licking up all your cum didn't help the embarassment. but he pushed his thoughts away and finally got you straddled onto his face, and pleasure was all that was on his mind. the taste of your sweet honey just made him wanna indulge so much deeper inside you. your velvety walls clenching around his snake-like tongue was a good enough sign he'd get to taste such sweet bliss again.

type of guy to overstimulate the hell outta you just for all that essence. he has never tasted anything better. probably would finger you while you sit on the motel bed you rented for a few measly 10 thousand credits. becomes so greedy when his mouth is finally latched onto your hole just begging for you to come. after a while of eating you out, he'll just know where your g-spot is, would go so far to even say his tongue memorized it, and the taste. and he just can't get enough of it. and after everyday as your trailblazing mission is ongoing, whether you'd be away from him at the moment or just right beside him, he already misses you and your pussy so much :(

caelus is def a big sweetheart about it. even though you think he wouldn't be the one to ask, he would. "hey i've been a little stressed lately, can you.. sit on my face and let me treat you right?", and can't help but be a little messy with it, when you finally are on top of him. your hole is right there, wet and ready for him. he's still so blushy, shy and nervous about it. but as soon as he gets a taste of such bliss, he can't help but get more, and more, and more. as soon as he felt your cum on his tongue he couldn't help but want more! he doesn't mean to overstimulate you :(( he just wants more of that tasty sweetness!

does it after trailblazing missions specifically, his thoughts do lowkey get to him while on the job, probably jerked off to the idea of eating you out, or you giving him a blowjob, but that's another story, for another day, not tomorrow, not the day after, some day. anyways, he definitely likes the idea of doing it publicly, the adrenaline of someone catching you in the bathroom with your boyfriend's mouth filled with lust and hunger, he'd keep going if that ever happened, literally just wants everything we can harvest out of you. at first he does like to tease with a bit of fingering and kitty licks while you're blindfolded. your thighs slowly choking him is such a relieving feeling to him, he can't wait to feel that exotic bliss on his tongue.

cw: public-ish sex

sampo will not hesitate to tease the living hell out of you, does it everyday, and any day. and is not shameful at all, will ask you to sit on his face with confidence. after all the teasing is over though he will be messy with it. lowkey wants you to fuck his face with your pussy slowly because it feels that good. his nose literally covered in your wetness because of how deep his tongue is in, or how your forcing his face to get closer, as you're ab to cum!! also the kind of guy to finger you while he eats you out.

loves doing it in an alleyway in belobog especially. just indulging the hell outta your pussy while others just watch as he marks what's clearly his. his gloved finger so deep inside you, so deep inside your pussy and he just had to have such long and slender fingers, as he kept licking your blushing clit, and he couldn't help but moan into your pussy too <33 the vibrations just sent all the more pleasure into you. after that, he'll forcibly grab your thighs and put them atop his shoulders as he also sat you down on 2 small boxes stack on each other and eats you out even more. not afraid at all to overstim your poor hole. but how can he resist such ethereal tasting bliss of yours? it tasted so good he just couldn't get enough!

welt is very straightforward. only word that comes to mind, no shame, maybe a bit, but will ask you himself with pleasure to ask you to sit ontop of his face, or at least just let him eat you out. he's been so stressed after that trailblazing mission.. he's just gotta eat somethingg.... and you can't deny him forever so one thing led to another, he's ravaging in the taste of your hole, god.. why was it just so fucking addicting? the sticky taste of the sweet little honey you produced made him wanna cum, he is indeed stroking his cock as he eats you out, he's just that kind of guy!!

more into doing it in private, prefers that only he hears how good his tongue makes you feel. so long, and it just felt so good, his nose getting covered in the sticky essence, he didn't care anymore, he just wanted more and more. but would probably ask you if he can overstimulate you more LOL. if himeko like ever just comes in without knocking, he'll literally growl, and she'll be out in a jiffy, just.. can't get the image of a hungry welt eating his s/o's pussy like a homeless man who hasn't ate in days... is just certainly shocked, calm, collected, and cool; welt yang, was so easily undone and broken by his s/o('s taste yum yum yum)..

jing yuan has no mercy at all, and will ask you so nonchalantly, "hey, can you sit on my face i'm kinda stressed ;(" is the first text you see when opening your phone. is this really the dozing general of luofu.. asks you so many times actually, like when he's bored and lazing around he'll just ask you to sit on his desk while he eats you out. but dear fucking god— whenever you just came all over his tongue, why the hell did that taste so damn good?? so good he would literally eat you out everyday if he could just to have that 'snack'. and he wouldn't want anyone else's, yours was special, that's what he said. and honestly i see him to be the type that his eyes glow when he gets closer to his climax, and he is another one of the cock stroking while eating you out gang!!

whatever anyway, he'll pound the hell out of your pussy after anyway, don't worry! it's just 'till you can't move a damn muscle in your legs, kind of guy to just want to hold you down by your hips, or the plush of your thighs, he just wants you to hold still while he drinks the devil's wine. if he isn't stroking his cock while he eats you out, his hard cock will just be out in the open while he fingers and eats you out too <3. eats you out like a snack literally sometimes, because he acts like he didn't just eat you out half the time. like after getting you cleaned up and everything, he literally would just start asking "you want anything for dinner?", "huh? it's 1pm in the afternoon jing yuan—"

blade is really rough when eating you out. messy and rough. type of guy to softly bite on your clit/really rub his tongue against that spot tbh HLP.. overall is confident, "hey babe can i eat you out rq im aboutta go out" "huh??". has your legs on his shoulders and roughly brings your hole to his mouth, all that juice on his tongue is really what makes him distracted from anything else, like even if anyone were to walk in on you both, he wouldn't care, your sultry moans and you cumming all over his face is all that mattered. will finger you and eat you out because he likes it when you squirt your cum out, is in love with the idea. and right after probably would put you into a mating press and insert his dick so smoothly inside there <3

the type to say i'll wash you up after eating you out but ends up having sex in the shower and literally pounds the shit out of your hole.. again.. in the bed this time.. he gives the first impression of high sex drive, breeding kink blade, what can i say? anyways, will just be so glad to slurp all your cum up after, in love with the scent, smell, taste, anything about you, and he'd gladly say it out loud. just keep cumming all over his face when he eats you out and little bladies will be running everywhere :0

luocha, even if he is a doctor of some sort, he is either so vanilla with it, just a few kitty licks and fingering you, or rough as fuck and messy, no in between because it's either he's gonna make you cum all over his face or cream on his face, doesn't want anything in between. will be glad to finger you if he feels like he wants your cum to just squirt everywhere, mmm just sit on his face and let him do the rest. doesn't care if his hair gets messy, doesn't care if he's supposed to be somewhere right now, he just wants more of this.. essence. whatever it is, he wants more. and won't be pleased if he hasn't milked you of all of it.

doesn't care if anyone decides to walk in on you both either, but that doesn't mean he prefers public sex. just prefers these moments to just him and you. probably also has a breeding kink. while he fingers you, right before he indulges himself in you, and gets too lost and drunk on the taste, he's already daydreaming of mini versions of him and you. loves the idea sm<33 and is glad you are pleased by the idea too!! so he hopes you don't mind his rock hard cock will pound you after a few 7 rounds of eating you out! just for you <3

can't take the word pussy seriously had to replace it with hole for that and because i want this to be for everyone/every reader!!

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flickering-nightfall · 1 month

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Playing with some ideas mostly regarding gender/reproduction in RW, and slugcat colonies.

Full transcript under the cut!

Creatures in Rain World are typically simultaneous hermaphrodites but require partners to reproduce, with either individual capable of being a genetic donor or carrier. Alongside what we are familiar with, this has lead to interesting reproductive strategies such as rotating donor/carrier roles, or dual/simultaneous genetic swaps.

Rotating donor/carrier roles - A K-selection reproductive strategy. One partner carries the first child, the other partner carries the next child, and so forth. Allows each partner to recover from the demands of childbearing.

Rain Deer aren't quite monogamous, but they tend to choose the same breeding partner whenever mating season rolls around. They serve as a donor one season, then bear and raise a child the next. Calves are raised away from the rain and worm grass, in places that have less food but more safety. Calf wool is softer, not yet gunked up by the dirty rainfall. Their legs are sturdier as children, allowing them to run for cover while the parent wards off threats.

Dual/simultaneous genetic swap - An r-selection reproductive strategy. Parents fulfill the donor and carrier role for each other. The more children you make, the more likely some are to survive!

Multiple batflies lay thousands of eggs in a single "blue fruit." Several eggs congeal and become nutrient paste for the surviving eggs (and for hungry slugcats). Like some plant seeds, batfly eggs that are consumed before pupating can survive passing through the digestive system. Ew.

Ancients also fell under this umbrella. Their genders (and the genders of iterators by extension, who have no sex anyways) could have been determined by a variety of other factors, such as societal role, donor/carrier preference, or simply different categorizations of personal expression.

It's difficult to say how well their common pronouns would translate to ours, but it seems they can translate to an extent, given what Moon and Pebbles use canonically.

Slugcats, like real slugs, can have children with a partner or self-fertilize. Unlike real slugs, they are often known to adopt.

In the case of self-fertilization: children who are born from one parent may display a large amount of genetic diversity despite the circumstances. Maybe slugcats have some sort of... genetic reservoir independent of their own genetic code?

Slugcats live 20-30 years on average... if they manage to reach adulthood. Their mortality rate is sadly rather high, especially in pups. If they were to develop as a civilization, it's likely their lifespan would increase dramatically.

Slugcats in a colony are more likely to have more children, and to successfully rear those children to adulthood, than those who wander alone or in small groups. The safety and stability of a colony cannot be understated.

Colonies either have a set, cycling migration path, or wander continuously. Survivor and Monk's tree home was a nesting site that their colony frequents about once a year. So it's likely that they'll see their family again!

...also, the strength of large colonies are why scavengers are likely to become the dominant species. In the time of Saint's era, continuous migration has become more of a risk, and it has become more difficult to support large populations. Slugcat populations have shrunk back to the more forgiving equatorial zones.

Saint's tongue is pretty unusual and probably unique to them, or to a small population that they hail from. Fur (of varying thickness) is much more common.

Meanwhile, scavengers are bulkier and covered in thicker insulating fur. They:

have seemingly massive populations

have a burgeoning society (the existence of merchants, tolls, bartering, elites and leaders)

are adept at communicating (non-verbally)

manipulate their environment

can build structures (scavenger-made structures were a scrapped idea from Saint's campaign)

can create complex weapons and tools

may have agriculture behind the scenes (unsure if scout parties prioritize exploration or hunting)

I would wager on scavengers developing more quickly than slugcats, but it would be nice if there was a future where both could co-exist.

#oops! impromptu rendering practice!#rotating donor/carrier roles could also be an r-selection strat #but i feel like it'd be more common as a k-selection strat #rain world #worldbuilding #headcanons #flickerdoodles #art #um #ask to tag?#that goes for all of my posts #rw spoilers #dp spoilers #saint spoilers #long post

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ghostfacd · 4 months

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SHE WAS LIKE A SHOT OF EPRESSO

pairing. tom blyth x actress!fem!reader (mentions of other actors x fem!reader platonically)

summary. in which you are the epitome of sunshine and radiance within your co stars OR all the times your co stars have talked interviewers’ ears off about you

installment of this au | read for context!

Time 1: Tom Blyth

“How’s Y/N as a cast mate?”

That question shouldn’t make Tom Blyth smile that wide — but he does — because he’s so utterly and unconditionally inlove with you.

“Oh gosh, I wouldn’t even know where to start,” Tom begins. “As her boyfriend, I think I’m being pretty biased when I say this, but Y/N Avocot as a cast mate has honestly been the best experience of my life. There has not been a day where she doesn’t make me laugh so hard that my ribs start hurting, and there hasn’t been a day where she hasn’t made me smile.” He pauses for a moment, pondering the next words to say.

“Y/N’s just that type of person, you know? She’s like the warm sunlight that engulfs you every morning you open your curtains, she’s like that newly brewed coffee that helps hydrate and bring you back to life. She’s everything.” And he says this in such a loving manner that the interviewer practically awes, the cameraman zooming the camera to show Tom’s dilated pupil.

“Your pupils are dilated!” The interviewer mentions, laughing as she points towards his eyes.

“Oxytocin is a warm hormone that’s released when you talk about someone you love,” Tom shrugs. “All my friends say my pupils dilate when I’m near Y/N, that’s just the effect she has on people.”

“Well there it is folks! Tom Blyth is truly inlove with Y/N Avocot!”

Time 2: Sean Kaufman and Lola Tung

It was an interview discussing the new season of The Summer I Turned Pretty, and it consisted of Sean and Lola who’s schedules were the only ones that were open that day.

“Guys! We’re so happy to have you today,” the interviewer starts.

“Why thank you,” Lola smiles brightly into the camera, smoothing out her dress.

“So obviously, this season is very important to the plot, it contains so much new exciting storylines including Sean’s character, Steven Conklin, and Y/N’s character, Ella!”

“Yes,” Sean laughs, his eyes crinkling. “It was very fun filming the scenes with Y/N, she’s like that little rush of happiness that you just wanna keep inside a jar.”

“Actually!” Lola speaks up, crossing one leg over the other as she leans forward to the interviewer. “Now that Sean’s mentioning it, Y/N really is a rush of happiness. God, everyday on set, I always think ‘I’m gonna probably have to say my lines over a thousand times and be tired by the time I’m done’ but Y/N comes right in, and she’s always making funny faces behind the director which just fills my heart with joy and it’s those little moments that make acting really worth it you know? Like even though I’m dying re filming the same scene over and over again — I know that Y/N’s always going to cheer me up by the end of it.”

“Wow,” the interviewer laughs. “I haven’t even asked you guys about Y/N yet but she seems to be very loved by the crew.”

“Oh yeah,” Sean nods. “Everyone filming loves her. I mean, how could you not?”

And the interviewer thinks the same question, because after interviewing Tom Blyth, she really believes that you really cannot not love Y/N Avocot.

Time 3: Timothee Chalamet

“Timo!” The interviewer greets Timothee excitedly, moving the chair so he could sit.

“Jacob! My favorite interviewer,” and maybe Timothee’s lying, because he’s seen about a million interviewers by now, but it makes Jacob smile, not so much hating his job anymore.

“Your new movie, Miracles in Love, can you tell me more about that?”

“Yes,” Timothee takes a deep breath. “It’s about a boy and girl in their early twenties figuring out what they wanna be in life. My character, Louie Marcel, falls inlove with my co star — Y/N’s character — Maeve Jones after they bump into each other at the bar and talk about how depressing their lives are. It’s pretty funny, y’know. How easy it was to film with Y/N, in fact, it came all naturally.” Timothee pauses, a small smile playing on his lips.

“When you say naturally, what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Oh you know Jacob,” Timothee grins. “It’s easy to fall inlove with Y/N Avocot. She’s a remarkable actress, and everything that I filmed with her feels so real that it feels like I’m really Louie and I’m really falling inlove with a girl named Maeve at the local bar near my university.”

“Oh wow,” Jacob, the interviewer, can’t help but gush at Timothee’s endearing statement. “You must be very good friends.”

“Us? Of course!” He laughs as if it was one of the funniest statements on earth. “I’m really good friends with her boyfriend too, Tom. They’re honestly the sweetest couple, don’t know if I’m inlove with him or her. Maybe both,” he jokes.

bellyapologist oh to be yn avocot and be so loved by her cast mates that they’re smiling each time they talk about her

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user1 literally like how do you not cry when you’re being called a literal rush of happiness

user2 lola and sean being so excited to talk about her even though the interviewer didn’t start the interview yet 😭

user3 shows that yn is rly a good person

timotheesgf YN AVOCOT LET ME BE YOU PLEASEEEE LOOK AT HOW TIMOTHEE TALKS ABT HER GOD LIFE IS NOT FAIR

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user4 “it’s easy to fall inlove with yn avocot” FUCKKKKK

user5 “everything I filmed with her feels so real” oh tom and kylie are punching the air rn

user9 she must’ve saved a planet in her past life cause..

user10 same energy as “she was like a shot of espresso” 😭😭😭😔😔😔

#Coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow angst #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow x reader #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #tbosbas #the hunger games x reader #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet

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mrsbarnesblog · 6 months

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Jersey

masterlist ko-fi ao3

College! Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Natasha’s idea of getting a jersey with Bucky’s name turned out to be much better than you expected.

Word count: 3.2K

Warnings: smut, established relationship, college, football player bucky is a biggest warning tbh, he's so in love, locker room sex, nat is good friend, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare.

Author's note: honestly one of my favorite fics because college athlete bucky is my biggest weakness (I should probably write about him more often)💘

It’s been another game for the "Avengers", where your boyfriend Bucky Barnes was a quarterback. Today was one of the most important games against "Hydra" – their biggest enemy. Obviously, you couldn't miss the game, and Natasha, your best friend and roommate, will be with you as always. And right now, she has convinced you to do something that has been on your mind for a long time.

"C’mon, It’ll be fun. He’ll like it, I promise!" She said as you two stood near the place that made custom t-shirts with any prints. And at this moment, Natasha wanted you to order a jersey with Bucky’s number and his name on it.

"I don’t know, Nat. I mean, I want to do it, but what if he thinks that it’s too much?" You nervously played with the hem of your skirt.

"Now stop it." She stood before you and put her hand on her hips like a mother who was scolding her child. "You’ve been dating for more than a year, and his guy loves you so fucking much that he can’t even tear his eyes from you every time you two are in the same room. So when I tell you that he’ll love it, I mean it." You silently looked at her for a few minutes, but when she questionably raised her eyebrow, you finally gave up.

"Fine, you won. I hate you."

"I love you too, baby." Nat chuckled and dragged you to the store.

It seemed like there were thousands of people because everyone wanted to see one of the most important games of the season. People were already taking their seats, but you and Nat went straight to the locker room to wish the guys good luck. Trainer Fury was very strict about this, and it was forbidden for people not from the team to go there, but for some reason Nat always found a way to solve this problem.

"Guys!" Natasha loudly knocked at the door. "Are all of you already dressed up? I’m not in the mood to see somebody’s ass today!"

"Come in!" You heard Thor’s loud voice.

"Oh, I see our support group is here." As soon as you two walked in, Sam ended up between you and Nat and threw his hands over your shoulders, leading you deeper into the room. "Barnes will be here soon; don’t worry."

"Okay. Are you guys ready to beat their asses?" You smiled and looked at the almost entire team that had come to see you and Nat.

"Don’t worry, Sweets, we’ll win, as always." Tony answered you while he was cleaning his helmet. "But you should tell your boyfriend to stay away from Rumlow, or else he’ll be suspended again. By the way, is that jersey with his name?" You quietly nodded as the whole team made an impressive ‘woo’ together.

"You two are disgustingly sweet, you know that?" Sam rolled his eyes, and at the same time, the door slammed. "It’s him; go give him some kisses for luck."

"Shut up, Samuel." You laughed and left their little circle to find Bucky looking at his phone. "Don’t you want to say hi, James?" He moved his eyes to you, and his face immediately lit up with happiness.

"I just wanted to text you." He threw his phone on the bench and came closer to wrap his arms around you. "Hi, doll. I missed you so much today." He mumbled into your neck.

"I missed you too, Buck." You smiled when your heart filled with all the love you had for that man. "But wait, I have to show you something." You slipped out of his hands, excited and nervous at the same time. "Look what I’ve got!" You happily turned around to show Bucky your back and flipped your hair to the side so he could see everything better. "Do you like it?"

You had a big red jersey on you, to which Bucky didn't even pay attention at first. But when you turned around, his mouth went dry and his whole body became fuzzy. You had his number 17 and the word "Barnes" on your back. You were wearing his last name on your back.

For a few seconds, he was silent. He didn't answer your answer either, so with confusion written on your face, you faced him again, only to see a weird look on his face.

"What? You don't like it? Should I take this off? I'm sorry…" You started to apologize, only to be interrupted by his low voice.

"Don't you dare take this off, Y/N." He suddenly came closer to you again, and the next thing you knew, your back was slapped against the metal lockers when Bucky’s lips attacked you. He kissed you passionately and deeply, pressing his body against yours as if he was desperate to touch you and feel you closer. You couldn’t hold back the quiet moan that escaped your mouth when he tilted your head with his hand, helping his tongue slip into your mouth.

You thought that you heard the screams of the boys on the other side of the room, but they were really muffled when your head was filled with the thought of your boyfriend’s soft lips and warm skin. Bucky finally broke the kiss, leaving you two catching your breath while he put his forehead on yours and closed his eyes.

"You don’t understand what you’re doing to me. You look so fucking hot in this jersey, I want to fuck you right now." He whispered so only you could hear. "You made me hard, doll." To prove his words, he pushed his hips a little bit closer to you so you could feel the hardness.

"‘M sorry; I didn’t know that you would react like that."

"Hey, Buck, we should already go." Bucky’s grip on your waist became only tighter, when he heard Steve’s voice, and he nuzzled into your neck.

"Give me a minute."

"The game is gonna start soon."

"I said, give me a minute, Steve!" He said it louder. Bucky deeply inhaled, and it was obvious that he just needed some time to calm down.

"Shh, it’s okay, James." You put your hands through his hair because you knew that it would instantly relax him. "You're gonna win this game, right? And without fights."

"I’ll do everything for you. I just love you so much, doll." He whispered into your neck when his body finally relaxed and he was able to move away from you.

"I love you too, James." He quickly kissed you again before turning around to face the team, who had knowing smirks on their faces.

"You two should get a room." Sam had an annoyed look on his face.

"Don’t worry, Birdbrain, we will. Are you ready for the game, or are you gonna stand here and complain all day?" Bucky winked at you and went out of the room without waiting for the answer from Sam.

"So…" Natasha suddenly appeared near you. "Did you make The White Wolf hard by just wearing a shirt with his name on it?" She grinned, as it was her original plan that worked.

"Oh, shut up!"

The game was tough. Hydra played dirty as always, and Bucky almost got into a fight with Rumlow during the intense moment. You almost jumped out of the seat during the last few minutes of the game, and when "Avengers" finally won, you and Natsha screamed at the top of your lungs.

As soon as the team was done cheering and hugging, Bucky looked at the seat where you were supposed to be but saw only Nat, who pointed at you already standing near the rim. He ran to you with the biggest smile on his face, and when he finally reached you, he crushed his lips into yours.

You didn’t care that many people looked at you, even though you knew that some particular groups of girls would gossip about it for the next week because… well, everyone wanted your boyfriend. You just wrapped your hands around his sweaty neck and pulled him closer to you as far as you could with a fence between you two.

"I’m so proud of you, baby." You whispered into his lips. "You were amazing as always."

"Thank you, doll. I'm happy that you’re here with me." He looked into your eyes as his right thumb rubbed your cheek.

"You know I couldn’t miss your game, especially if it’s that important."

"Mhm, can you… come to the locker room in like twenty minutes?" Bucky nervously licked his lips.

"To the locker room? I thought we were going to celebrate it with the team as always."

"Maybe later, but I’m thinking of something, so come, ‘kay?" He started to go back to the field, but not before giving you another sweet kiss on the lips.

***

You sat in the cafeteria for about twenty minutes, passionately waiting for the appropriate time to go to the locker room because you really didn’t want to see another naked man that wasn’t your boyfriend. One such experience was enough for you. You asked Nat to come with you, but when you repeated Bucky’s words to her, she just gave you a mysterious smirk and patted you on the shoulder, saying that you better go there alone.

When you finally got there and knocked on the door, you heard only Bucky’s voice, who told you to come in.

"James? What’s going on?" You asked as you came further into the room. It was empty except for Bucky, who came out of nowhere and locked the door. "What are you doing?"

He didn’t answer you; he just crossed the room, kissed you, and pushed your back into the metal lockers, just as he did it a few hours ago. He was greedy, passionate, and a little bit too rough, so you couldn’t keep the moan from escaping your mouth. Bucky’s hands squeezed your hips and then went higher under your jersey.

"Bucky…" You pulled away from the kiss, but he took advantage of it and started kissing your neck. Your eyes rolled back as you squeezed his shoulders and completely forgot everything you wanted to say. He sucked your soft skin into his mouth and even bit you. It was obvious that he desperately wanted to leave dark marks on your neck, but, honestly, you didn’t care. He smelled too good fresh out of the shower, with his bare chest and low-rise gray sweatpants, and his mouth… God, you knew what his mouth could do. "Baby, we can’t do it here."

"We can, and we will." He left your neck and looked at you, leaving only a few inches between your faces. "You can’t imagine how hard it was for me not to bend you over the closest surface when you showed me that fucking shirt. With my name on it? So everyone could see that you’re mine?" Bucky licked his already swollen lips. You pressed your thighs together, feeling how wet you were. He definitely felt that motion because his eyes became darker, and he looked like he was going to devour you at that same place.

"James…" You quietly whimpered, not being able to hold yourself anymore.

"Baby, fuck– doll, I love it when you call me that. You drive me insane." He decided not to lose any more time, so his hands went straight to the button of your jeans. He helped you get out of them, not losing a chance to touch your bare legs. "Now turn around, baby." You heard a deep moan, probably when he saw the back of the shirt again.

"Bucky, please." You whispered when you felt that more juices came out of you. You loved when your boyfriend became needy and possessive.

"Look at you, doll. You're already ready for me, and I haven’t even touched you yet." He said that when he put his hand over your pussy, he probably felt the heat and pulse. "I would’ve eaten you out, but I need you too fucking much, so I promise to do it when we get to my place."

"O-okay, just do something, please." You pushed your ass back and heard a loud, deep moan as soon as you touched Bucky’s hard cock through his pants. You put your hands behind your back to try to push down his clothes, and at the same time, Bucky removed your black thongs.

You felt his hard cock on the bare skin of your ass, the tip already leaking with pre-cum. Bucky squeezed your ass with his hands and moved his hips. His perfectly shaped cock grinded against your wet folds, and you couldn’t stop a whimper from escaping your throat.

"Please, don’t tease me–" You didn’t even finish the sentence when Bucky moved forward and buried himself deep inside of you. The mixture of pain and pleasure washed over you, and you didn’t even realize that you moaned too loudly. He was too perfect, filling you completely and stretching you around him in the most delicious way.

"Sh-h, sweetheart, you don’t want other people to hear you, right?" One of Bucky’s hands slipped under your shirt and laid on your stomach, and the other one covered your mouth, pulling you closer to his chest. "Good girl." He mumbled into your ear when you shook your head.

Bucky pulled away from you, still staying deep inside of your heat, letting you adjust to his size. He put one hand from your mouth on your back, which made you lean forward toward the lockers. The cold metal cooled your hot skin, but it still felt like you were burning inside.

Bucky finally started moving his hips, and the filling of his dick coming in and out of you made you almost faint. You two had sex a million times, but it still amazed you how full and satisfied he made you feel.

"That’s right, doll. You’re so greedy for my dick, huh?" He started to go faster, and you tried to move your body to his rhythm. "Was this your plan? Showing me that fucking jersey, so I could fuck you like a little slut you actually are?" His hand went over your back, tracing letters on your shirt with his fingers, and his motions became harder. In fact, it wasn’t your idea, but you should definitely thank Natasha because you really didn’t expect your boyfriend to become even more obsessed with you.

Your mouth opened in a silent scream, and you clenched around Bucky’s cock, making him moan. "I feel how you’re clenching ‘round me. I know that you like it when I call you my slut. Only mine."

"Yes, Bucky– James, please." A sudden slap on your right cheek pulled another moan out of you, and Bucky just chuckled, knowing that you’re always loud with him.

"Please what, baby?"

"Let me cum, please– James! I’m so close." You felt too overwhelmed with pleasure, not even realizing that you started crying when his fingers moved to your clit, drawing little circles there.

"Fuck, one day I’m gonna make you Mrs. Barnes, so you will have a well-damn reason to wear this shirt." He deeply chuckled, moving harder and harder into you. More nasty sounds of skin slapping into skin and your not-so-quiet moans filled the room. "Can you imagine that, baby? Being my cute little wife, who likes when I fuck the shit out of her? Poor doll, crying. Can’t even handle my cock deep inside your pussy, can’t you?" He moved even deeper into you, and that was it.

"God– James!" You slammed your hands on the metal near your face, trying to find something to hold onto, as the wave of heat and extreme pleasure covered your whole body and mind. Your legs trembled, and the only thing that kept you straight was Bucky’s strong hands. He felt that you were over the edge, that you couldn’t stand on your legs, and he definitely felt more juices coming out of you. He looked down and saw how his shiny cock was coming in and out of your pussy that was particularly choking him, and that sight threw him over the edge. With the last movement, he pulled your body into him, wrapping his hands around you and releasing his hot seed deep inside of you.

You both moaned at the feeling of you being so full of his cum that it had already started dripping down your thighs.

"That’s it, baby." Bucky whispered into your ear. "You did so well. Are you okay?" He left light kisses on your cheek.

It was too intense; not a single thought came to your head, and for a few seconds you tried to put yourself together.

"Mhm." It was the only thing that you were able to answer because your body was still trembling with the leftovers of your intense orgasm.

You two stayed in that position for a few minutes until Bucky realized that you had become too sleepy. He tried to pull out, but you grabbed his hand.

"‘m too sensitive." You almost cried.

"I know, sweetheart, but now I have to clean you and take you home." Bucky gently came out of you, and your body got goosebumps at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you. It took him all the strength not to shove it back into you with his fingers, but you were obviously too tired, and he couldn’t properly take care of you since you weren’t at his or your bedroom.

Bucky fell on his knees, quickly took a towel from his bag on the floor, and carefully cleaned the mess between your thighs. He reached for your panties, helped you put them back, leaving a soft kiss on your leg, and then helped you sit on the bench.

He looked at your sleepy and tired face while putting on his clothes.

"Hey, doll? You’re too quiet. Is everything okay? Was I too rough?"

"I’m ‘kay, it was just as intense as when you make me come many times in one night. Just help me with my jeans; I can’t feel my legs."

"Of course, sweetheart." He helped you with your pants and then fixed your messy hair. You couldn’t imagine how you must’ve looked right now. "I love you so much. Thank you for being here today. You’re truly the best thing that ever happened to me." Bucky kissed your forehead and wrapped his hands around your body, standing up with you.

"I love you too, Buck. So so much." You happily buried your face into his neck, knowing that your boyfriend was going to take care of everything.

He picked up his bag and keys for the locker room and came out of there. Bucky didn’t even close the door when he heard a familiar voice.

"Do not tell me that you two did what I think you did!" Sam was standing there a few steps away with disgust and shock on his face. "I didn’t expect that from you, Y/N/N." He joked.

"Sorry, Sam." You moved away from Bucky’s neck and tried to give Sam your best apologetic smile.

"Well, I’m not. Since you’re here, close the door, Birdbrain; we hurry."

Sam stood there for a few more moments after Bucky left with you in his arms.

He decided that the headphones that he left in the room could wait until another time.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky x you #marvel #james buchanan barnes #marvel imagine #marvel smut #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier #college!bucky #bucky barnes fanfic #mcu x reader

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soaps-mohawk · 3 months

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 2 - Adjustments

Summary: You're struggling a bit in your adjustment to your new life, and you're finding some of them are easier to get along with than others. Luckily you're not in it alone.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I'm so just overwhelmed with the attention this fic has gotten, but not in a bad way I promise! I'm just surprised is all. Thank you everyone that has read and reblogged and commented. I love all of you and so, since I have no self control, here is Chapter 2. Lots more world building and dialogue in this part, but I promise good stuff is coming.

Also I promise Soap will get his time soon. He's just the hardest for me to write, and you'll see why in this chapter.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“She was lying.”

Price doesn’t bother looking up as a dark figure leans against the wall next to him. He stares out at the empty space between the barracks and the mess hall, not much traffic between the buildings during this time of day.

“About how she got to the institute.”

“Or at least not telling the whole truth.” Price says, turning to look at Simon. “Something tells me she’d talk if we asked.”

“She’s soft.” Simon says, letting his gaze drift off into the distance.

“She’s a civilian.” Price counters. “The CIA did a little training, but she’ll need some work. We can’t leave her completely defenseless...”

Simon turns to face him again. “There’s something else.”

Price pushes himself off the wall, heading back inside. Simon follows, the two of them making their way down the hall to his office. “There’s hundreds of American military bases across the world, thousands of regiments they could have chosen from, and yet, they sent her to us.”

Simon closes the door behind him as Price sinks into his desk chair. “You think it was deliberate?”

Price pulls open one of the drawers, pulling out the file Kate had given him. “Laswell said the CIA has had eyes on her for years.” He slides it across his desk to Simon. “There’s a lot of why's in this situation, and a lot of how’s. Like, if what she’s saying is true, how did a Staff Sergeant get his daughter into FIOT practically overnight?”

Simon glances up at him over the top of the file. “You think there’s something else going on with this Initiative.”

Price nods. “I do. I think there’s more than one experiment being run, and we’re the guinea pigs.”

You stare at your reflection in the mirror as you run a comb through your damp hair. You look tired, the dark circles that have plagued your face for the last few weeks looking even darker now. It’s been a long day, so long it’s hard to believe it’s only been a matter of hours since you boarded the helicopter in London.

Your new pack had made themselves scarce after dinner, leaving you to your own devices. You had been left alone after lunch too, and you had spent that time laying in bed, resting after the overwhelming scenting.

You’d played back the last few hours in your mind. Leaving London in the helicopter, meeting your new Pack Alpha, Laswell leaving, meeting your new pack, the scenting. You had plenty to think about, to stress over, and you had been surprised when the knock came at your door for dinner. You were equally surprised to see Gaz and Soap waiting for you.

You’d been sandwiched between them again as you walked to the mess. It was busier for dinner, and the eyes weren’t quite so quick to look away with the alphas missing. You know they have to be curious, with an omega on base following around two members of a SpecOps team, smelling like them. You know what they were probably thinking of you, what they were thinking your presence means.

You’ve begun to understand Price’s rules a bit more.

Price and Ghost had joined you as Soap said they would, coming in late from whatever they had been busy doing. You had been seated next to Soap, Ghost taking his other side while Price sat next to Gaz. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to you how close Soap and Ghost sat, and you remembered the look in Ghost’s eyes when Soap had approached to scent you. How his defensive stare had turned icy, threatening even, when he’d gotten close to you as if you were capable of hurting Soap. It had been a silent warning. If you tried anything, you’d have him to contend with.

Ghost is territorial, more so than most alphas. You had seen it just a bit in Price, but only because you had been watching for it. Ghost was silent in his claim, but his gaze spoke of his territorialism. As you sat at the table with them, you slowly felt the stares lessen, the curious alphas and betas around you slowly turning away from your table until you were left in peace. You knew it was all thanks to a well-pointed glare from the second alpha at the table.

They’d escorted you back to the barracks before disappearing again, leaving you alone. You’d opted for a shower to try and clear your head, exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs but your mind was racing too much to really get any rest. You haven’t been told what their normal schedules entail or even what they look like, but you expect an early morning tomorrow. Since Price had said at least one of them needed to escort you around base, that likely meant you were going to be constrained to their schedules.

You know even when they’re not away, their days are probably full of training and briefings, much like yours had been for three months. They’re probably up early, earlier than you’d like to be, and then they go non-stop all day.

You wonder if they ever get a break.

Maybe this is a break for them.

You sit on the edge of the bed after you finish your routine, eyeing the pillows and blankets stacked at the end. They’re military issue, not as soft or as plush as you might have preferred. This is your new normal, though. Comfort isn’t exactly going to be a high priority.

Tears prick your eyes as you run your hand over the comforter. You know it’s the exhaustion, the stress of the day beginning to weigh on you. You’re worn out, and that’s causing a slip in the tight reins you keep on your mood. Omegas and alphas were both prone to being moody, and those who were unrestrained could lose control quickly. Alphas were quick to anger, while omegas could get depressed very easily. Exhaustion drives both to being grumpy, though alphas will descend into irritability and anger, while omegas will get whiny and weepy.

You hate it, how easily you can be driven to cry. How easily you can lose control. It makes you feel weak and helpless, but that’s partially by design. It was supposed to be your pack’s job to fix that, to give you that support and take care of you.

Except you don’t know your pack.

What would they do if you approached them like this, all teary and needy? Would instinct take over and snap them into their roles? Or would they give you an awkward pat on the back and leave you to take care of yourself? Gaz would help you, you think. He had slipped into that role so easily during the scenting. Your fingers twitch on the bedspread, your mind telling you to seek him out, track him down, even if it’s only to catch a whiff of his scent again.

Your phone screen lights up where it’s sitting on the nightstand, drawing your attention from the door. Kate had given you the phone just this morning before you left the hotel. It had her number on it, as well as your pack’s. You’d half expected to find messages already from them when you’d turned it on, but there had been none. They had kept that boundary of meeting in person first.

You pick up the phone, checking the message. It’s from Price.

Breakfast is at 0700. I’ll take you to see the Omega Specialist after.

Seven o’clock. It’s not terribly early. You’d eaten around the same time at the institute. You’ll get to meet the Omega Specialist as well tomorrow. You’ve met plenty of them in your time as an omega, but something about the idea of having someone there who knows, who understands is comforting to you.

You send a reply in acknowledgement for tomorrow’s plan before setting an alarm for tomorrow morning. There’s an uneasy feeling under your skin, a tickling in the back of your mind that you can’t seem to relax. Your eyes are drawn to the desk where the shirts still sit, and before you know it you’re moving to the desk, letting your fingers trail over each one.

You grab Price’s shirt, taking it back to your bed. You curl up with your back facing the door, holding the shirt against your chest, letting the scent of tobacco smoke and whiskey fill your nose. Silent tears slide down your cheeks, your face pressing into the pillow to muffle your sobs.

As you try to muffle your tears, you miss the sound of boots pausing in front of your door, the person on the other side standing there for a moment before continuing down the hall.

You let out a groan as your alarm pulls you from sleep. You had drifted in and out for a few hours before finally managing to get a couple precious hours of sleep. You’d woken when the others got up. You knew they were trying to be quiet but you had heard them shuffling around, talking quietly amongst each other. You’re normally a fairly deep sleeper, but in a new place you always struggle.

A new place surrounded by almost complete strangers.

You turn off your alarm, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. They’re burning a bit, the exhaustion still weighing heavy on your shoulders. You pad to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face to try and make yourself at least look more alive than you feel. The last thing you need is them getting worried about you. That’s attention you’re not sure you want right now.

You blink sleepily at your closet, trying to decide what to wear. Were you allowed to wear anything? You didn’t have much besides the basics, since the only thing you had been allowed to wear at the institute was its uniform and the clothes they provided. Then when you were with the CIA, they had provided clothes for you to wear as well. The things you have now had been bought by Kate before you left D.C.

Everyone on base wore similar variants of the same uniform. You’re not military, though, so you don’t think those rules apply to you. No one had said anything about your state of dress yesterday. You opt for comfort, knowing you’d likely find out soon if you were going to be forced to dress differently too.

You’re tying your shoes when the knock sounds on your door. You had heard the others moving around, footsteps in the hallway, opening and closing doors, quiet voices talking and Soap laughing at something. You know it’s one of them, yet the nervous tickle at the back of your head is back.

Soap is leaning casually against your doorframe when you open the door. His face lights up in a smile as he sees you. “Morning, bonny. Sleep alright?”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Tossed and turned for a while.”

“We didne keep ye up did we?” He asks, his smile faltering just a bit.

You shake your head. “No, I never sleep well the first few nights in a new place.”

“Well, our beds are always open if ye need something more comfortable.” He winks at you playfully.

Your face warms at his words, the double meaning not lost on you. You were right, Soap was going to be the one to push your boundaries the most.

Gaz elbows him in the ribs as he passes. “She’s been here a day, mate, don’t go scaring her off now.” He leans on the other side of your doorframe, giving you a smile. “Morning.”

“Morning.” You say, your face still warm from Soap’s teasing.

“You hungry?” Gaz asks.

You nod. You do feel hungry this morning, likely a side effect from your emotional night last night. You step out of your room, the two betas stepping back to give you space as you close the door behind you. Ghost is leaning against the wall next to his door, his eyes watching with the typical cautious disinterest that seemed to be his default setting.

Gaz and Soap sandwich you between them again, close enough their arms brush yours as you walk. It was almost as if they could sense your inner turmoil, the neediness still tugging at the back of your mind. If Ghost hadn’t been trailing the three of you, you might have been tempted to give in and grip their sleeves, or slip your hands into theirs. How would Ghost respond to such a bold move? The mental image of your body flying through the air as he punted you into next week almost makes you laugh.

Price is already seated at a table frowning at his phone over a cup of coffee. Gaz and Soap load up your tray for you, something you’re getting used to rather quickly. It was expected from the alphas, or at least Price, to coddle you a bit, but it seemed the betas were more than happy to get in on it as well.

The thought makes something flutter in your chest.

You’re seated between Gaz and Price again once you reach the table, Price greeting you with a tired smile. “Morning. Sleep alright?”

“Not really.” You say honestly. “New place and all. I’ll settle in eventually.”

“Maybe the Omega Specialist can give you some ideas to help.” He glances at his watch before looking at you as you spoon a heaping spoonful of porridge into your mouth. “Take your time. We have until 8.”

You listen to the conversation at the table as you eat, Gaz and Soap talking about a football game that’s on tonight. You feel eyes on you, your skin prickling a bit. You glance up, half expecting Ghost to be glowering at you again, but his gaze is focused on his eggs. You cast a quick glance around the mess, turning slightly to look behind you.

Three tables over, you find the gaze of some soldier focused on you. You haven’t paid much attention to anyone else on the base, but then again you haven’t had much time or reason to yet. You can’t read the expression on his face as he stares at you, but you feel a shiver run down your spine as your eyes meet his.

He stares at you for a few seconds before his gaze moves slightly past you, quickly dropping back to his plate. You turn around, finding Ghost staring just past your head. His eyes are narrowed, his scent coming off stronger than it had been. You can practically see his hackles raised, the warning clear in the air. You feel the urge to curl in on yourself, the threatening aura radiating from him makes you want to cower.

It doesn't go unnoticed by those at the table either.

“Easy, Ghost.” Price says calmly, Gaz turning to follow his line of sight.

“Bloody wanker.” Ghost grumbles before rising from the table.

You turn back around, but the soldier that had been staring at you is gone.

You nervously pick at your sweatshirt sleeves as you sit in the plastic chair next to Price. You’re still on edge a bit from what happened at breakfast. It wasn’t so much being stared at that bothered you. After now three meals in the mess, you’ve almost come to expect it. It’s Ghost’s reaction that has your mind still reeling.

“I’ve always hated the medical center.” Price says with a sigh as he leans his head back against the wall. “It smells too sterile. Makes my nose burn. Reminds me of too many close calls.”

His words jar you a bit. You hadn’t even thought about that aspect of his job. He’s used to getting shot at, to getting into fights, running head first into danger that would send most running the other way. You wonder how many times he’s been the one with the close call, and how many others he’s had to watch have their own.

You wonder how many times he’s had to make that trip to tell someone’s family.

You’re pulled from your thoughts as the door across from you opens. Price pushes himself to his feet, and you follow as a kind looking woman steps out. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief. You don’t have anything against male Omega Specialists, but you were already surrounded by men. Sure you have Kate, but she’s half a world away.

She’s tall, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Despite being a doctor she’s dressed casually, no white coat or gloves to be seen. Her eyes are light green and crease in the corners when she smiles.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Keller.” She introduces herself, shaking Price’s hand.

American. You think, silently breathing another sigh of relief. Kate really had pulled some strings with this one.

“Captain John Price.” He says.

You introduce yourself when she turns to you, shaking your hand. Her voice is soft and gentle, the scent of beta coming off her in waves.

“Come on in,” She says, leading you into the office. “Sit anywhere you like. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Her office isn’t what you expected either. Instead of the harsh fluorescents, the lighting is softer, warmer. There’s paintings and posters all over the walls, along with several plants. There’s a desk covered in books and paperwork in one corner and a bookshelf with several books packed into it in the other. There’s a couch on one wall, and a couple plush looking chairs on the other.

You move to one of the chairs, sinking down onto it. It envelops you in softness, and you feel as if you might sink into it and never be able to get out. After a day of hard plastic and stiff blankets, it nearly makes you weep.

Price takes the chair next to you, Dr. Keller sitting on the couch across from you. The office smells good, a light, neutral scent in the air aside from the pure almondy scent of beta.

“Alright,” She says, holding a tablet and a stack of files in her lap. “I always like to start by introducing myself and telling you a bit about me, then we’ll get into the important stuff.”

She jumps into telling you about herself. Where she grew up: California. Where she studied: UC Berkeley. What institute she did her residency at: West Coast Training Academy. Where she worked last before Kate called her in: some poor inner city institute in LA.

“Now, on to the more important stuff.” She says, turning on the tablet. “I got your medical records yesterday. You’re quite the healthy girl.”

“Yes ma'am. I have good genes. That’s what my mom used to say.” You respond.

Dr. Keller smiles. “Hardly even been sick. Your heats are all normal, too, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You say. “Except for a three month stretch two years ago.”

“Yes, the heat sickness epidemic that hit America.” She says.

You nod. “FIOT locked down completely and everyone was supposed to quarantine, but I heard a rumor that it was one of the beta food workers. She snuck out to see her alpha boyfriend and brought it in with her. We only think it was her because she disappeared not long after the first omega got sick.”

Dr. Keller hums. “I know not everyone was so willing to take it seriously. You made a full recovery, though. No lasting side effects, I’m sure thanks to the state of the art medical facilities that FIOT keeps.”

“Yes, ma’am. We were lucky it was just a mild case.”

“That is lucky.” She flips through something on the tablet. “Your lab results all look phenomenal. I like to do checkups monthly, just to ensure everything is working as it should. I know the CIA gave you quite the cocktail of vaccines while you were with them.” She turns her gaze to Price. “Captain Price, I’ve sent in a request for your team’s vaccination records as well. I’m sure you’ve had everything under the sun, but I’d like to ensure there’s no risk of any accidental exposures.”

“I don’t see a problem with that.” Price says. “If RAMC gives you any trouble, just let me know. I’ll get them for you myself.”

“Thank you, Captain.” She says. “One last bit in this part and then we can move on. I see FIOT issued an implant before you left, as is standard practice.”

You nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. You’ve had more than enough time for it to take effect so we won’t have to worry about any accidental slip ups during your next heat.”

Your cheeks warm at her words a bit. You’ve been trying to avoid thinking about that inevitable side of things.

“And your next heat is roughly six weeks away.” She says, looking at the calendar. “Don't be surprised if it comes a little earlier now that you’re being exposed to alphas again.”

Your stomach twists nervously at that thought. It was common for heats to be triggered early after exposure to alphas, especially after such a prolonged period without exposure to them. It wasn’t likely to start tomorrow, but you knew it could jump a week or two due to the natural pheromones alphas put off, and the instinctual call for the alpha/omega bond.

“You’re planning for the claiming to take place during the heat?” Dr. Keller asks.

“Yes, that’s the plan.” Price says.

“That is the most natural time for it.” Dr. Keller says. “Of course, it is always up to omega preference in the end.”

You don’t miss the way her eyes dart to you for a second.

“Now that that’s over with,” She says, putting the tablet to the side. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to do this next part with just the two of us.”

A beat of silence passes before you realize she’s asking you. Her eyes are on you, and so are Price’s. She’s asking you. She’s asking you what you want.

“I-I guess...yeah.” You stutter over your words, not quite sure how to answer. Is there a wrong answer? Would Price be upset if you said yes? Would Dr. Keller be upset if you said no? Your eyes turn to Price, trying to gauge his reaction.

“It’s up to you.” He says softly. “We’re here for you.”

You sit up a little straighter at his words, nodding your head. “Y-Yes. That’s okay.”

Price pushes himself to stand up. “I’ll be right outside.”

The air inside the room seems to lighten as he leaves, Dr. Keller reclining back on the couch as the door clicks shut. She pulls out a stack of papers and a pen before she looks at you. Your palms are sweating, and you’re starting to think you’d like the chair to swallow you whole.

“This next part can feel a bit personal, but I just want you to know that everything you say in here is as confidential as you’d like it to be. Captain Price is right. I am an Omega Specialist, I’m here for you. I’m not just a doctor, I’m here to help you in all aspects of being an omega. I know FIOT teaches a lot, mainly obedience and compliance. I want to make it clear that you can be honest with me.” She holds up the stack of papers. “No one is going to see these papers but me, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod.

“You don’t have to be so formal with me.” She smiles. “You can call me Dr. Keller, or Doc. You could even call me an evil bitch if you want, it won’t phase me any.”

You can’t help the small smile that forms on your face.

“I’ve got some questions I’d like to ask you. They’re a sort of tracker to measure how well you’re settling in and bonding with your new pack. I’d like to meet once a week until your next heat just to see how well you’re settling in. After that we can meet as often as you’d like. Sound good?”

You nod in approval. It sounds like a lot, but you also know you’re going to have a lot of downtime, even with your pack on base.

“Alright, let’s get started. How are you settling in? I know it’s barely been a day, but I want to know how you feel here.”

Your heart begins to pound in your chest. How do you feel here? How do you feel after being pulled from the institute and taken to a training facility where you found out you’d be moving halfway across the world to be a military pack’s omega.

This wasn’t what you had expected when you reached the age where you became an available omega. Most omegas at FIOT came from rich, powerful, important families and your purpose there was to be groomed into the perfect omega to return right back to that world.

You thought you would be chosen quickly. You had expected it. With your scores and your high ratings and your status, you were what most alphas dreamed of. Yet, the years had passed and though there was some interest, nothing had ever come of it. You weren’t alone in it. There were others like you, those who excelled at being an omega, but then seemed to stall in the selection once they came of age.

Of course, now that you look back on it, you can’t help but think it might have been done on purpose. The Omega Initiative was new, you had been told during your first briefing explaining why you were taken to a remote building somewhere outside of D.C. and greeted not by your new pack, but swathes of CIA agents. Military packs were nothing new, but they wanted to utilize the naturally formed packs and make them stronger and more stable by adding in omegas.

Only highly skilled omegas were considered for the program, but of course you had no say in whether you were going to partake or not. They chose the omegas and they decided where you would end up.

It wasn’t that dissimilar from being chosen from an Institute. At FIOT there was a screening process packs had to go through to be determined eligible to have access to omega files. Then the pack would have to send a neutral emissary, usually a beta, to meet the omegas in person and choose on behalf of the alpha. Most institutes don’t have that strenuous of a process, and some don’t have a process at all. In some, alphas themselves could walk in and choose an omega without even so much as a background check.

Omegas never got a say. As soon as you were handed over to an institute, the ability to choose was taken from you. Whoever your caretakers were as a pup signed over their rights to you and the institute became your legal guardian. They dictated your life up until you joined a new pack.

You had hoped it would be someone rich. If nothing else, you’d get to live a cushy life and you’d never have to worry about anything. When they told you what was really going to happen to you, you had almost cried. You did cry, late at night curled up in your bunk after hours of training and briefings.

Kate picked you for this pack specifically because she knew them and she knew you could handle them and their world.

Maybe if you had been worse at being an omega, things would have been better for you.

Or maybe they would have been worse.

“It’s...different.” You finally say, picking at your sleeves again. “But in a lot of ways, it’s similar to The Institute. It always takes me time to settle somewhere new.”

“Me too.” Dr. Keller says, writing some things down. “And with the time change, it’s just so much harder. I feel like I should be in bed right now, but it’s 8 AM. Have you started nesting?”

You shake your head. “No. I don’t even feel the urge to.”

“That’s fine.” She says, writing something else down. “In truth, I’d be more concerned if you were.”

Your eyebrows raise a bit. “Why?”

“During an adjustment period for an omega, especially in a new pack, there can be something that happens called false instincts. The sudden urge to nest, a drive to bond with pack members too soon, false heats. It’s usually brought on by a sudden change in environment, like when omegas are taken from a place where they’ve spent sometimes years with no exposure to alphas and are suddenly thrown into a space with a lot of alphas. It’s more common in larger packs where you have alphas, betas, and other omegas.”

“Could it happen in smaller packs?” You ask.

“It’s possible, though rare. It can cause some serious issues down the line when those instincts are actually supposed to begin to show up, like adjustment sickness. I’d say if you’re starting to feel the urge to nest or bond before the first week is up, then come talk to me, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod.

She smiles, turning the page. “How far have you gotten with the bonding process?”

“Just the scenting yesterday.” You answer.

“And how did that go?”

You pick at the loose thread on your sweatshirt. “Fine. It was...overwhelming.”

“They can be.” Dr. Keller says. “The new members of your pack, how are you getting along with them?”

“Fine, I guess.” You shrug. “I like Soap and Gaz. Price, he’s...he’s nice, and Ghost...” You trail off, not sure how to answer. If she’d asked before breakfast you might have said he doesn't like you. He doesn’t want you to be part of his pack, but after what happened at breakfast...

You can’t be sure he did it for you. He could have thought that soldier was staring at Soap or Gaz or even Price. He could have thought the soldier was staring at him and was annoyed with it. He had scared off the stares at every meal you’d eaten together, but how often did they get stared at? You couldn’t know if that was a daily occurrence and he was just growing sick of it.

He could be annoyed with you because you’re drawing in the stares.

“I don’t know what to think about him yet.” You answer.

She writes something else down, going through a few more questions with you. How is your appetite? How are you sleeping? Are you taking care of your needs? Do you have any concerns?

Before you know it the hour has passed and you’re walking out the door into the fluorescent, sterile hallway of the medical center.

“Remember, you have my number. If you need anything, I’m here for you.” Dr. Keller says as you part ways.

You walk with Price out of the medical center, glad to be out in the fresh air. It’s not particularly warm, and the sun is hidden behind a layer of clouds, but it’s better than the medical center.

“What do you think?” Price asks as you follow him back to the barracks.

“I think it went well.” You say, mind still reeling from an eventful morning. You’re beginning to feel your restless night.

“Do you like Dr. Keller?” He asks, probing a bit.

You nod. “Yes, sir. She’s nice.”

“Good.” He says, opening the door to the barracks for you. “I have to leave to oversee training for the next few hours.” He glances at his watch. “One of us will come get you for lunch.”

You nod. Of course you’d find yourself alone again between meals. You’re beginning to notice a pattern. “Yes, sir.”

His hand is warm as it settles on your shoulder, squeezing gently. You’re surprised by the touch, as small as it is. Were they too fighting the urge to get close to you, like you had this morning?

You can still feel the warmth of his hand even after it’s disappeared and he’s gone. You head for the rec room, deciding to avoid the constricting feeling of being shut in your room for the time being.

The TV is on when you enter, but the room is empty, playing some morning talk show. You move to the bookshelf against the wall, letting your eyes scan the titles. There's a surprising lack of military-based books shoved into the packed shelf. Of course there's a handful of old manuals and handbooks, nothing that you're particularly concerned about needing to read. You let out a sigh, standing on your toes to reach a Brandon Sanderson novel.

You look around the room but the remote for the TV seems to be missing, and it’s too high on the wall for you to reach the power button, so you leave it on, curling up on one corner of the couch as you begin to read.

You’re not sure how much time has passed when something moves in your peripheral. The sun has come out briefly, shining in through the windows. You look up from the book, suddenly feeling very small under Ghost’s gaze. His eyes are narrowed as he stares down at you, a thousand things flashing through your mind. Are you in his spot? Is this his book? Had he come to the rec room hoping to be alone and here you are infringing in his space?

“Come on.” He says, his voice rougher than it had been this morning. “Lunch.”

He’s already turned and heading out the door as you scramble up, leaving the book on the coffee table as you hurry to catch up to him. His steps are quick and wide, and you find yourself having to almost speedwalk to keep up with him.

Your thoughts are jumbled as you follow him out of the barracks and off towards the mess. Why would they send him to get you? Was he the only one available? Yesterday they had time before lunch to return to the barracks, or had that only been because of you? Or were they perhaps hoping this might offer a chance for the two of you to bond a bit?

Or were they entirely blind to Ghost’s disinterest in your existence?

Perhaps they were used to it. After so long together, perhaps they just thought it was normal. If you were brave enough to bring it up, would you get a “oh that’s just how he is” in response?

You can’t see the others as you enter the mess, Ghost leading you to the line. He stands behind you like a hulking shadow, his scent covered by the smell of gunpowder and sweat. You fill your own tray for the first time, grabbing things that look appetizing. You’ll have to get used to it eventually, even though the others insisted on doing it for the time being. When they’re not here, you’ll have to do it yourself.

Ghost leads you to an empty table, and you opt to sit across from him. You begin to eat, taking big bites to avoid the need for conversation, not that you really thought Ghost would strike up a conversation with you. Your eyes flicker around the room nervously, glancing over the entrances time and time again, waiting for the others to arrive.

“Stop twitching. They’re on their way.”

The words cut straight through you and you snap your head around to face Ghost. He’s got his mask pulled up to his nose, your eyes immediately drawn to the exposed pale skin. There’s light stubble on his chin. You remember how that had felt on your own skin when he’d scented you. He’s blonde, you think, or at least has light hair judging by the color of the stubble. There’s a scar on his chin, almost hidden by the stubble.

Your face warms as you realize you’ve been caught in your nervous fretting. Of course, you should have known he would take notice. There’s not a lot they don’t notice, you think. Though, when your survival depends on noticing even the smallest detail of anything or anyone...

You jump as a tray is set down next to yours, your eyes snapping up to see Gaz with a smile on his face. You turn back to look at Ghost, his mask pulled back down but you see a slight shake to his shoulders for a second.

Was he...laughing at you?

Your attention is drawn from him as Gaz takes a seat next to you, sitting close enough his arm is almost brushing yours. Price and Soap taking their usual spots as well. You’re beginning to pick up on the patterns that existed around them, and their own patterns. Perhaps that will make it easier for you to fit yourself into their lives. You knew from the start they weren’t going to change to fit you into their lives. They couldn’t. You were going to have to find a way to fit into their lives.

Gaz walks you back to the barracks after lunch, abnormally quiet as he watches you warily. He walks you to your door, leaning on the doorframe as you step inside.

“You alright?” He asks, big brown eyes shining with worry as he looks you over.

“Yeah.” You nod, shifting on your feet. “Just tired. I think I might take a nap.”

He nods, and you’re sure he doesn't quite believe you, but he doesn’t press any. “Alright. Happy napping.”

You close the door as he leaves, sinking down onto the edge of the bed with a sigh. It’s been a long day and it’s only lunch. Between the probing questions from Dr. Keller and the few minutes you had spent alone with Ghost you feel exhausted. It was good to know you weren’t entirely broken in your lack of nesting instincts, and perhaps your turmoil with belonging in this place wasn’t quite as abnormal as you thought.

What to do about Ghost.

He’s said more words to you today than he did in the entirety of the previous day. In fact, you think today might be the first time he’s spoken to you at all. You know he doesn’t approve of you, and you’d go so far as to say he doesn’t like you. You can imagine he fought the hardest against you being added to the pack. They were fine without you. It didn’t take a genius to see that.

You’re an outsider. A civilian. A risk.

An unneeded disruption to their lives.

You pull your phone out of your pocket, staring at the dark screen. You know Ghost might never accept you. He won’t want to claim you, he won’t mate you, but...perhaps you might just get him to tolerate you.

You unlock your phone, sending a quick text to Kate.

“Can you get a book for me?”

You regret your decision momentarily as you step into the rec room. Gaz and Soap are lounged on the couch, beer bottles open on the coffee table. The TV is playing ads, their attention on each other. You almost feel as if you’re infringing upon a private moment as they laugh, half tempted to race back to your room and hide until your hunger draws you out or someone breaks down the door to get to you.

“Hey!” Gaz’s face lights up when he sees you, Soap turning to look at you.

“Hey, bonny!” His face lights up with a smile.

“Do you mind if I join you?” You ask, shifting nervously on your feet.

“Not at all.” Gaz says, patting the empty spot on the couch next to him. “You want a beer?”

You shake your head. “No thank you. Never could get past the taste.”

Soap throws his head back as he laughs, slapping Gaz’s shoulder. “I keep tellin’ ye!”

“Yet you keep drinking it!” Gaz attempts to defend himself.

“Cause it’s th’ only thing we got!” Soap argues, leaning around Gaz to stare at you. “So, ye a football fan, bonny?”

“Well, I watched the World Cup a couple times as a kid.” You say. “My household was more of an American football and baseball household. Two of my older brothers played soccer, though they never were very serious about it. Mostly just did it to fulfill my dad’s physical activity extracurricular requirement.”

“What did you do to fulfill that requirement?” Gaz asks as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Softball. I was...not good at it.” You laugh. “I could catch and throw, but I don’t think I hit the ball a single time I was at bat.”

Both of them chuckle, turning back to the TV as the ad ends. “Don’t worry, we’ll turn you into a proper football fan yet.” Gaz says.

You watch the game with them, and it doesn’t take you long to realize they’re rooting for opposing teams. They explain things to you here and there in between yelling at the TV and each other. Despite how loud they are, you find yourself relaxing further and further, the tension from the last two days easing away, even as the two betas yell at each other over a soccer game.

Gaz tenses for a second as he feels a sudden weight on his shoulder. He turns his head slightly, noticing you’ve fallen asleep, your head drooping onto his shoulder. His lips quirk up in a smile as he gently nudges Soap.

“Wha?” Soap asks, turning to look at him.

He jerks his head to the side, leaning back just slightly so Soap can see. A grin breaks out on the younger man’s face and he pulls out his phone. “Aww, look a’ that. Think we should wake ‘er and get ‘er tae bed?”

“Nah.” Gaz says. “Let her sleep for now. She probably needs it.”

You sleep soundly through overtime, Gaz not moving until the post game is over, letting you sleep as long as possible. He knows you have to be tired, after the last few days and the time difference. You looked tired today, with dark circles and droopy eyes. He hates to wake you, but he knows you can’t sleep on the couch.

He nudges you gently, trying to rouse you. “Hey.” He nudges you again, your head finally lifting off his shoulder.

You blink sleepily, rubbing at your eyes. You make a quiet sound in protest of being awake, eyes drooping closed again.

“Come on, love.” He says, keeping you upright. “It’s time for bed.”

You cover your yawn with your hand, blinking at him sleepily. “Bed?” You murmur sleepily, Gaz smiling softly at how adorable you are in this state.

“Yeah, you’ll be more comfortable in bed.” He pushes himself to stand, hands on your arms to pull you up.

You make another sound in protest, nearly falling against his chest when he gets you on your feet. He wraps an arm around you, letting you lean on him as he guides you back to bed, Soap cleaning up the mess they had made.

You’re more awake once you get to your door, blinking up at him with bleary eyes. “‘S fun.” You murmur, rubbing your eyes. “Should do that more often.”

“You’re always welcome to join us.” He says. “Get some rest. You’ve had a long week.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Night, love.”

He waits until your door is closed before heading back down the hallway towards the rec room, a small smile on his face.

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#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #poly 141 #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #a/b/o #alpha beta omega dynamics

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