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darkworkcourier · 1 year

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Could you write Ghost x fem!reader where she finds him attractive but is too shy to actually tell him but also can't hide the way she's feeling, so Ghost notices her interest and eventually they end up in bed (*cough* you know what I mean)? Also Ghost being gentle and protective towards her, plz

Ps. I love your writing!

Word Count: 8314

i’m incapable of short prompt fills, apparently! o, but i am filled with grief!

anywho, reader’s codename is ‘ladybird’ (hc that soap gave it to her because she’s lucky) but is otherwise nameless.

contains masturbation, oral sex, lots of feelings, wee bit of slow burn, ghost being like weirdly emotional and soft, and soap’s gratuitous and unfortunate use of emojis. 💀/🐞4ever

---

The first time it really hits you, you're in a helicopter about two miles above the ground—honestly a terrible place to face your feelings. It's a velvet-dark night, strategically chosen for the new moon, the countryside below nearly invisible. You're almost in a doze, caught up in the Chinook's blades' low, thunderous pulse and the sporadic rocking as it hits little glades of turbulence. Your eyes lose focus on some of the running lights, until they turn hazy, and its only when the man across from you moves his boot do you snap back to attention.

Ghost. Right. You learned his name a few weeks ago during your orientation, but he was deployed on a recon mission only a day later. Price summoned him back for this mission, but aside from a few gruff comments at the all-hands meeting, you haven't heard him say much.

For a moment, you think he might have dozed off, too. He’s leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. And that’s fair, you think; Soap told you he didn’t think Ghost ever slept.

You silently study him, the way his head rocks a little with the turbulence, how much taller he is than everyone else in his row, the peculiar illusion that the eye sockets of his mask are empty—

And suddenly they aren’t.

He’s looking back at you, dark eyes regarding you passively, even though the mask makes every look significantly more intimidating. For moment that goes on way too long, you don’t look away, your gazes locked. Your heart takes the tracheal elevator to your throat, beating loud enough to drown out the Chinook’s roar.

You look away first, and you swear you hear him snort.

The rest of the journey to the drop-off zone, you deliberately don’t look at him; but when you close your eyes, there he is.

All you can think is ohhhh, shit.

---

Military crushes aren’t abnormal. Put enough people at the peak of physical excellence in a room, throw around some form-fitting uniforms, and mix in a few adrenaline rushes—it’s a goddamn potent mixture. You’ve had your share of mess hall dreamy-eyed gazing sessions, and a few ‘I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go’ moments in gyms and fitness centers. That’s fine; that’s normal.

What you start feeling for Ghost isn’t that.

Nevermind that he’s rarely out of tactical dress, and if he is, he usually defaults to a hoodie or something that doesn’t exactly entice the imagination. And he’s never out of some variation of his mask, so you can’t think woah, pal, do you cut glass with that jawline because as far as you can tell, he doesn’t have one. No mooning over cheekbones, admiring the curve of lips. He has nice eyes, but ever since the night in the Chinook, you haven’t been able to meet them for more than a second before your heart does that terrible little samba again.

Per your mental checklist, aside from being tall and muscular, he doesn’t check all your normal boxes. By all those counts, Gaz or Soap are way better fits. Hell, Soap likes to hang around in his silkies like they’re pajamas, showing off plenty to keep your fantasy fodder trough filled. And you’ve caught Gaz doing push-ups in the lounge, his tight shirt doing wonders for his shoulders.

But it’s Ghost who makes you feel like a hormonal teenager. It’s Ghost that gets you antsy and fidgety when he enters a room. And it’s Ghost that you think about during your rare alone time in the shower, when your hands start drifting south and the tile walls are your only support.

You’ve got it bad for him, and you have no idea what to do about it.

---

You’re doing recon in Berlin when Soap notices.

The mission details are simple: a drug lord known as Keiler using a night club as a go-between for his suppliers and dealers—all further complicated by the fact that he has plenty of friends in the arms trade, and by Laswell’s reports, he’s very generous to those friends. The club is a front, a money laundering wonderland. Through your observation, drugs and alcohol are doled out in equal volume, all to the backdrop of skull-splitting bass and sharp scalpels of strobe lights.

The biggest obstacle is that Keiler likes to use a private room overlooking the club as his perch, and your intelligence says that at any given time, he has a small army defending him. Getting to him requires an incredible degree of finesse. Naturally, Ghost is the one to do it.

You, Soap, and Gaz are scattered around the main floor of the club. Gaz is out on the dance floor, Soap’s taken up a spot near the bar, and you’re in the lounge. It’s the first time you’ve done something like this (and in an outfit with so little fabric), and you’re really not used to being ogled and pawed by a bunch of drunk, drugged, or horny Berliners.

Soap must see your discomfort from his position, as you hear a dry, amused, “Feelin’ a little tense, Ladybird?”

You swallow hard and chase it with a sip of your drink, which definitely needs to be watered down. “I’m fine,” you say.

“You look like you just drank petrol.”

“You’re the one who ordered it for me.”

Gaz cuts in with a weary, “Do we have eyes on Ghost, yet? I’m starting to get tired of people grabbing my—”

“I’m here,” Ghost’s voice scrapes over the comms, causing you to sit up straight and look around. You catch sight of Soap who has his hand curled in front of his mouth, clearly snickering like a heathen.

“Think you scared the shit out of Ladybird, LT,” he says.

He’s lucky he’s on the other side of the room, otherwise you’d pretend to be extremely clumsy and find an excuse to spill your drink on his (very, very tight) shirt. You mouth ‘shut up’ at him, and he reaches up with his pointer finger to draw an invisible halo over his head.

Ghost ignores him. “I’m near the east stairwell, headed to second deck. Got one guard at the far end. Gaz, you seein’ anything I should know about?”

A pause, then, “Negative, Ghost. I’ve got what you’ve got.”

“Copy. Going to second deck now.”

Out of habit, your eyes go to the east stairwell, peering through the haze pierced with multicolored lights to see a single dark shape ascending. He disappears behind a catwalk, then reappears to the right, mingling with the crowd near the second floor bar. Once he’s there, he seems to fade into the throng of people, most in dark clothing, some in masks. Just like that, he’s invisible.

It’s hard to focus on looking calm and happy to be there, but you keep sipping your drink, watching the dancers and feeling the bassline of yet another techno song thrumming in your chest. You’re glad you’re not out on the dance floor, or being called to give come-hither glances to bouncers and guards.

Then, “Coming back down to first deck,” Ghost says, clearly agitated. “Too many guards and too many people. We need another way up.”

Soap grins. “Violence isn’t the answer, LT?”

“Negative. Start looking for another route.”

On cue, you stand up and cross the room to the bar, sliding in beside Soap. He’s fishing for another couple Euro from his wallet, pushing it across to the bartender with two fingers. The bartender gives him a brief nod and refills his glass, while Soap turns his attention to you.

“Any bright ideas?”

You frown and adjust the straps on your top again. It’s a stupid piece of clothing, always feeling like it’s going to fall off. “Only the emergency stairs by the front doors, but I can’t imagine Keiler leaves those undefended.”

Soap looks thoughtful and scratches at his stubble. “Yeah, but probably no civilians, either. And if the door’s alarmed, Ghost can take care of that.”

As if summoned, you feel Ghost appear before you see him, a huge presence over your shoulder that makes you jump. “Jesus!” you hiss.

And Soap, the traitor, laughs to the point of wheezing as Ghost takes up the bar stool on his other side. “I think you’re giving our Ladybird here a complex,” Soap says through his laughter.

Ghost rolls his eyes. From this angle, you can see Ghost in more than just the dim light you’ve been working with most of the night. He’s not dressed too far outside his usual fashion wheelhouse—heavy boots, black trousers, and a loose black hoodie. His hood’s pulled up over a black beanie and a skull-painted gaiter, and he’s foregone his usual thick coating of greasepaint for black-ringed eyes (is that eyeliner?) and a streak of smoke-colored paint that just manages to obscure the color of his brows. The downside (for you, at least) is that the combo manages to draw his eyes into sharper contrast, making them that much more intense.

Suddenly, your heart’s doing the thing again.

Ghost doesn’t seem to notice any change in you, but you think Soap’s actually looking for it. He watches you, brows lifted, mouth curled like a flirtation of a smirk. Briefly, he glances between you and Ghost, and then the smirk appears in full force, enlightenment dawning.

Before he can insinuate a thing, you’re shoving your half-empty glass across the bar top with a too-high, “Bitte.” The bartender only gives you a brief, unamused look before taking your glass and remaking whatever godforsaken cocktail Soap ordered.

It’s not a good distraction, and the damage is already done. Soap knows, damnit. His smile is too easygoing, but he turns to Ghost and starts talking about the emergency stairwell, which is a relief. Ghost looks over his shoulder toward the stairwell in question, and as he does, Soap looks at you and makes the gesture of zipping his own mouth shut, throwing away the proverbial key with a wink.

As he does, Gaz pipes back up with, “Ghost, you copy?”

“Yeah, Gaz?”

“You, uh, know anything about a big guy with a tattoo of a boar on the back of his head?”

Ghost looks toward the dance floor, brows furrowing. “Yeah, that’d be Bauer, Keiler’s right hand man.”

“Great. Glad you know him, because he’s here.”

Shit. He wasn’t supposed to be. If Bauer’s here, then either Keiler’s doing something more than his usual partying upstairs, or Keiler knows someone’s here looking for him. Either way, the mission just got significantly harder, and your night got that much longer.

With a grunt, Ghost pushes off the bar and starts making his way to the emergency stairwell. “I’ll take care of it,” he says. “Keep your eyes open. Out here.”

Once he’s gone, there’s a pause—a very heavy pause. Then, Soap looks at you with an expression that is just a hair too pleased. “Ghost, huh?”

Your face heats up, right as the bartender hands you your drink. You reach for your wallet, only for the bartender to put a hand up and shake his head. “Nein, für das schöne Mädchen,” he says.

For the pretty girl.

“Bet Ghost thinks so, too,” Soap says, and you resolve to definitely spill your free drink on his too-tight pants.

---

Weeks after Keiler’s nice and cozy in a maximum-security prison and the 141 is back at base, you have another miniature existential crisis.

It’s all an accident—just a tempest of bad timing and bad luck. Ever since you came back from Germany, you’ve had a tough time getting a full night’s sleep. It’s easy to blame the natural stress of your work, the long hours, the high-adrenaline action you see more than you ever did before this job. And, well, part of it has to come from Ghost. He’s occupied your thoughts more than ever since the night club.

Your solution is to hit the gym late at night, pushing yourself until you can’t keep your eyes open and no amount of insomnia can overcome it. The first few nights of this effort work fine—you end up in bed around one or two in the morning, and sleep until your alarm goes off. No one bothers you; no one hogs the machines. It’s kind of nice.

However, you don’t account for all the night owls that share the base with you.

You head to the gym late on a Friday night, towel around your neck, water bottle at the ready, podcasts preloaded. If you ever hit the gym during the day, you usually do so in a t-shirt and sweatpants. At night, you’ve started opting for PT shorts and a tank top, happy for the lack of eyes around the room.

Except for tonight.

You open the door into the gym, only to hear the mechanical drone of a treadmill and someone sprinting damn fast on it. For a second, you freeze, hiding behind the corner. Then, slowly, you peer around it, clutching your phone and water bottle close to your chest.

Jesus Christ. It’s Ghost.

Ghost, in a t-shirt. In sweatpants. Running on a treadmill set to the highest incline. Panting.

Ghost, with bare arms, showing a detailed tattoo on his left arm, and prominent veins running over his chiseled muscles. He looks like a fucking Greek statue, and that’s just what you can see.

“Ohhh, my God,” you whisper to yourself, immediately working on an exit strategy that doesn’t involve catching his attention.

Which obviously doesn’t come to pass. It’s something you probably should have learned on the helo ride—Ghost knows when he’s being watched. He turns his head, dark eyes fixing on you immediately. Briefly, he looks back at the treadmill, then down at his watch, and back to the treadmill’s controls. He slows it down, dropping the incline, until he finally steps off and starts walking toward you.

Abort, abort.

You think about fleeing, running back to your room or rolling under a table or hiding behind a counter like he’s a goddamn velociraptor in the kitchen. You do none of those things, because despite your training, you freeze up. No one could blame you, you think. It’s hard to do much else when a six-foot-something skull-faced wall of muscle walks up to you. And you must look stellar, holed up in a corner by the door, your water bottle and phone held up like a shield.

Ghost takes in the sight of you, eyes flicking up, down, up. Heat rises to your face, and down to—to nowhere, because it’s better not to think about it. You suddenly feel too vulnerable in your choice of outfit, naked under his gaze.

“Ladybird,” he says. Your nickname becomes a hot scratch of sound, losing its whimsy in favor of a tone you can’t define. “You need somethin’?”

There’s a patch of sweat by his collar. You stare at it, then at the floor.

“No, I just— I was, um, just about to leave, and... Yeah, I’m gonna go.”

He’s silent until you finally look up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in what what feels like an eon. He looks amused, but there’s a quirk in his brow like he can’t quite get a good read on you. “You look like you were about to use the gym.”

You look down at your bottle, phone, and towel like you’re just now noticing them. When you bring your attention back to him, you feel like you need to just kick the door open and escape, dignity be damned. “I... was,” you say slowly. Then, you rally yourself, trying to look upbeat and resolved. “Y’know what? You can keep using it. I’ll come back later.”

He shrugs, but you see it. Some secondary expression slinking around in his eyes like it’s working through the perpetually-moving cogs in his head. He gives you another one of those assessing glances, and for a second, you think he’s going to step into your space. His body language looks primed to do so, and you hold your breath in anticipation for it, unsure of what he’s going to do.

Then he takes a step back, and another.

“Suit yourself,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind it, though.”

Before you can process his words, he’s back on the treadmill, tweaking the settings and raising the incline again. The belt starts moving, and he’s back to looking like power personified, a vision in motion.

You have got it so bad.

It’s a hasty retreat to your room, and once the door’s shut behind you, you’re panting like you had run on the treadmill and lifted weights.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you hiss, discarding your things on the table beside your bed, kicking off your running shoes, then laying down and staring at the ceiling. He knows. He has to. Ghost’s whole job depends on him being observant, and he looked at you like he was reading a fucking book.

You groan and press your palms into your eyes until phosphenes appear, dancing around and shimmering like fireworks behind your eyelids. You’re going to have to leave the 141 out of pure mortification. You’ll have to go into some kind of witness protection, change your name, and move to the other side of the earth. Or if you stay, you’ll have to pretend Ghost doesn’t exist. You’ll hide behind walls, slinking through the building’s HVAC just to avoid him like you’re working on a heist. Maybe you can convince Soap or Gaz to accompany you everywhere so you can hide behind their bulk.

But then, your horrible brain reminds you of what you’ll miss out on. It runs through a greatest hits reel of your crush so far—Ghost’s eyes, his presence stretching long over you like a shadow, his massive frame, his arms. The tattoo, detailed enough to tell from a distance, and then the thought of running your fingers over it, tracing all the fine points and lines. And are those his only tattoos, or are there more?

And his voice. Jesus, you replay the few words you’ve heard him say over and over, savoring each syllable, each quirk of his accent. Even the last thing he said—

I wouldn’t mind it, though.

That makes you open your eyes again, widening them as you take in the pocks and scrapes on the ceiling. He wouldn’t mind what? Having company in the gym? Having you, specifically, as his company? You don’t know what to make of it, or what he meant by it. Honestly, you feel like you don’t know anything right now.

Except that you want him. That’s the only thing you’re sure of. You want to know how his hands feel on you, how they would run over your bare skin, what the callouses on his fingers would feel like on the most delicate and sensitive parts of your body. Your imagination leaps ahead of you, guiding your own hand down into your shorts and under the band of your panties. You tease yourself, just dipping your fingers into the wet heat, trailing them over your clit like a hint to yourself, coaxing your arousal out of your panic.

His hands would feel different. When you rub your index finger over your clit, you imagine his finger instead, pressing gently against you, building up friction slowly, making you ache. You wonder if he’d savor your reactions, watching you get worked up, grinding against his hand to seek any kind of relief.

“Easy, Ladybird,” you imagine him saying, the nickname now a tease. And he’d know your real name, the one hidden away in your file. He’d whisper it into your ear, breath hot on your neck, his whole body eclipsing yours.

Your pace quickens, fingers running urgently between your clit and opening, causing your core to tighten and your breath to come in short gasps and barely-concealed moans. Ghost would tell you to let them out, let the whole damn base hear how aroused he makes you, how badly you’ve wanted him.

You breathe his name into the small space of your room, a whisper in the still air broken only by the low hum of the forced air in the vents. When you finally plunge your fingers in, it takes every bit of self-control not to outright moan and let everyone nearby know what you’re doing. Normally, you can stay quiet when you get yourself off, but you’re damn near frantic with this, whatever it is Ghost has done to you.

His fingers in you, fucking you in long, languid strokes, drawing himself out and pushing back in—all the while, watching your reactions. When you rock your hips to the pace of your hand, you imagine his voice again, “That’s right. Fuck yourself on my hand. Let me see you.”

You’d show him. Hell, you’d soak his hand, and it would remind him that it’s his fault you’re like this.

The wet sounds of your hand on your cunt is lewd and loud. It’s almost too much, enough to make you stop at the apex of your pleasure, to hide yourself under the blankets in shame and pretend that none of this happened.

But the vision of Ghost keeps you going, keeps your fingers moving in and out, crooking them inside and forcing out a gasp as a white-hot shock of pleasure lances up your spine and settles warm in your belly. The pad of your thumb presses against your clit, and you multitask on yourself, building up that friction, bringing yourself to the precipice.

He’d take you there. He might even pull you back from the edge over and over, teasing you with the fall.

“Do you want it? How bad? Show me.”

God, you would. Any way he wanted, you would show him. You’d beg and plead if that’s what got him to finally make you come.

So you whisper, “Please,” into the night, to a man who is never going to be in your bed, never going to touch you like this, never going to see your pleasure through to the end. The Ghost in your imagination has to stay there, behind locked doors and bulkheads, secured and contained for good.

But until then, you chase your orgasm with him, hitting that divine height and going into a freefall. Blood rushes in your ears, muscles twitching, heart racing. Your head comes off the pillow, back arching, toes digging into the mattress, mouth open on a moan that you refuse to let loose. You come way harder than you ever have using your own hand, enough that when you finally lower yourself back onto the bed, you grimace at the feeling of a wet patch on the sheets.

“Fuck,” you say, very emphatically. To yourself, to Ghost, to the whole damn situation.

Groaning, you reach over and grab the towel, wiping your hand and tucking it under your ass before rolling onto your back again and wondering what the hell you’re going to do.

---

You’re going to hide from Ghost, that’s what.

Captain Price gives the team a few days off to rest up for the next mission, and you decide right then and there that you’re going to spend every second off base, as far away from the barracks as you can get. You’ll get a hotel, order a ridiculously expensive amount of room service, and marinate in your feelings for a couple days until it’s all out of your system. Maybe you’ll go to a bar or coffee shop and chat up some nice person who isn’t a tall, broad, terrifying British soldier. And maybe you’ll have a night of incredible passion and twisted sheets, and it’ll be so cathartic that when you come back to base, you’ll be a whole new person.

That plan holds until your phone goes off while you’re packing up.

It’s a text from Soap: ‘wyd?’

‘Going off radar for a couple days. Why?’

He sends a sad emoji, then two beer glasses clinking together, a soccer ball, and then a big red question mark. Apparently, Soap only knows how to speak in hieroglyphs.

You smile, and type back, ‘Sorry, need to go clear my head.’

Skull emoji. Question mark.

‘None of your beeswax,’ you send, followed by the soap emoji.

‘that sucks,’ he types back. There’s a short pause, and then he types again. ‘cause he was looking for u earlier’

Your heart damn near comes to a stop, and you very hesitantly respond, ‘Why?’

‘idk. think he wanted to ask u smth’

Nope. You’re not taking the bait. If Ghost wants to talk to you, he can come right up and—and you can walk off in the opposite direction and act like there’s something incredibly interesting that you need to see right that second.

You type a few variations of ‘Then he can come and talk to me himself,’ but none of them sound particularly nice. Ghost hasn’t done anything wrong, so there’s no reason for you to act like he has. And for that matter, you’re supposed to be hiding from Ghost, not encouraging him to find you. Instead, you send back a clipped, ‘Okay.’

Nothing.

For one hopeful second, you think Soap’s mercifully let the conversation go, allowing you to go in peace to your nice hotel and your overpriced room service food.

Instead, you get the sunglasses emoji, a wink face, and, ‘k i told him to come see u’.

‘WHAT’

The only response is the skull and the little running cloud dash emoji, suggesting that Ghost is making a beeline right to your room. Panic seizes you and you fling your phone on your bed like somehow it’s going to help. It bounces harmlessly, then lands screen up, emojis taunting you.

Quickly, you start shoving the rest of your clothes and toiletries in your bag without a care as to where everything goes, eager to book it out of there as fast as your legs can take you. Once your bag is zipped up and thrown over your shoulder, you think you might be in the clear. Mission nearly accomplished.

Nearly.

Two solid knocks on your door almost make you hit the ceiling. You hold still, using that Jurassic Park wisdom again: if you don’t move, he can’t see you.

That applies to fictional dinosaurs, not trained killers, and certainly not Ghost. He knocks again, then follows it up with, “Ladybird, it’s me.”

Yeah, you know. That’s the problem.

Briefly, you consider going out the window, shimmying out and potentially getting caught on a base security camera for someone to laugh at later. That doesn’t make the problem go away, though.

You can just tell him you’re in a hurry, that your ride is at the gate right now and you don’t want to keep them waiting. Whatever conversation he wants to have, it’ll have to wait until you get back. It’s a good response. Solid. Foolproof.

And it dissolves the second you open the door.

He’s there, not vanished in the disappearing act you were hoping for, and all that want flares up again the moment you see him. He’s in casual dress like what he wore to the club—boots, jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, balaclava. His posture’s more relaxed, one hand in his hoodie pocket, the other hanging at his side. You meet his eyes, and your regret mixes with desire welling up inside you.

It’s that intense gaze from the helo, the brief but incendiary look from Berlin, the thoughtful gaze from the gym. You’re drawn up in it immediately, and this time, there’s no possibility of looking away. Ghost has you locked in.

He takes in the sight of you, dressed in your civvies, backpack on your shoulders, and raises his brows. “Going somewhere?”

Your mouth is cotton-dry, and you’re proud of yourself for putting a little syntax together. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m headed out.”

Right now, you should say. I’m going out right this second and I cannot be stopped. Do not engage.

But you don’t say that. You leave the words as they are, hanging between the two of you. In that moment, you’re two opposing fronts of contradictions—you want him to go, stay, talk, stay silent, touch you, leave you alone.

Ghost seems to sense this, that you’re not making any move to either speak to him or push him away. He doesn’t get into your space, staying right where he is while looking at you with his head slightly tilted. “Can I come in a sec?”

No. “Yes.” Please.

You take a step back, allowing him to walk into your room. His presence seems to fill it, like there’s too much of him and too little space to contain it. He closes the door behind himself, then finds a spot against the wall (the rare section that isn’t covered by posters or mementos) and leans against it. Still, still giving you your space.

You’re all nerves, waiting for him to speak, yet feeling like you should say something—to get all your feelings out in the open, exposed and waiting for him to pick over and do with what he will. But your anxiety and silence wins out, and instead you fidget, trying to find a point in the room to fix your gaze. Ghost takes all your attention though, holding it in a firm, invisible grip that can’t be broken no matter what you do. You get now, more than ever, why people are so scared of him when they end up at the wrong end of his skill set—he immobilizes them, rendering them completely unable to do a damn thing.

He watches you for an agonizingly long moment, then sighs. “Look, I didn’t want to bother you if you were busy, but Soap said you were around,” he says. Ghost doesn’t trail off or leave a space in his words for you to fill in the blanks. It’s a good thing—no place for you to misinterpret him—but it suddenly leaves you terrified at the possibility of what he’s going to say.

“Just for a little bit,” you hear yourself say, voice subdued and small.

He nods. “Then I’ll just get it out now before you go. More or less a question.”

Fuck. You feel a strange, uncomfortably cold sensation curl up tight and tense in your stomach. The feeling of standing at the edge of a long drop, knowing you have no choice but to let go.

His eyes are locked on yours, unrelenting, pinning. And then he says, “Do you have feelings for me?”

Right. No way to misinterpret.

You suck in a breath—a gasp, jerking at the question even though you knew it was coming.

You could lie. It’d be easy to do, just a few movements of tongue, jaw, and lips. No, I don’t. Three easy words. You could say you appreciate him as a teammate, as a professional, as someone you can trust in tough situations. He has your back; you have his. Anything beyond that is too much, to far outside of the commanding officer-subordinate hierarchy.

But you can’t lie to him. He’ll know. He’s trained in looking for tells, for the slightest quirk to denote that you’re holding back the truth. That, and you don’t want to lie to him.

Instead, quietly, you say, “Yes,” and inwardly brace for impact. Any kind of dressing-down from your C.O. and reminder of responsibilities and duties; or on a personal level, that Ghost doesn’t do relationships. You’re tensed up, waiting for its inevitable blow and all the shrapnel that’s definitely going to land right in your heart.

“Oh,” he says.

Oh.

Just one syllable, said deceptively, uncharacteristically soft. It belies so many things—possibilities, dangers. This man is fucking complicated.

And then he takes a step toward you. Just one. Just enough to close the gap that many inches. You don’t back up, but you’re too afraid to walk to him, unsure of what’s coming next.

He’s looking down at you, gaze passive, calm, and strangely open. You’ve learned new and interesting ways to read his eyes since you fell for him, but this one has an unknown definition, a kinesic oddity that you can’t translate.

And for a moment, you let yourself hope.

Then, he says your name. Not Ladybird. Not your rank. Your name. The sound of it is a rush in your ears, in your whole head, through every artery, vein, and capillary. He takes another step, slower than the first, drawing in closer before he says, “Do you want this?”

You nod. There’s nothing else you can do. You take a step toward him, looking up into his eyes and trying to read everything there. “Do you?” you ask. You’re still waiting for the rejection, as though Ghost is the type of person to lure you in only to shut you down.

Rejection doesn’t come. Instead, he steps forward to close the gap, one of his hands finding your waist.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

Holy shit.

You stare at him in surprise, and the look on your face must be ridiculously easy to read. His other hand goes up under your chin, tilting your face toward him. The touch of his fingers is exactly like you imagined, the callouses on his thumb brushing over the soft skin underneath your jaw, causing you to shiver.

Ghost leans in close to your left side, skull’s grin close to your ear, and whispers, “Thought you hated me. Every time I looked at you, you’d look away.”

A near-hysterical laugh bubbles up in your throat, and comes out as a compressed, breathless giggle. All that time, you were so hopelessly in love with him, you couldn’t look at him without feeling like your heart was about to give out; and he interpreted that as dislike.

“God, no,” you say. “Total opposite.”

He laughs in your ear, and the sound chases out the remainder of that cold tension, replacing it with a newfound heat that feels good. “Wish I’d known sooner,” he says, and one of his hands goes up to push a strap of your backpack off your shoulder.

You ease out of it, dropping it to the floor, before reaching out and tentatively touching his waist in return. Through the fabric of his hoodie, you can feel how solid he is underneath, and you run your hand along his side in silent wonder.

Ghost moves back suddenly, and you only have a second to question why before the light goes out, leaving you in muted darkness permeated only by the bare sliver of sunlight filtering through your curtain. One hand finds your waist again, pulling you close, walking you toward your bed.

All you can think is no fucking way over and over, even as the back of your legs hit the side of the bed, and Ghost is lowering you down. Your back touches the mattress, head on the pillow, and Ghost is over the top of you, his hands bracketing your head. He looks down at you, mostly in shadow, only the bright white of the skull motif visible in the darkness. Then, his eyes flicker to his left, and he abruptly snorts.

You furrow your brow. “What?”

Wordlessly, his hand moves to the right of your head, and he picks up your phone.

Your phone which is still on, showing the emoji-heavy conversation with Soap. Ghost flips the phone to show you the last text he sent.

Skull emoji, kiss, black heart, red heart, ladybug, eggplant, peach, confetti ball, birthday cake.

“What the fuck, Soap?” you say under your breath, grabbing the phone from Ghost. You quickly turn it off and shove it onto your bedside table, groaning in embarrassment.

Ghost shakes his head, and unlike Soap, he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he brings the situation right back on the rails with one hand going up under your shirt. Then, he says, “Close your eyes a second.”

You do, without question. You hear a faint rustle of fabric, and then his lips press against yours.

You gasp against his mouth, and that thrill you felt at hearing your name seems to rush back through you twofold at the thought that he took his mask off for you. He kisses you firmly, a guarantee that this is what he wants. You reach up with one hand, combing your fingers through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp and drawing out a quiet groan. He smells like standard-issue soap and laundry detergent, and the faint spice of cologne only just clinging to his skin. The feeling of kissing him is dizzying, entrancing, and the sound of it just hammers home that this is happening to you, in your room, with him.

He pulls back just a little, kissing a trail from the corner of your mouth down to your chin, then your jaw, and up to your ear. The sensation makes you shiver again, arching up into him involuntarily. You hear and feel an amused huff of breath, before he says, “What do you want?”

Good god, what don’t you want?

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Anything. Whatever you want.”

He nods against your neck, then tilts his head up to press a kiss to your temple. “Tell me if it’s too much, or if there’s something you don’t like. Communicate.”

You grin, mostly at the sotto voce version of his command voice. “Yes, sir.”

He huffs a laugh and continues kissing down your neck, down to the hemline of your shirt. Undressing comes as an easy next step, shoes off first (and they were on the bed, ugh), and then Ghost pulls your shirt up; you lift yourself enough to help him pull it over your head. In the darkness, he does the same, and you watch his silhouette remove his hoodie, then pull his shirt over his head and drop it off the side of the bed. You can’t see his face, but the faint beam of sunlight touches his hair and brings out a hint of pale gold. It feels like a secret shared between you, adding to that warmth building up inside.

He leans back down, kissing down your sternum to the upper hem of your sports bra. He starts to go lower, and you decide then that you’d like to take at least a little initiative.

“Wait,” you whisper. “Come back up here.”

He does, like he’s accustomed to obeying your orders rather than the other way around. You reach up and touch his chest, eager to feel this part of him, the one he typically buries under layers of clothing and gear. He sighs at your touch, head dropping down to rest on the pillow beside you.

He’s firm and toned with well-honed muscle earned through endless missions and exercise. At the same time, the skin of his chest is surprisingly soft—even the scattered network of scars and keloids that mark his body. You feel old and new wounds, some still raised as they heal, some concave with age. They’re long, short, thick, thin, orderly, and jagged. Starbursts of bullet wounds, hard lines of cuts, spatters of shrapnel, textured lines of old stitches. His whole torso tells a long, tragic story from cover to cover, chest to back.

But he leans into this read of him, letting you feel every scar, every painful moment. His breathing is steady in your ear, giving way to the occasional sigh as your fingers trail over his skin.

In turn, he touches you. You don’t have even a fraction of his scars, but you have a few he can note. You know when he touches them, by the way his touch lingers, learning each one. It feels reverential, or communal—the two of you engaging in a silent trust exercise. He doesn’t ask about them, and neither do you. All of that is for another time.

Ghost presses a kiss to your shoulder, then pushes up until he’s over top of you again. His free hand goes down to the waistline of your jeans, finger tracing teasingly over the zipper. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” you say, breathless. As if you’d say anything else.

He undoes the button, then the zipper, slowly pulling your jeans to your hips, then removing them entirely. He sits up on the edge of the bed for a moment, removing his boots, then his jeans. You lay there, watching him move, feeling your arousal start to grow and burn like a low flame.

When he touches you again, you silently agree that you wish you’d said or done something sooner. It’s bliss. He’s gentle with you, mindful even, in a way you’ve never experienced or anticipated from someone like him. He helps you out of your bra, letting you pull it all the way off before his hands palm your breasts in slow, deliberate movements. It’s an extension of his exploratory touches, learning your body inch by inch.

Your breathing quickens, and Ghost looks up at you in what you guess is concern. “Doing alright?” he asks.

Your face grows hot, and you nod, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “I’m fine,” you reply. “I just don’t know what to do.”

It’s not like you haven’t had sex before, but sex with him feels completely different, like it doesn’t belong in the same category. You’ve never wanted someone this badly, or had someone respond to you like this. It’s almost overwhelming, but Ghost reaches up and combs some of your hair away from your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Lie back a bit,” he instructs. “And tell me if you need me to stop.”

You do as he says, leaning up against the pillows as he moves down your body, leaving a trail of kisses down your torso to your hips. He’s a shadow moving over you, long and languid, and every touch just adds to the mounting heat. When his fingers touch the hem of your underwear, you shiver in anticipation, then arch your hips to give him a little leverage in removing them. In one motion, you’re exposed to him, even in the dark. Yet after touching him, and him touching you, you don’t feel as vulnerable. If anything, this feels safe. This feels right.

His hands go to your hips, then run slowly along the outer sides of your thighs. You think he might fulfill that fantasy from earlier, fingering you until you’re a mess, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure with his skilled hands.

Which is why it surprises the hell out of you when he goes lower, until his head is between your thighs, sunlight leaving gold stripes along his back.

“Ghost,” you gasp.

He looks up at you, and now more than ever, you wish you could see his face. You only see the faint shine of his eyes, but at that moment, it’s enough.

Then he spreads you, and licks a stripe from your opening to your clit.

If you were entertaining any thoughts before, any fantasies carefully curated in those rare hours of alone time, they flee in that single movement. Even the Ghost of your imagination never did this, tasting and savoring you in long, slow laps that make your whole brain short out like a blown fuse. The sound is goddamn obscene, especially as he leans in close and starts to lap at your clit. It’s a shock of sound in the silence, louder than even your own noises when you got yourself off.

Your right hand finds his head, fingers running through his hair as he licks you. He alternates between short laps and long strokes, tongue circling around your clit, teasing you, making you shudder and moan. It’s frustrating and fucking heavenly, the sensation of ebb and flow, receding and rushing waves of heat building up then flowing back.

Right when you think you can’t take the teasing anymore, he switches tactics. The teasing abruptly ends, and Ghost gets relentless.

You moan way too loud when he sucks at your clit, tongue swirling around it, the sound of his mouth on you loud as a gunshot. You swear they have to hear it down the hallway, or anywhere on base. At this point, though, you really don’t care who hears you, because they don’t have Ghost between their legs, getting them off in ways no deity ever intended.

Then his fingers join his mouth, index tracing circles around your entrance, dipping in slowly, tauntingly.

“Fuck.” The word is sharp in the air, as you arch at the sensation.

It’s too much; it’s not enough.

He tilts his head up a little, but when he speaks, you feel his warm breath ghost over your sex. “Let me hear you,” he says, words drawn straight out of your fantasies. Every door containing that imaginary version of Ghost is unlocked, every bulkhead breached—that Ghost and this one are one in the same.

And when he pushes that first finger into you, you follow his order to the letter.

It comes out as a broken wail, cut off when he starts thrusting and licking you in alternate strokes. His pace quickens, merciless, sharp eyes watching you from the shadows as your head rolls back on the pillow, chest heaving to catch a single solid breath. Your hands drop to your sides, fisting the sheets just to have something to hang onto, any kind of anchor as Ghost guides you through a tempest.

You moan his name, last consonant catching on a sob of pleasure when he starts to add a second finger. Only then does he pause, and the absence of his mouth is stark.

Then he says your name, temporarily drawing you out of the cumulonimbus of arousal you’re flying through, briefly bringing you back to earth.

You look down at him, the silhouette of his head, small locks of hair sticking up from where your fingers combed through. You see him tilt his head to rest his cheek against your inner thigh, and his voice rolls out like a dull roar of thunder in your ears. “It’s Simon,” he says. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Somehow, hearing his real name in the midst of all this is almost too much. Like the last little vestige of a play on stage falling away and revealing the inner workings of the backstage, all the ropes and pullies holding the show together. He’s more exposed now, more raw, more human.

You reach down, trembling hand brushing over his cheek, over stubble and scar tissue, and the soft skin of a very real face.

“Simon,” you whisper. It sounds like a confession.

He doesn’t reply, but you feel him smile against your hand, briefly turning his head to press a kiss against your palm. Then he’s lowering himself down again, coaxing you out of the eye of the storm and back into the maelstrom. Two fingers thrust and curl, filling you, leaving you empty, touching places that send bolts of pleasure through you.

Your pulse becomes the thunder of the helo’s blades, your body trembling with midair turbulence. Simon fucks you on his fingers, tongue lathing over your clit, mouth fucking worshiping you. He takes you to that precipice, the long fall, the drop through cloud cover to a faintly-marked point on the earth.

The step off the edge feels like perfect, natural progression.

Your orgasm sweeps through you from toe to tip, a roll of white-out pleasure shaking you, wringing a cry out of your mouth that makes Simon fuck you harder. His fingers don’t let up, working you through the tidal wave, taking you to shore on the other side.

You’re boneless at the end, slumping back on the pillow and panting, shivering, taking stock of your limbs and extremities as they each come back online after the outage. You only vaguely register the feeling of Simon moving on the bed, coming up to lay beside you.

He murmurs your name, then kisses you, and you can smell and taste yourself on him. Your hand goes up to run along his jawline, one rogue thought telling you, yeah, you can cut glass with it.

How everything gets so gentle afterwards is beyond you. Simon’s hand is on your face, thumb brushing the soft skin under your right eye. You can feel his erection against your leg, and somewhere in the back of your mind—still tingling with pleasure, shimmering bright and brilliant—you know how you’re going to take initiative.

You break the kiss just for a moment, delighting in the soft sigh of protest you hear and feel against your cheek. Then you lean in close, pitching your voice low like his, hoping it has the same effect on him.

“Hope you don’t have any plans this weekend,” you say, brushing your hand over his shoulder.

You feel him smile against your skin, and he shakes his head.

“Thought you were heading out,” he says.

“Only if you’re going with me.”

One arm goes around your waist, pulling you close as he nuzzles against your neck. “We have some time, though, right?” his voice slides over you, suggestion clear and presented like a gift.

God, yeah you do.

---

Somewhere in between rounds, your phone goes off on your bedside stand.

Once.

Twice.

You don’t hear it, and the short buzz is drowned out by moans and the soft slap of skin on skin. When Simon makes a move like he’s going to check on it, you hook him back in place with your leg around his waist, pulling him in close, then kissing him silent. He falls into it, all too happy to oblige.

So you miss the skull and ladybug emojis, then the volume symbol.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #em dash and italics party is here to staaaay #can you believe this was going to be longer #am i super happy with it? not totally but it was p fun

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lonelystarrs · 1 year

Text

The Pudding

Barou Shouei x FemReader (Ft Isagi Yoichi)

Barou was acting like you’d been winding him up to brat tame, however you’d been on your best behaviour since Isagi came to crash with you guys for awhile, who knew he’d be such a homewrecker and not even release it was his fault. That pudding Barou was obsessed with do be good though!

Warnings: 18+ MDNI • DomBarou • smut • Barou being Barou. • dirty talk -filth • this do be spicy get your face fans out• 5 years after Blue Lock • Isagi temporary house mate causing arguments • crack • established relationship • the ending tho 💀 isagi you homewrecker.

Frantic, aggressive and a borderline bully -Barou Shouei was showing all these traits when he’d stomped his way over to you, red eyes glowing as his figured shadow drew closer.

Normally you’d do something to warrant this kind of a reaction from him, brat taming you was something he enjoyed and something you found amusing to draw out in him.

Today however? You hadn’t done anything, in fact since Isagi came to crash a couple of days ago with you both for a few weeks you’d been pretty good. Barou only allowed it because Isagi was easy to live with, he knew this from his days in blue lock, collecting laundry and at least trying to aid his level of OCD with cleaning. He was respectful and he, unknowingly to you or anyone else owed Isagi a favour.

Why? That secret would die with Barou -and with Isagi if he kept his word on not telling anyone. Barou had actually asked him to try find out your ring sizes, which he had successfully done -fuck knows how he pulled it off and fuck knows how Barou bit his pride to ask. He wanted someone outside to get the job done, he himself or his sisters would be way too obvious. Apparently he took you shopping with Bachira who you had a soft spot for, the guys eccentric personality made it easy to fall for, he made you try on a load of stacking rings and Isagi remembered the one for your ring finger, clever little shit Barou had to give him that.

“W-wait Barou, s-slow down-“

You tried to tighten your thighs together in an attempt to block him but he’d only pushed his weight by his hips further into you causing you to spread them.

Normally Barou would prep you, much needed considering how thick and long this guy was, he was built like a god head to toe and taking him was always a stretch.

You were actually a little worried at how fired up he was, but equally excited by his sudden attitude shift, he was fine this morning but he was borderline feral at the moment.

Barou snorted a laugh, red eyes looking up to you as he held himself over you. Hands planted by your sides as you gripped onto his forearms to brace yourself, his huge biceps bulging as he held his own weight above you. His shoulders looked fucking huge, pure muscle hovering over you as sweat dripped from his body from his wound up he was getting not even cooling down after he finished a work out. His cock rested hard on your stomach, leaking at the tip.

“Huh? Where’s that cocky attitude gone, girl?”

Eyes returning down he watch himself as he lifted his hips, flexing his thick, heavy cock to hit his stomach watching the pre cum link between him, before dropping it down to press the thick tip to your entrance. You clenched around nothing as he pressed against you, easing the head in.

His deep voice making bumps rise on your skin, there was nothing unmanly about this guy, he oozes testosterone and gruffness, but that voice? God it got you every time, especially when he was threatening you.

“I’ll warn you now-“ he glanced up at you, his gaze harsh as he kept eye contact “-I’d find something to hold onto if I were you. You’re getting devoured, teach you to stop pissing me off.”

You swallowed and he was drinking in how vulnerable you looked under him, eyes glazed and doe like, it sent his ego soaring. The growl that left his chest was feral, eyes flashing as he tried to control himself from pushing himself in with one thrust.

Barou was mean, but not a complete sadist.

You moved a hand to press against the headboard behind you, the other remaining on his forearm.

He felt the tight ring of your cunt protest as he pushed the head in, you were so tight he couldn’t pull the head back as it gripped onto him and it was game over for you when he felt it sucking his cock in.

He pushed through to the hilt, bullying this thick cock through your velvety walls as they gripped him, milking any precum he had crawling up his dick.

“Fucking hell s’fucking warm, how you stay this tight huh? This cock not fucked you enough times?” he breathed out, not once dropping that gruffness his voice carried. He pressed his forehead against yours looking down at his cock buried in you. Barou was big, he had the length and the thickness but this man knew how to roll his cock into you.

“B-Barou s’too much please just -“

“Tch, thought you knew what you were in for? Acting cocky and now whinin’ cause you can’t take me? Suck it up princess, wanna help yourself? Reach down and play with your clit as I fuck you, it’s the only mercy you’re getting.”

You whimpered under him, your hips twitching to try angle yourself better as your pussy clenched around him.

Despite years of being together he was still a stretch to take especially when he’d been away for a few weeks for soccer and you’d not had him. This time, it was because he’d remained rather tame while Isagi was crashing at your place whilst he moved into his new one.

You had no idea why Barou was so pissed off, he only got like this when you’d been teasing him or winding him up until he entered his brat taming mode.

This time though -you hadn’t.

You pussy was soaking, drooling to your ass and over his cock and balls, he tilted his hips so the hilt of his dick rubbed your clit and you threw your head back with an unholy moan.

He withdrew slowly, a deep groan leaving him as he watched his thick dick slide from you covered in slick.

“You’re a mess, acting like you can’t handle it but she’s drooling for me-“ he thrust sharply, hitting that spot in you that made your breath hitch, your mouth fell open as you looked down in slight worry, your hand on his forearm quickly pressed against his six pack.

“Found it already huh? Tch, too easy thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

He rolled his hips beautifully into you, setting a pace that was borderline cruel -hard but not quiet fast enough to build your orgasm as quick as you’d want it.

Barou watched your tits bounce with each thrust into your pussy, hugging him begging it to fill you with his cum, but he wasn’t done yet.

Your vision blurred as he shifted you, only to focus again as he looked down on you folded beneath him. He had hooked both arms under your knees to push you upwards under him, folding you in half as his hands grip the head board behind you to stabilise himself.

Your eyes widened at what he was about to do, tears gathering in your eyes as he moulded you into his own version of a mating press. Mounting you like some animal as he stared down at his prey.

“You’re fucked now, woman.”

His first thrust hit so deep you almost seen stars, head kissing your cervix as he pushed to the hilt whilst rotating his hips in circles.

“Your safe word, you got it?” You nodded dumbly and he pressed a kiss to your leg, a fleeting moment of showing his softness before his annoyance for whatever triggered this took him over again.

Your hand moved to press a finger to your clit and Barou’s eyes followed to watch you rub circles into it, matching his pace to each round.

He was impossibly deep even he could feel resistance to how deeply he’d managed to bury himself into you -actual pride swelling in his chest at you being such a champ and taking him like this. Your clit was hard and burning under the pad of your finger as you eased towards cumming for him. Each squelch of his cock bullying into you, each slap of his skin as his balls hit your ass every moan that left your throat as you begged and spurred him.

Slurring words of adoration for him as he drank everything you gave him, his ego soaring with his heart as he started to rut into you violently. Knuckles turning white as his gripped the head board, sweat dripping from him onto you under him as he pushed himself physically.

“Fuck,” a frustrated growl left him, “-fuck you’re too fucking good.” His words through grunts as he kept up a feral pace. “-you’re fucking made for me.”

“Y-yes!”

“Yeah? You made for this king? Made to take this dick?”

“M-made for you- Ngh-Barou I’m gonna- hah- please I’m cumming, Barou- y-yes there, please-“

“Yeah? Keep fucking begging n slurring all dumb like that, makes me wanna devour you.”

He felt you start to roll your hips under him, your spare hand blinded reaching for his on the head board, finding it you gripped it, fingers laying over his. The finger on your clit started stuttering, picking up a fast messy pace.

“Cummin’ f’you- Bar-King, fuckfuckfuck!”

He smugly watched you lose it under him, body tightening and your toes curling, feeling your pussy clamp around him made him buckle slightly, edging him towards his own release. He didn’t ease you down, instead Barou shifted another gear as his pace turned fast and hard.

“S’Kings gonna fill that pretty cunt up-“

He flipped his hand, twisting it to lace his fingers through yours and planting beside your head, letting one of your legs lower. Barou pressed his lips to your leg still held up by his other, placing wet kisses between bites, panting through his nose as he groan into your skin holding between his teeth.

His thrusts turned sloppy but kept their hardness fucking into you like an alpha fucking his mate through a rut.

“Take it all -fuuuuuck!”

He hunched over you pressing his hips to yours as he spilled into you, cock flexing inside you as he moaned into your leg, red eyes half hooded and glazed. His hips twitched against you as you clenched around him, stomach muscles flexing in little spasms as he came hard emptying into you.

The room was filled with both your panting, coming down from your highs and Barou released you, sitting back onto his folded legs spread. You whimpered as his cock pulled from you now half hard as he softened. Your legs bent up and still spread, shaking as you felt the tremors start to inch up your body. Hands shaking you sat up onto your elbows, Barou was still breathing heavy, red eyes fixed on your swollen pussy starting to leak out his cum and he groaned again. It was the only kind of mess he deemed somewhat acceptable. Running a hand through his hair you could see him shaking lightly, a smug smirk made it’s way to your face.

“The fuck is with that smug smile? Knock it off,”

“You’re shaking.”

“I fucking wouldn’t be if you hadn’t ate the last pudding!”

“What?” You deadpanned at him, “-I didn’t.”

“Don’t bullshit me, I didn’t eat it and it was there this morning.”

“-wait, Barou did you just fuck me like that cause you thought I ate your last pudding?!”

“Hardly the first time, you act like a brat to get fucked like one. Got what you wanted now go out and replace it!”

“I can’t fucking walk! You literally just beat my pussy up!”

“Yeah? I’ll do it again until you stop stealing my shit!”

“I didn’t eat it Barou!”

Meanwhile Isagi sat in the spare room listening to you both from across the hall. -completely forgotten about that he was currently residing with you guys and was actually in the building.

An impressively raging hard on at the inspirational rough sex he’d just heard whilst looking down at his hands, one with a spoon and the other holding an empty container for pudding. He’d been eating it whilst you guys fucked like animals in your bedroom. Like popcorn at a cinema.

Man, Barou really liked his damn pudding, Isagi didn’t think he’d heard him that angry since he called the king a donkey back in Blue Lock 5 years ago.

He shrugged and cleaned the spoon off, ah well Barou didn’t know it was actually him who’d stolen the last pudding, ‘sides it was worth it listening to that.

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flynnriderishot · 3 months

Note

I might die if we don't get scandals part 3

scandals pt.3 - c.s

a/n: chill bae 😭😔

it’s been two days since chris has sent you those flowers and he felt absolutely terrible at your lack of response. of course, nick told him if your thankfulness but he wanted you to tell him. he wanted some sort of indication that you forgave him for his mistake.

then again, he knew he wasn’t dating an easily forgiving woman.

you’ve only ever opened his messages he’s sent you since then, constant apologies filling your messages and ‘read at 1:35 pm’ being at the bottom of his screen every time.

today, he and his brothers were filming a video and you had promised matt and nick weeks ago that you would participate. he knew you were a woman of your word and never backed down so he was fully expecting to see you today. which is why he went out of his way to drag force matt to the store to stock up on your favorite snacks.

while this was a normal occurrence anytime you showed up at their house, he knew you appreciated the gesture.

so he sat on the couch with his leg bouncing up and down whilst he waited for your arrival.

nick was setting up the camera while matt changed his outfit for the third time that night. chris looked down at his own attire and wondered if maybe he should make himself a bit more presentable for you.

the thought immediately flew from his mind when he heard the doorbell ring.

“I got it!” he shouted, startling nick, who stared in disbelief at his sudden energy.

“you were gonna get it anyway.”

he hesitated in opening the door, clearing his throat before finally doing so.

“hi.” he breathed out, staring down at you with a small smile.

“hi, christopher.” you greeted, “can i come in?”

he stepped aside, “of course. i got you your favorite—what the fuck, matt!?”

the middle triplet stopped mid chew, “what?”

“that’s not yours asshole.” chris snatched the candy out of his hand, earning a shove from his older brother.

“i drove you there so i’ll eat what i want.” matt rolled his eyes, “hi, yn.”

“hey, matt.” you chuckled, knowing he was purposely trying to irritate chris to ‘avenge’ you as he stated in your texts.

“can we start filming now, or what?” matt interrupted, pulling you into a quick side hug while simultaneously walking you around the counter, “it’s blind, deaf, and mute by the way.”

•••

sturnioloupdate made a post !

comments

lovelysturn matt knows something

>>> ynsbabe the smile says all 😌

mattsgirl ‘hey guys, today we’re doing a blind, deaf and mute challenge again!’ *22 minutes of chris watching yn and no baking getting done*

>>> ynxchris you’ll see no complaints from me 😌

nicksmelanie THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO BE BAKING 😭 WHY WERE MATT AND NICK HARDLY PARTICIPATING?!

>>> ynsbaby $17 says that chris is trying to make it up to yn and nick and matt only let him help her because they’re good brothers

>>> vinniesbabygirl 17 is so specific 😭💀

>>> chrissssturn make what up to her?! i’m confused

>>> reallysturn chris apparently accused yn of cheating and it was proven that she didn’t so now people chris is in the doghouse

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•••

after filming, matt and nick ventured off to their bedrooms, leaving you alone with chris.

you weren’t too upset that they did this, feeling that now is a better time than ever to finally speak to him.

“baby—yn.” he corrected himself, not wanting to upset you anymore than he already has.

“thank you for the flowers, and the note, it was sweet.” you stood up from your spot on the couch, “i’m going to go home.”

he jumped up, “already?”

“filming is done, no?”

“yn, we need to talk.” his voice cracked at the last word, showing you just how much he needed to speak to you, “i’m tired of not being able to see you.”

“chris—“

“and i know it’s my fault, okay? i shouldn’t have accused you of something so big but you have to understand where i’m coming from.” he practically begged you to listen.

“you hurt my feelings, christopher.” you crossed your arms over your chest, “you proved to me that you have so little trust in me and our relationship over one simple photo. i have the right to be upset.”

he nodded, knowing full well that this was true.

chris’ shoulders sagged as you opened the door, his voice coming out desperate as he watched you leave, “i love you.”

you looked back, speaking up before shutting the door behind you, “i love you too, chris.”

chris.

he let of a short sigh, nodding slightly to himself.

you’re getting somewhere.

taglist: @kiera324 @strnlsblog @blahbel668 @noirpxrker @strniololoverr @sleepysturnss @leah-loves-lilies @sturniolopepsi @gigisworldsstuff @1201pm @breeloveschris @ksskianshd @shenya-chan @p1xieswrld @dancemomsfanee @whicked-hazlatwhore @stinkytinkywinky

LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH 😭💋⁉️

yall were on my ass about pt 3 so here you go 😔💋

#sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo

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rainylana · 2 years

Text

“You are such a good girl.”

Eddie Munson x reader

summary: you excitingly show eddie your a+ that you got on a test, and well, things escalate.

warnings: shit i’m not gonna lie this is dirty💀 smut, language, praising, teasing and begging, reader has a thing for being called ‘good girl’ so a lot of that, talk of kinks, dacryphila, degradation. eddies cocky as hell. i think that’s it??

a/n: this was requested by @marauders3rawh0re ily babe, you’ve been on this blog ever since i started it! so i hope this satisfies your needs because i love this lmao.

“See Eddie? See? Oh, gosh, I can hardly believe it! I mean, I was just so nervous. I thought maybe, a B if I was lucky! Or even a C! But an A+! I can’t believe it?” There you were, hyped up on the adrenaline of a good grade, pacing the carpet in your room. You backed away as he climbed through your window, a wide smile on your face as you threw your arms around his neck.

“Whoa, there, babe,” He chuckled, patting your back. “Don’t I get a kiss first?”

You pulled away, grabbing his chin and pulling him down to yours. You have them a loud peck, and you squealed when his hand sneakily moved down to give your ass a squeeze. “See here! Look, Eddie, I can’t believe it!”

You shoved the paper in his hand, and he chuckled amongst himself as he observed your paper. He smirked, glancing your way. “What did I tell you? All that worrying for nothing. Good job, kiddo! Proud of you!” He hooked an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into his side as you both sat on the window seal.

You smiled as he kissed the side of your head, looking down as you fiddled with your fingers. Eddie always made you blush, since day one. You always caught yourself staring at his hands, the rings on them. You liked the look of the calluses on the pads of his fingers, making shapes and odd designs. They were rough, his hands, and honestly, you were sure that’s why you liked them.

But that was Eddie. He was rough. His music choice, his clothing. His mannerisms and attitude. It was a direct opposite of who you were. You two had been together for maybe a month now, but a lot of people didn’t even believe it, because it just didn’t fit. Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson with you, Miss innocent and not a hair out of place.

The kids thought maybe it was some prank, it had to of been. He even canceled dnd one night just to see a play you had been in. Dustin nearly cried. But Eddie couldn’t help it. You’d drawn him in like a fly to honey. You’d come to his lunch table one day, asking for signatures on a petition to end sexism at Hawkins High. Of course, everyone at the table signed, but it almost startled them to see you behind the sign. It was known you didn’t care much for conversation.

You asked with a small, shaky voice for signatures, and Eddie Munson fell head over heels in love with you that moment there. And the funny thing was, he’d never really noticed you before. He knew you, obviously, but it wasn’t like he’d already had a crush on you. It was something in the air that day, apparently, because your bravery lured him in.

He worked his magic and started conversations with you here and there, asking if you’d help tutor him to pass a class. You did, and he passed, but you fell head over heels with him too. And it wasn’t that the kids didn’t like you, they just didn’t know how to act around you, because it was weird for them to see Eddie so mushy around someone of the opposite sex.

Eddie brought out the best in you, though, a part of you that you were unfamiliar with. He was completely and utterly genuine with you, and didn’t treat you like a glass doll like everyone else did. The conversations you had seemed to last for hours. He also took your virginity, and that was only just a few weeks ago. That was an experience, for sure.

Your innocence to Eddie was nearly mind blowing. Your music taste, your clothing. Your attitude and mannerisms. It completely differed with his. He absolutely adored your little pink bow in your hair, your knee high socks and tight skirt. It nearly sent him to the grace.

“Thanks, I just tried to remember what you told me,” You continued, breathing in relief. “That all I needed to do was try my best, and that you had faith in me.” You blinked up at him with a smile.

“Good girl,” He tapped your nose, bumping his forehead against yours. “I knew you could do it.”

Well that was new. Your cheeks burned hotly at his comment, and god, you didn’t know why. You cleared your throat awkwardly, and you recognized that churn in your stomach. Sex was still new to you. There were so many…positions. You could do it…anywhere. It was overwhelming. Your mind buzzed with confusion, and you pulled your forehead away and cleared your throat again. “So, did you have a good day?”

He raised his brows in amusement at your tone, noticing how dark your cheeks had turned crimson. He kept his chuckle inside, but he knew damn well his little comment gave you butterflies. He’d have fun with that. “Good. The kids are preparing for the campaign tomorrow. Sinclair has another godforsaken game of laundry baskets again, so they’ll have to find a replacement. You in?” He stood, twirling around your room and observing the decor.

Your room was extremely pink. He loved it, but if he stared at an obnoxiously bright colored object too long, he got nauseas. “Oh, I- no, I’m alright.” You chuckled, pushing a loose curl back. “Truth be told I don’t think they like me very much.”

“Hey,” He narrowed his eyes. “It’s not that they don’t like you. It’s me that they’re unsure about. You’ve done nothing wrong, y/n.” He sent you that puppy love gleam as he picked up your music box.

“Well, neither have you, Eddie.” You began untying your shoes. “I guess we’re just modern day Romeo and Juliet.” Your tone softened at the realization, throwing your shoes to the side.

He glanced at your reflection in the mirror. He knew you felt guilty for not being his “type”. You even said it once. In fact, you cried. That was an ordeal of its own.

“We’re a match made in heaven, sweetheart.” He nearly sang, crouching down to your feet. “The freak and the good girl.” He watched your eyes then, and dear lord he saw them flare.

Your cheeks flushed again, your stomach fluttered at his words. Why was that sweet little phrase bothering you so? His hand was warm against your bare knee, but it sent firework sensations up your thigh from his statement.

“Ha!” He laughed in your face, causing you flinch.

“What?!” You jumped.

“You’re blushing! Again!” He clapped his hands in the musical rhythm he did when he was hyped up, dancing and shuffling his feet in amusement. “You totally like that, don’t you?”

“Like what?” You grew smaller, voice high in question. You really didn’t know what he was talking about, being confusing with your feelings yourself.

“Good girl!” He placed his hands on his knees, looking at you as his jaw hung open in amusement.

Your eyes grew wide when you realized the connection, and you straightened immediately. “I do not!” You defended hotly.

“Yes, you do!” He pointed, clapping his hands again. “Look at you! You blush every time I mention it!” He was laughing, chuckling and pointing at you as you grew utterly embarrassed.

“No- Eddie, will you shut-” You tried shouting, but crossed your arms in frustration. “Eddie, I do not!”

“Hey, I’m not judging you, babe,” He tried containing his laughter, moving back to crouch by your feet. His giggles were escaping his lips, and he pulled your hands into his. “Really, I’m not. It’s cute, actually.”

You groaned painfully loud, looking up to the ceiling. He snorted at your resistance. “No, it’s not. I’m disgusting.”

“So, you’re admitting it?”

Your eyes snapped to his. “No!” You yelped, causing him to cackle and put his hands up.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” He cleared his throat, trying to keep from embarrassing you more. “Really, y/n, it’s fine. Everyone has the stuff they like. Honestly, yours is pretty vanilla compared to what else is out there.”

Your eyes grew somewhat more curious at his words, peeking your interest. You swallowed roughly, looking down to pick at your nails. “Really?” Your voice squeaked.

Half of the time, he just wanted to laugh at how innocent you were, but it took a lot not to. He knew how incredibly shy you were, and it didn’t take much for you to crawl back into your shell.

“Sure.” He nodded enthusiastically, his black curls bouncing. “I mean, some people like to be tied up or uh- blindfolded. There’s um, choking and slapping. God, then there’s some real heavy bdsm type shit. That’s for another day. I don’t want to traumatize you.” He chuckled.

You brought up your nail to chew, thinking over his words. You couldn’t even imagine yourself in those scenarios, but you didn’t ever imagine being together with Eddie Munson, either. Your exact opposite. “But I couldn’t ever see you doing those things,” He got your attention, taking your finger away from the abuse of your teeth. “Since you’re such a good girl, and everything.” He tilted his chin at you, hooking his finger underneath your jaw. He said it with such seriousness this time, and it caused a sparking tension to electrify between you.

Your eyes flickering between his lips and his eyes, and your stomach continued to burn at the idea of being his good girl. You sighed. You couldn’t fake it anymore. “You’re right, I love it.” You breathed, smashing your lips against his.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as he pulled you both up, his hands holding your burning face. Your bodies glued together like magnets, his arms moving up and down your back as your lips danced like ballerinas. Your feet dangled slightly, due to the hold he had on you. He always had to lift you up a bit in times like these, having been so much short than him. It was either that, or him breaking his neck trying to bend down to kiss you.

Your back hit your bedroom door, and you gasped when his lips found your neck, his hands placing yours above your head. “Sex can be anything you want it to be, sweetheart,” He licked the skin below your ear, and you moaned sweetly, your leg curling around his ankle.

“You’re the boss. You tell me what you want me to do.” He sucked and nippled at your red skin, leaving pomegranate colored love bites to show off to the world. He loved claiming you that way.

It always made you feel shameful and embarrassed, asking him to do a certain thing during sex. You were too awkward for that, but Eddie was trying to chip away that wall. “I want-” Your voice broke, his fingers slowly unbuttoning your blouse.

“Yes?” He hummed.

His body pressed against yours, and your jaw fell slack, your neck craning to the ceiling as he licked a strip along your collar bone. “Call me a good girl.” You caved, a heavy, dripping sound of desperation in your voice. “Please, call- call me your good girl, Eddie, oh-”

You gasped as he swiftly picked you up by the waist, throwing you on the bed as he hovered above you. You moaned loudly into his mouth, his lips against yours once again. Kissing Eddie was like swimming inside of a painting. You could feel every molecule inside of him, and sometimes, kissing him alone was just as overwhelming as the sex itself. He would be the death of you. He settled himself between your legs, pressing his growing erection against your skirt.

“Oh, god.” You whimpered, turning your head into the pillow. The sensations alone were enough bliss for you, that’s how new it was. The sex was just going to get better and better.

“Take your skirt off.” His voice was stern, and you opened your eyes up at him in surprise. Eddie was not mean or dominating to you during sex, by any means. But on discovering your turn on, he was curious to experiment a bit. “Do as I say.” He took his hands off you, placing one on the headboard and the other by your hip.

You moved your hands to the waistband of your pink plaid skirt, but froze and looked back to him. His brown eyes pierced into yours, and he licked his lips, his mastermind moving faster than the speed of light. “Y/n,” He said firmly, yet there was always a hint of playfulness behind his lips. That’s why you were never scared, why you never had issues trusting him.

“Be a good girl and take your skirt off.” He raised a brow, and he watched as you bit your lip.

You pulled down the band, pushing it below your knees as you both sat up. He helped you push it through your ankles, and then next, went your panties. You were laid back again and you leaned up to excitingly kiss him, but he held his hand up. “Ah,” He grabbed your wrist. “Not just yet, my queen.”

You swallowed, your eyes blinking rapidly. “Why-” He shut you up with a kiss, pressing over so softly. You sighed into it, just tiny little pecks and motions he gave you.

Then, his hands brushed at your knees, and at the contact, you tried to spread your legs, but he wouldn’t let you. His grip them tightened, but his soft kissed didn’t let up. He placed one at the corner of your mouth, then dipping his tongue back to gloss over your teeth.

Then, they slowly trailed up your thighs, circling them with warm patterns. He was teasing you, but you were too dumb to realize. The puckering sounds of your wet lips filled the room, his fingers making you shiver. Your heart began to speed up when he slowly moved his fingers deeper into your legs, but it diminished quickly when he moved up to your stomach.

You curled your leg around his hip, desperate for friction. Deepening the kiss, you grabbed his hand, placing it on your breast. You were getting agitated for that sweet relief in the pit of your stomach, your thighs glistening with your arousal. You tried to reach for his belt, but he moved your hand away. You huffed, looking up. “Eddie, what the hell-”

“Watch that language,” He said sternly, eyes sharp. “Good girls don’t talk like that. Good girls don’t have bratty attitudes. So if you want me to give you what you want, you’ll have to be a good girl and behave yourself.”

Your eyes were wide with anticipation, and he hurriedly, moved down between your thighs. A loud gasp pushed it’s way out of you as he spread your legs, wrapping one leg around his neck. He placed a sloppy kiss on the inside of your thigh, and he continued his torturous pleasure.

Each thigh he kiss, slowly, messily. He sucked and bit, pulling at your sensitive skin. He blew soft air on your burning cunt, but he never touched it with his pink lips. He continued this for minutes, leaving you a shaky, sweaty and needy mess. You were whimpering like you were in pain, convulsing and arching your back, desperate for any source of friction to find. Your hands dug into the long, black ropes of his hair, pulling like rapunzel.

“Oh, god, Eddie please,” You begged, trying to pull his head up. “Please- I need you so bad, I can’t do it,”

He smiled against your skin, the shakiness of your voice pleasuring him. He came up to you, his hand going the base of your neck. “Poor baby,” He frowned, his finger wiping away the sweat on your forehead. “You’ve done so good for me. Should I reward you?”

“Yes!” You nodded furiously. “Yes, now-”

“No, no,” He tsked, holding up a finger. “Ask me nicely, sweetheart. Trust me, I can do this all night.”

You bit back a cry, throwing your head back on the pillow. “Please, please, Eddie,” You breathed heavily. “Please, reward me. I want you so bad, please- I want you inside me.”

“You want me to fuck you, is that it?” He unbuckled his belt, lifting himself up. “You want me to fuck you like the good girl you are?”

“Yes,” You whimpered. “Let me be your good girl, I wanna be your good girl so bad. Please-” He had hurriedly aligned himself at your entrance, his cock painfully hard, and thrusted into you within a second. A cracked, heavy cry spewed from your lips, and your arms wrapped around his neck like a cat, your nails digging into his back.

The headboard cracked against the wall with his first thrust, and your jaw nearly broke as you cried out. Your bodies molded together, your bed squeaking and snapping at the quick, violent movements he made. He hugged your body, burying his face in your neck. “Oh, god!” You sobbed, tears forming in your eyes.

This whole experience felt different. His attitude, the way he treated you. Each thrust was more forceful, deeper, and it was hard for you to stay conscious. “Oh, oh, my god! God, oh, god!” You repeated over and over. Your stomach had never felt so hot, so on fire with a burning light inside you. Your nails were in his skin, drawing blood, you were sure.

“Fuck.” He groaned into your skin, but you could barely hear, because you were in complete ecstasy.

He gripped the headboard, giving another thrust that made you hysterical. Tears fell down your face as you sobbed, staining the collar of your unbuttoned shirt. His lips found yours, a hard look on his face as he tried to keep from coming. He always put you first. His cock continued to drive into you with a heavy speed, and he kissed you sloppily, drinking in your sobs.

You always cried during sex, and he was far used to it. He loved it, actually.

“You’re such a good girl, y/n.” He moved faster, picking up your leg and throwing it over his shoulder. “You’re- fuck, you’re my girl. My good girl. Cum for me, sweetheart.”

And you did, with a final, sharp thrust, that tight ball in your stomach popped, crashing over you like waves. Sobs left you, holding on to him like he was your life raft. Your legs shook and your body convulsed, your pussy throbbing painfully over his cock. You fell back in exhaustion, and Eddie, all he could do was listen to you.

“You are such a good girl.”

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson #joseph quinn #stranger things season four #stranger things

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hey-kae · 1 year

Note

In love with all you fics! Ugh I’ve read them multiple times bcs I can’t get enough of them. I was wondering if you could do one where Max is with Kelly (or just a random OC with a kid) but has a baby girl with the reader. The readers daughter is doubting Max’s love for her since she sees how much time he spends with his girlfriend child. And the reader and Max don’t exactly have the best relationship since it was only supposed to be a one night stand but they are now bonded for life. Can the reader be very shy, understanding of Max’s situation and caring but when it comes to her baby she takes out her claws. Idk I just love me some f1!Dad lol The reader can either end up with Max or another driver I just want some good angst with a fluff ending 🥲

Seamless Transition

Pairing: dad!max verstappen x female reader

Warnings: Language, mentions and implication of sex, mention of pregnancy.

a/n: in a hypothetical, unrealistic world where i have a child with Max, my only request would be for jos to stay tf away from my kid💀 i switched kelly with an oc cause i don’t feel comfortable writing about irl partners in situations like these. anyway, i hope you enjoy this! Feedback is appreciated… (i’m happy u enjoy my writing, anon!!💕)

“Pa” is dutch for “dad” apparently…

All throughout your life, there's always been one sentence that felt provocative and almost stupid, one that was widely known, widely repeated and reused, ringing in your ear as it rolled off different tongues, with different tones and accents but the same challenging certainty crippling behind its words.

"Your whole life can change in a day." People would insist and you would absolutely refuse to believe in such saying, until you found yourself staring at a positive pregnancy test that was definitely supposed to come out negative; at least you were hoping and praying that it would.

Instead, the plus sign felt like a mocking nemesis, pointing a ridiculing finger at you and laughing its heart out as the memories from over a week ago played, replayed, and rewinded in your mind like a broken record you couldn't stop the spin of. The only thing left for you to see was the hazy, blurry image of Max on top of you as the two of you engaged in a drunken mistake that left its permanent mark on your lives in the form of a child.

Was it exactly the right time for a baby to show up in your life? No, far from it, but that mistake ended up giving you the most precious gift of your lifetime, a baby girl that quickly became the one person in this wicked world that you'd be more than ready to defend with your blood and life.

Fast forward four years, it was safe to say that little Lilly Verstappen was the center of your world and the most important person in your life by a long shot. She was a ball of sunshine that lit up your days with the smallest of smiles and a tiny glimpse of her sparkling blue eyes.

Her features were a mix of you and Max. It was like she chose the best out of each of her parents and adopted it as her own.

At the time, telling Max that you were pregnant was the most nerve wracking thing you'd ever done, rightfully so since the two of you were merely friends that hooked up, acquaintances that didn't exactly get along smoothly but shared a night together as more of an accurate description. There is no denying that the both of you freaked out about the outcome but Max was supportive nonetheless. Sure, everything between you and him was tense but he was still just as understanding as you were. Eventually, you had come to the conclusion that parenting a child together wouldn't be the worst thing. You'd be able to manage it.

He gets to see her on his free days where he's home and you get to keep her when he's away, bar a few weekends where he invited you to watch the grand prix so his daughter could watch him race, as per her own request a few months after after she started talking.

However, it should've been obvious that things were too smooth sailing for the peace to last. You, Max and Lilly often dined together from time to time to give her the best out of a not so ideal situation, a taste of having both her parents by her side at the same time. Many afternoons were spent with you over at Max's apartment or his at yours with toys spread out on the floor and the three of you entertaining Lilly as best as you could, sometimes even putting her to sleep together only to fall into a tense and awkward silence that threatened to explode within seconds when her eyes would fall shut. Despite everything, things had went as far as taking road-trips together and enjoying your daughter's sweet moments and giggles on the way to whatever destination Max planned to surprise her with.

To put it briefly, besides the bond Max shared with his daughter, you were now somewhat used to his presence. To a certain degree, the lines of just co-parenting that you agreed on had blurred.

All was perfectly well until Max sat you down and told you he was dating someone and that she had a kid as well, both of you questioning how his time with Lilly would be affected by the presence of another woman, Valerie and another child around. He told you that maybe they can be friends, the other kid also being a girl, Ella and just a few months older than Lilly.

That conversation happened around a year ago and while there never was any bad blood between you and Max's girlfriend, it seemed like things weren't as smooth sailing on Lilly's side.

One day, as Max dropped off Lilly at your place, you noticed a frown on your daughter's face, her hand up to her mouth as she bit her nails with her head slightly bowed. It was an unmistakable expression.

"Is everything okay?" You asked Max as you picked Lilly up, her arms wrapping around your neck immediately.

"She seems a little upset but she wouldn't tell me why." He explained, reaching over and fluffing Lilly's hair.

"You don't wanna say goodbye to pa, angel?" He asked her softly.

She twisted in your arms and wrapped him in a hug, giving him a kiss on the cheek while he smiled and rubbed her back.

"Bye-bye, pa." Her small voice spoke.

"I will see you in a week, princess. Okay?"

With that and a small nod from Lilly, Max left, closing the door behind him as you carried your daughter inside, into the living room where she got preoccupied with a coloring book and some pencils while you eyed her attentively as she began scribbling onto the already messy pages.

"Hey, Lilly." You called to catch her attention, "How was your time with pa, sweetie?"

Moving to sit by her side, you pulled her onto your lap, brushing her soft blonde hair behind her ears. She carried the coloring book over and kept coloring as you kissed her head.

"It was okay." She replied with a small shrug.

"What did you do? Did you have fun with him?"

She smiled and nodded, "He got us ice-cream and i helped him to train then we we played with Poot and small cars." She gushed, tossing one coloring pencil on the floor and hopping off to grab her purple teddy bear at the mention of his name.

"That's good, princess." You watched her dig through her bag for the bear, in your mind a million different thoughts because she still wasn't acting normally.

Usually, she'd be gushing about her time with Max when he dropped her off, talking, telling and retelling you every detail until she fell asleep but it seemed like you had to pull the information out of her this time, and coupled with the upset face she had on earlier, it left you suspicious.

Figuring you'd have to find out about what went wrong in a different way, you decided to change the subject.

"What do you want for dinner?"

Following that and her answer to the question, the two of you headed for the kitchen where she sat by the table in the corner, drawing on loose papers while you cooked for the two of you, then you told Lilly to put away her pens and papers in her room and you set the table to eat when she came back.

The night went smoothly after dinner. You got Lilly to shower then dried her hair before putting her to bed early for school tomorrow then left her room to retrieve the laundry from the dryer, folding each item neatly and separating the clothes into two stacks, yours and Lilly's.

On your way to your room, you stopped by your daughter's room to drop off her clothes.

Not wanting to disturb her slumber, you placed the stack on her desk and figured you'd just put them away tomorrow morning. However, as you picked the laundry basket back up, you noticed some interesting drawings on some of the papers on the desk.

With a deep set frown twisting your expression, you picked up the papers, tossed them in the basket and rushed to your room.

Laundry was long forgotten as you launched yourself onto your bed with Lilly's drawings in your hand.

Paper after paper, you scanned her various drawings of stick figures. Each one was drawn in a different color and you knew your daughter enough to know who each color symbolized.

A purple stick figure with blonde, or rather yellow hair was always drawn at a distance from everyone else, often times at the bottom corner of the page, with a sad expression drawn onto its face.

Your heart shattered because purple was her favorite color. Purple was her.

The other people portrayed were often holding hands, two tall figures on the sides with a smaller one in the middle.

The only other time someone was drawn alongside the purple stick figure on the bottom was in one drawing and the person symbolized was taller than the one in purple and was scribbled in dark green, a color you often chose to buy your things in.

You were bewildered as you stared at the papers, dropped them on the mattress then picking them up again to stare some more.

Was Lilly feeling neglected when she spent time with Max?

Every additional detail you noticed in the drawings angered you more, especially her attempt the draw a tongue poking out of the smaller stick figure between the two tall ones, Ella presumably.

While the little girl always seemed polite and harmless, it wasn't a secret how mean children could be.

You'd have to talk to Max about this.

Within seconds, your phone was in your clutch, ready to call Lilly's father but something stopped you. You needed to ask Lilly about her drawings first, about how things were between her and Max and how things were between her and Ella.

The plush mattress welcomed you with open arms as you fell back onto it, sighing heavily as the thought of your daughter feeling left out. Needless to say, it was a sleepless night for you. You sat in bed, pondering the possible situations and conversations you'd have to have in the morning.

You just hoped it would all work out at the end, that everything you were assuming would be just that, assumptions, because you might be completely understanding of Max's relationship and job, but nothing would be stopping you from defending your daughter and making sure she's getting the treatment and care she deserves.

Max was so insistent that he wanted to be in her life, wanted to be her dad, so he better be acting like it.

—

At sunrise, you were up and so was Lilly, tired eyes watching you as she ate her breakfast at the kitchen table and you prepared her school lunchbox. Despite complaints and grumblings, she had gotten dressed and sat in front of you for you to do her hair.

However, as you rushed through the different morning chores and rituals, only one thing was on your mind. How the hell we you supposed to bring up last night's subject to Lilly in a way that wouldn't cause her to repress whatever was happening?

Max usually called before school to chat with her a bit and say good morning. After the phone call would be a perfect opportunity.

A few minutes later, you grabbed your car keys and your daughter bag and just like always, as you headed for the front door, your phone rang and Max's name flashed on the screen.

You handed Lilly the phone and she immediately answered, pressing the device to her ear while the two of you walked to the car, your hand holding onto her free one.

In the silence of the vehicle, you listened in on the conversationsr as you started driving.

"Choco corn flakes and milk." Lilly's small voice replied to Max who was probably asking her about her breakfast.

"No, pa. I didn't have homework. I was with you yesterday, silly." A small giggle echoed in the car.

...

The conversation went on for a few minutes, leaving you about 10 other to interrogate Lilly.

"Daddy says hi to you." She smiled at you and handed you the phone when she hung up.

"Oh. Daddy is the best, isn't he?" You tested with a false grin.

"Yeah." Lilly hummed half heartedly and you gripped onto that loose thread as you took a left turn.

"You have fun with him and Ella when you're at his place?"

"Yes, mommy. But pa and Ella have more fun together." She shrugged her shoulders, "They laugh so much, sometimes i don't know why. Maybe he loves her more, because he wants to marry her mommy."

Your heart broke at the way her voice shifted from cheery to dull and tinged with disappointment. From what you saw, Max was a good father, but obviously you couldn't be there for all the time he spends with Lilly so you clearly can't be sure of how well he's fulfilling the role of a dad.

You slowed the car down a little. Some delay from school wouldn't be much of a deal, especially in this case.

"You don't like being at pa's place? Does he not play with you?" You asked cautiously, not wanting to feed into the idea that Max doesn't love her as much as he loves Ella, because despite that statement being the main thought claiming your mind, you wouldn't want to lead Lilly to believe in that further.

"I just get bored sometimes, when pa is with Ella or Valerie. But it's okay. I'm a big girl and big girls sit alone like grown ups sometimes."

You hummed to show her you were listening and miraculously, she carried on talking, "I know pa loves Valerie but she's a meanie. She shouts all the time."

Your heart was beating increasingly fast, "She does, baby? Has she ever shouted at you?"

"No." She replied too fast.

"Lilly, don't lie to mommy. No one is allowed to scream at you, princess so if anyone does, you need to tell me." You said with a gentle voice.

"Sometimes she shouts at me... but it's okay, because she shouts at Ella too."

Just as she spit that out, you pulled up in front of her school, your heart heavy with Lilly's thoughts now and your mind turbulent with worry over your daughter's feelings. You were already planning Max's murder... and maybe Valerie's.

You dropped her off and drove back home like a mad woman. Before even making your way up to your apartment, your phone was against your ear, ringing as you waited for Max to pick up.

"What's up?" His chill voice asked.

"We need to talk. Come over." You hung up and stormed upstairs.

The half hour it took Max to arrive and knock at you door seemed to last forever and ever but when the doorbell finally rang and echoed through the apartment, you swung it open harshly and was met with confused blue eyes and furrowed brows.

"What's happening? Is Lilly okay?"

"Get in, Max." You gestured inside and moved out of the way.

Max was clueless and confused as he walked inside the familiar, calm apartment and sat down on the couch centering the living room, looking behind him to watch as you walked over and sat in a loveseat on his side, a troubled, unsettling look on your face.

"Look, i don't wanna come off as rude but you out of all people know that i will always go out of my way and try my hardest to protect Lilly and make sure she's happy." You started lightly, making Max slightly nervous. He leaned forward so his arms were resting on his knees, his expression showing hints of worry now as he gaped at you.

"What? Protect her from what exactly? I don't understand." He asked.

"Are Lilly and Ella on good terms?" A blunt question left your mouth.

Max's eyes widened for a mere second as he absorbed the shock of such interrogation. In his head, he searched through all the memories he had of the two young girls together, no red flags making themselves known. He was wondering where all of this was coming from too.

"I don't think i've seen them disagree or fight. Why?" He answered but you didn't acknowledge his question.

"What exactly do you guys do when Lilly's staying at your place? How do you pass time?" You felt like a detective and you hated it but you needed to know everything, needed Max to know how his daughter felt and see his reaction to it, see if he was taking his role as her dad seriously.

"Like normally, really. Breakfast, playing, training, lunch, a drive around or a walk, maybe going to a park, then dinner and just some sitting around before going to bed. You need to tell me if something is wrong." He explained then returned back to wondering why did it seem so urgent that he comes over if this is what you wanted to talk about.

"Max, do you pay attention to Lilly's mood when she's with you?" Desperation and frustration were starting to lace your voice and slip out between words as you watched Max frown.

"Why do i feel like you're hiding something and throwing accusations? I'm Lilly's dad. I need to know if something is going on." He started getting angry.

"Are you acting like it? You practically begged to be in her life. You repeated it a thousand fucking times that you can be the dad she deserves. Are you actually doing that?" You got up and found yourself pacing behind the couch where Max was sat.

"What the hell? What the fuck makes you think i'm not properly taking care of her? Fucking tell me." He turned in his seat to look at your constantly moving figure, his eyebrows raised and his mouth agape in a mix of anger and confusion.

"She did, Max! She made me think that." You shouted, "She was saying things like how it's okay that she sits alone and gets bored and, fuck- just feeling left out."

"What?" He was shocked, the words you said making him stand to his feet, properly turning around to look at you.

"Look, i've always been understanding of your job, of your relationship, of the presence of another child in your life but never, never will i ever tolerate knowing my daughter is feeling left out and alone when she's with you. I grew up feeling that way, lonely and i sure as fuck won't allow that to happen to Lilly." You were furious with how calm he was about this while your blood was a mere celsius away from boiling. Not once in your life were you ever this angry but when Lilly was on the line, you were a different person.

"I promise you, i never leave her alone." He defended.

"Then why did she say you love Ella more than her? Tell me why?" You shouted, "You want to be her dad, act like it!" You were teetering close on the edge of loosing all composure and control.

"I'm trying!" He shouted back, "You gotta keep it in mind that this is new to me. This is my first time having a kid of my own! Just because you so naturally adjusted to it, it doesn't mean that it's gonna come so effortlessly for me too. I'm trying to make the best out an unconventional and weird situation, I'm really trying to be a good dad for Lilly."

You fell silent and leaned against the back of the couch, rubbing at your forehead out of stress, the wrinkles of a frown creasing your skin as your thoughts raced.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see a fidgety Max.

He cared. You didn't know him that much but you definitely knew him enough to realize and see that. He was clearly trying but was also failing at some part of the whole parenting role without even realizing.

Like he said, having a child was something that both of you were continuously getting used to so, to some degree, you couldn't blame him.

"We should stop screaming at each other. It wouldn't be good to go back to fighting." He referred to the earlier days before the hookup and the pregnancy, where you and Max in the same room inevitably meant an incoming explosion.

"Yeah." You muttered, "Yeah, you're right."

You eyed him cautiously, not knowing where to go from here.

Luckily, he gave you a small smile and patted the space beside him on the couch, "Come here. We need to figure out a solution. I really want the best for Lilly."

You sighed and allowed your shoulders to drop, ignoring the little tingling in your heart at the way Max was smiling at you. You just took a seat at a comfortable distance from him, slacking against the back cushions of the sofa and pulling a pillow into your lap for comfort, all while Max watched your moves attentively.

"Tell me what she said first. We need to figure out where things went to shit first, right?"

"Yeah, that's a good call." You confirmed as you picked at the skin by your nails, "She said that you and Ella have more fun together, that you laugh more and she doesn't know why..."

"Okay..."

"That you love Ella more because you're in love with her mother. I think that's the thing that i hated hearing, because i understand not being able to give her your undivided attention all the time but i just don't want her to feel like her dad is favoring someone else over her, you know?" You teared up at the thought of Lilly not having the assurance that both her parents love her.

Taking notice of your glistening eyes, Max patted your shoulder, taking you by surprise. It had you thinking how weird it, two people who have literally seen and touched almost all of each other's bodies at some point, being so awkward about a touch to the shoulder that lasted maybe a total of 3 seconds.

"We'll figure it out. Lilly will always be my priority. I will make up for everything, i promise." He reassured, breaking you out of your thoughts, "One more question, because i need to know this to figure out a plan."

You sighed, "Okay... Shoot."

"Is she fighting with Ella? Like... Do they get along okay? Did she mention anything about their relationship?"

You cringed at that. You were gonna have to tell him about the way Valerie plays into this.

"What?" He questioned once he noticed your expression, "What is it? They don't get along, do they?" He asked and watched you struggle to put words together.

"She didn't mention Ella much." You started.

"Okay..." He frowned, "I've never heard or seen them fight so i kind of knew that."

"Yeah..." You hesitated, "Max, do you remember how we agreed to never shout at Lilly? And to never let anyone shout at her either?"

He nodded.

"Valerie kinda... screamed at her, but she thinks it's okay because Ella gets screamed at too." You said with a low voice.

"What?" Max was surprised, "I talked to her many times about our rules that we follow with Lilly and she told me she respects that."

You sat in silence for a while, not knowing what to say while Max's head raced with how much he hadn't been noticing about the time his daughter spent at his place.

He wanted his house to feel comfortable for Lilly, for her to feel just as at home as she did in your apartment, so he couldn't really help thinking that he failed at that, failed at reserving enough attention to his daughter.

"Do you think i'm a bad father?" He asked.

"I never said that, Max." You felt a hint of guilt at the thought of making him feel that way.

"No, be honest, because i feel like i shouldn't take care of Lilly alone anymore if i don't notice all this shit." He blurted with his eyebrows raised then he pursed him lips.

"Please, don't say that. It's not what i meant. I don't expect you to be perfect." You sighed, "I'm not a perfect mother either but that's because we're humans, because we're still figuring out this whole parenting thing, and honestly, i feel like figuring it out isn't something that ever ends."

Subconsciously, your hand landed comfortingly on his shoulder, "You try your hardest to be a good presence in your daughter's life, i can see that, it's just that she's growing up. She can understand and speculate about everything around her now, so we just need to be better at regarding her feelings and making sure not to give her wrong impressions."

He rubbed at his eyes with frustration seizing his muscles and finally allowed his back to meet the cushions behind him as he nodded.

"I'm gonna need your help for a while, though. Just to understand what to change." Max mumbled.

You smiled, "Don't worry, I'm always happy to help."

"Thank you."

A quiet few minutes of silence followed then Max got up to leave.

"I need to talk to Val." He groaned as he grabbed his phone and keys.

"I hope everything goes well." You wished.

"Yeah." He replied nonchalantly, "How about i pick you up later and we go get her from school together? We can go eat somewhere, just the three of us."

Smiling, you nodded and walked with him to the door.

"See you later, then." He said just as he starting walking down the stairs.

You shut the door while trying to figure out the feeling in you chest and why something was telling you today would be the start of major changes in your life and Lilly's.

—

Following that day, everything seemed to work itself out.

Max picked you up as planned and everything went really well. On the way to get Lilly from school, he told you he talked extensively with Valerie and that lead to a fight, and a breakup.

Worried that he would be thinking that was what you wanted, you were quick to show support.

"Is everything okay?" You asked and he quickly nodded, giving you a quick glance and smile as he drove.

"I really didn't mean for the two of you to break up. I know you love her and Ella and want-" You couldn't help rushing.

"Hey, hey," he interrupted, "i told you. Everything's okay. It was a long time coming kinda thing. Don't blame yourself, please."

As days went on, Max made it a point to come up with plans for the three of you and the first time he had Lilly staying with him afterwards, he got her to invite you for dinner, something that became a repeated pattern and for some reason, your heart was starting to beat faster at every invite and every smile Max would give you.

It wasn't much later when you realized you were catching feelings for the father of your child and you weren't quite sure what to do about that.

A month later, on an afternoon when you were meant to pick up Lilly from Max's place, he opened the door for you and instead of letting you in, he stepped out and closed the front door behind him.

"Can we talk?" He asked with his hands stuffed in his jeans' pockets.

"But... Lilly..." you pointed to the door.

"Mom is there with her." Max reassured that your daughter wasn't on her own and proceeded to guide you away.

With your eyes narrowed in suspicion, you followed him, your nerves getting worse by the second.

"So, car ride or a walk?" He asked once you were out of the building.

Frowning, you tilted your head to the side and responded, "Walking's fine."

Max nodded and so the two of you began taking small steps along the sidewalk.

Silence reigned for a while. You couldn't really figure out anything to say and it was rather obvious that Max was planning the approach to whatever he wanted to talk about in his head.

By the time he spoke up, the two of you were a few buildings away.

"I've been really enjoying our time with Lilly." He awkwardly said and if anything, that confused you more.

"Yeah, it's been good." You agreed with a nod.

"I like it when it's just the three of us." Max continued.

"I like it too. I want Lilly to have as many normal experiences as possible."

For some reason, the silence returned after that. Meanwhile, your heart had begun racing out of control as you laid out the various paths that this conversation would take, the one outcome you wished you'd end up with being repressed and avoided. Instead, you found yourself considering other options.

What is something happened with Lilly?

Are they not getting along?

Does he want to change anything about their relationship? Or about the way the two of you parent her?

...

What if he was dating someone new?

Sure, it has barely been a month since his breakup but according to the pieces of information you'd pick during your time with him, and Lilly of course, you'd concluded that he wasn't actually in love with Valerie.

Interrupting your thoughts, Max sighed heavily by your side.

"You know, I'm trying hard to be smooth with this but-" he chuckled, "I'm clearly shit at that."

"How about you tell me what this is about as a head-start..." you suggested.

Max nodded and seemed to calculate his words for a mere second, "The nature of our... relationship?" He hesitated.

"Oh..." You let your confusion show, "What about it?"

He fiddled with his hands for a while before finally speaking, "I wanna try- No. I wanna ask you if you would agree to trying something new."

The determination in his voice confused you even further.

"New... Like, how?"

"Would you be open to the idea of a date? No Lilly, just me and you going somewhere nice together."

You stopped dead in your tracks and stared at Max like you were speculating if he was serious, all while your heart was dancing to an unknown tune that had slowly been becoming its favorite.

"I know this can be potentially risky, because what if we actually date and - i don't want it to seem like I'm getting ahead of myself - get in a relationship? It could complicate things with Lilly and shit but we've been co-parenting for four years now even though we hated each other's guts so, really, we're capable of working through anything." He took a breath, "I just want something more with you. I really like you, so much more than as just Lilly's mom. Just consider it 'cause i just think we would have something good, that we'd be worth a shot, you know? I've been thinki-"

"Max!" You interrupted his rant with a chuckle of his name and a wide smile, "Breathe, please."

"So?" He seemed nervous as he asked and you found it adorable.

"I'll go on a date with you." You nodded with a big smile, making Max grin so wide.

—

From that point on, everything is just history.

The first date went so amazingly well that the second followed so soon after it, then a third, and on the fourth, Max asked you to be his girlfriend and you instantly agreed.

The transition was practically seamless.

Lilly was over the moon once she noticed the nature of your interactions with Max shift. The first night she got to spend the night with both her mom and dad under the same roof as her, she was absolutely beaming.

Things between you and Max were going so well, it almost seemed surreal, but both of you, and Lilly of course, couldn't be happier that it was in fact your reality.

A few months into the relationship, you and Lilly fully moved in with him and the first free weekend morning spent there, you woke up to them making breakfast together.

It was a moment you truly cherished, when you walked into the kitchen to find Max holding his daughter on his shoulders so she'd be able to grab plates from the high cupboards, both of them displaying big and genuine smiles.

"I feel left out, I'm not gonna lie." You walked in joking, effectively grabbing both their attentions.

The three of you had a delicious and peaceful breakfast together and when Lilly finished eating and ran off to her room, Max moved you off your chair and onto his lap, his eyes locking with yours. Your legs were dangling off of one side, your arms hooking behind his neck as you kissed his lips lightly.

He smiled at you and pulled you back in, keeping the curve of his lips throughout the short peck.

When he pulled away, his grin grew and he brushed his hand through the front strands of your hair, securing it behind your ear.

"I love you." He spoke softly and, like always, it made your heart pound.

"I love you too, Max."

Just like that, the two people from five years ago who couldn’t be in the same room for over three minutes without fighting were long gone.

And just like that, everything worked out in a way that no one expected it to but in the idealist of ways possible.

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