SEVENTH HEAVEN

SEVENTH HEAVEN

♱ ‧₊˚ ࿓ pro-hero!shouto todoroki x f!reader. nsfw — mdni. service dom!shouto / pre-established relationship / dubcon [ reader under effects of lust quirk ] / pillow humping / lotsa spit + drool >u< / oral [ m -> f ] + snowballing / quirk play [ temp. play + branding ] / cervix fucking / creampie ♡ cum stuffing ♡ / overstim / squirting / rework + repost from old blog. 5.1k wc ⊹ masterlist

shouto todoroki is driving the worst he thinks he has in his entire life. it's reckless— the way he's running red lights and stop signs, abusing the horn of his car, going nearly 25 mph over the posted speed limit while muttering profanities under his breath. it’s a bad look for a pro-hero of his calibre, but frankly, he doesn’t have it within himself to care— especially after the phone call you had given him not ten minutes prior.

your voice plays in his head as he thinks back to the shakiness of it, desperation obvious in its breathlessness, ‘shou, can you come home— please come home? r-really need you here...’

you had hung up before he could even open his mouth to ask you what the matter was, and it wasn’t much longer after that when he’d abandoned the lunch you packed for him this morning, leaving it sitting on the desk in his office while he rushed to his car— which is where is now— avoiding crashing and causing collisions as he tries to make it back home to you as fast as he can.

worry settles in his chest as he flits through all the possible worst-case scenarios he can think of. had someone broken in? perhaps it was a villain with a personal vendetta against him— or just a regular thief… no, it couldn’t have been; the house’s security system was far too strong for a low-life criminal to be able to break through.

whatever it may be, shouto mentally prepares himself to face what’s on the other side of the front door when he arrives in record time— 15 minutes from the heart of the city to the gated neighbourhood in the suburbs where the two of you reside in a house you always complained was too large for just the two of you.

the harsh friction of rubber on pavement screeches loudly as he pulls into the driveway, disregarding his poor parking job before making a beeline for the front door. he inhales deeply in an attempt to calm his nerves and the frenzied voice in his head before shakily punching the four-digit code into the padlock. throwing the door open, shouto rushes in, eyes darting around the space of your home to look for you and any signs of disturbance.

everything seems to be in place in the living room— the photos of you and him and your mutual friends on the fireplace mantel, the empty sake bottles and deck of cards on the coffee table from saturday night’s drinking escapade, the bouquet of burgundy roses he had placed on the closed lid of the grand piano for you to find— nothing had moved an inch from where it was this morning when you sent him off to work with his lunch and a goodbye kiss to the collar of his hero costume, the lip stain is still easily visible against the dark fabric.

he continues his inspection of the first floor, making thorough work of the kitchen and powder room before skipping every other step as he hurries up the spiral staircase. stopping at the top, he looks both ways— snapping his head towards your shared bedroom from where he hears muffled whimpers.

“honey?” no response. he feels his heartbeat audibly in his head and fear settle in his bones when your sounds only increase in volume as he nears, his right hand covered in frost in preparation to confront the situation behind the closed door, “honey, are you alright?”

“shou…”

his eyes widen at the break in your voice, all sense of precaution flying out the window when he runs towards your room and flings the door open.

shouto doesn't know exactly what he's expecting to be welcomed with when he barges in— perhaps it's dark red painting mulberry silk sheets, his lover bloodied and beaten and on the brink of death, perhaps you're tied up in the chair with a gag in your mouth being held at gunpoint. his blood boils with a mix of rage and fear at the thought.

whatever it may be, it's the last thing shouto expects— something that doesn't even cross his mind— that greets him.

you're curled up and writhing on the bed, sheets ruffled from your incessant tossing and turning, and there's nothing adorning your frame except his white dress shirt bunching up at the curve of your hips.

your boyfriend stands breathless and dumbfounded at the doorway as he tries to make sense of your current state, but is quickly knocked out of his thoughts when another whimper of his name pushes past you, “baby, what happened?” shouto rushes over to your side and raises his hand to cup your cheek soothingly, only to slightly retract it from how abnormally warm you are to his touch, “you’re heating up…”

“i, hah— lust quirk… someone accidentally hit me with it…” you whine out through little gasps for air, and suddenly his attention is averted to the pillow you have in between your legs— his pillow, and shouto feels a blush start to cover his face when he catches sight of your bare cunt grinding along it.

he finds himself in a trance— cool palm stuck to your heated cheek as his gaze travels up and down your body: from your parted lips to the labored rise and fall of your chest and all the way down to the wet patch on the pillow in between your plush thighs that only seems to be getting larger with each passing second.

he’s heard of lust quirks before— heard of their side effects: increased stamina, more intense orgasms— he’s also heard cheeky remarks from his friends about how they wished their lovers had them. shouto would be lying if he said he hadn't given any thought to how either you or he would be affected by it; sex with you is always amazing, always has him feeling like he's in seventh heaven, but he can't help but dream about how it'd feel even better under the effect of a lust quirk.

with your whiny panting, glazed-over eyes and arched back as you try to get off on his pillow— shouto doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this needy when he hasn’t laid a finger over your most sensitive parts yet. it has the initial worry dissipating from his blood to be quickly replaced with a burning desire as he toes off his boots and leaves them at the foot of the bed before climbing onto it to hover over you.

he has a hard time staving off the growing ache of his cock and the lust evident in his gaze as he stares down at you squirming against the cool sheets, hips rutting against the pillow and sweet, needy cries falling onto his ears.

blue flames rip through your limbs, head clouded with a carnality that has you short of breath and searching desperately for release— you’ve never felt this way before; you can feel your heart pounding against your skull and the throbbing of your clit in your fingertips. it’s overwhelming, and it has you impatient as your hands reach up to entangle in his two-toned hair and tug him closer, “please, please, shou— need you so bad— please—”

it shakes him out of his thoughts, the drawn-out whine of his name sending blood flooding down to his cock, “it’s okay, baby, ‘m right here. you have me…” shouto shushes you and removes the palm from your cheek to replace the pillow in between your legs with his clothed thigh, huffing out a breathless laugh when he sees your cream begin to coat the fabric, “so wet… ‘nd i haven’t even touched you yet.”

“uh huh, ‘s all for you— only you,” your thighs clench around his, a pleasured wail pushing past you at how much more friction there is with it than his pillow.

“you’re so cute when you’re this turned on…” he leans down to coo at you sweetly, brushing his nose against yours before slotting his lips in between yours.

the kiss is sloppy—lewd and filthy as spit get tossed between your mouths with little care for the way it dribbles down the corners of his lips, to his chin, to fall as fat globs onto the expanse of your chest.

a fire begins to burn in the pit of his stomach when you grind up on his thigh, and shouto can only bring himself to respond with a low moan as he sucks on your tongue. his palms travel up from your hips to cup your breasts, squeezing the soft mounds slightly before tracing his thumbs over your pebbled nipples through the fabric of the shirt you were wearing.

it belonged to him— the white dress shirt he had worn out to dinner with you last night. he wonders why you chose to reach for it, but is quick to arrive at an answer, “does this shirt smell like me?”

you shy into the large neck of the shirt, nodding meekly as your thighs rub against his upon hearing the sweet adoration lacing his voice.

“you’re— hah— so perfect,” he pulls away from your lips, a string of saliva connecting him to you as he looks down, mouth parted and eyes lidded with lust as he watches every slow roll of your hips against his thigh, muttering out an expletive when he feels your slick seep through the thick fabric of his pants to meet his bare skin. “baby, can i taste you?”

it comes out as barely a whisper— almost a plea against your lips, and the sultriness of his voice has you taking in a shaky breath and nodding your head frantically, “uh huh, wan’ you s’bad, shou…”

he leans in once more to capture your lips— softly, this time. shouto falls deeper when your grip on his hair tightens and your tongue slips into his mouth, but he pulls away just before he can drown, gently shushing your protested whines, “i know, honey, i know.”

with one final lingering kiss placed to your brow, he sits back on his haunches to roll you over onto your stomach, running his palms up the curves of your waist under his shirt you were wearing to tug it off of your frame.

you’re fully exposed to him now; he feels a lecherous heat radiating off of you and can see the thin sheen of your essence coating the insides of your plush thighs— he can smell it too— it’s smells like you, like the sugarplum sweetness he’s used to, but it’s unexpectedly strong.

unexpected, but most welcome.

it consumes his senses— has his head spinning and spit pooling at the tip of his tongue, and if anyone were to look into his eyes, they would be able to see just how dilated his pupils were, leaving little space for the grey and blue of his irises to show through. it’s almost as if your scent were casting a spell on him, and shouto can’t help but wonder whether this is an effect of the quirk you’re under.

he’s quick to remove his hero costume, leaving only his wrist guards and boxers on before clambering back on top of you to place his open mouth on the nape of your neck, evident hard-on pressing down on your ass, “jus’ let me take care of you…”

cool fingers trace down your spine, warm kisses following in their wake until they reach the dimples at the bottom of your back into which he digs his thumbs, wrapping his large hands around your hips to angle you up onto your knees. a little mumble of ‘arch your back’ followed by a quick rustle of the sheets and a subsequent ‘good girl’ has your cunt landing right in front of his face. he can see you so clearly like this, translucent slick sliding down your folds to collect on the swell of your clit.

did you always get this wet?

shouto examines your sex more closely than he thinks he ever has before, one hand leaving your hip to gently rub circles onto your nub with his thumb, slowly gliding it up and down your folds as he revels in the way your essence coats the pad of his finger in a thick glaze.

he’s teasing you— unknowingly— thumb continuing its assault on your clit while he finds himself enamoured by the way you clamp down around empty air at his ministrations. he’s shaken out of his trance by a hurried wiggle of your hips and a muffled whimper of his name reaching his ears, quickly mumbling out a chuckle of an apology before leaning in to slot his pointed nose in between your folds and suck sweetly on your nub.

the soft, warm plush of his lips on the place you needed to feel him most has you crying out, arching your chest further into the mattress and one of your arms flying back to find the grip of his hands on your hips.

you’re incredibly sweet— tooth-rottingly so, and it’s not long before tender suckles turn into harsh licks up the length of your folds as he gets drunk on your taste, his tongue finding a home within your walls to try and taste more of you.

more, more, more.

insatiable; that’s what he is, humming contently at the slick that travels across his tongue and down his throat, slurring almost incoherently against the hot, tight ring of muscle, “y’taste— fuck— so good…”

the vibrations of his baritone voice send blood rushing down to your ever-swelling clit and his words of praise do nothing to stop the tightening of the coil in the pit of your stomach.

you feel yourself floating— head in the clouds and brain fogged from how he draws hearts onto your clit and the lewd squelches of him cleaning up your drooling cunt— it all feels so good, too good, and you slide the hand you have on top of his to grasp onto his fingers in a failed attempt to keep yourself grounded.

failed, because your actions have his other hand, his right hand flying down from your hip, cool thumb flicking over your throbbing nub and slightly cooler middle and ring fingers scissoring and sheathing themselves inside you.

you kick your feet against the mattress and gasp out when he finds that one shallow, sensitive spot that lies within your gummy walls, sending the tight coil in your stomach unravelling at full tilt sooner than you had wanted it to, “shou, p-please— cumming, ‘m cumming—!”

it’s a broken, drawn-out moan, and it travels straight to shouto’s cock as he grinds his crotch down into the mattress and hums, quirking his fingers faster and replacing his thumb with his lips.

he removes himself from you when your thighs begin to shake, turning you onto your back before hovering over you to lean down and take your lips in his. you feel him smirk against you after he pushes his way into your mouth, letting your cream spill from his tongue to yours, “see how sweet you taste, baby? gonna give me a cavity…”

you can only hum and lazily smile in agreement, chest heaving as your catch your breath. looking up at his muscular frame, you reach one hand out to trace your fingers down the lines of his sinewy torso until they arrive at the elastic waistband of his boxers, gently tugging his lower half against yours as you wrap your legs around his lithe waist for leverage, “wan’ you here…” you take his hand in yours and press his palm to your abdomen, “… please?”

his chest constricts at how sweetly you beg for him, your fingers tracing shapes on the back of his hand while you look up at him with dewy, bambi eyes.

“yeah, you’ll have me, angel… i’m yours,” he hastily wipes your drying essence off his chin before leaning down to kiss you again— slowly and lovingly, running his thumb along your cheekbone to seal his promise.

you’re quick to spring into action, the both of you letting out a languid moan when you grind up along the outline of his cock, feeling the cool, sticky mess of his pre-cum seeping through the thin fabric of his boxers against your hot cunt.

shouto’s breath fans across your neck when he looks down, palming his cock briefly before pulling his boxers halfway down his thighs, shuddering at the cold air that sweeps from the open window over his leaking slit. you marvel at how it twitches against his stomach, beads of pre-cum oozing out when he pumps the length a few times and runs a finger along the large vein on the underside; you know it as his most sensitive area.

using one hand, he angles your leg higher on his waist while he uses the other to guide the head of his cock to tap your swollen clit a few times, proceeding to then slide it in between your warm folds. he thumbs at his slit, coaxing more pre-cum out from it to lubricate you further as he struggles to push his red, bulbous head past the tight ring of muscle lining your entrance.

“y-you’re so much tighter… fuck—" it comes out as a strained groan when he manages to get half an inch inside you, fingers digging almost painfully into your flesh.

you can only mewl out an apology in response and pull him in closer when your thighs tighten around his waist, a silent plea for him to fuck you.

“i know, honey, j-jus’ wait…” shouto takes a moment to draw his mind away from how your cunny sucks on his slit with every clamp down on it— knowing he would be sure to cum pre-maturely if he had spent any longer thinking about it.

with a low growl, he eases himself into your slick warmth— inch by agonizing inch— his girth brushing delicately against all the pleasure points that line your walls in a way that has your breath hitching in your throat and your hands flying up to grip onto his biceps. after what feels like an eternity, he finally sheathes his full length in you, head of his cock weighing down heavily on the sponge of your cervix.

it hurts— ever so slightly— the slow burn ripping through your core and down to your entrance, but shouto's kind enough to let you adjust to his size against what feels like your “virgin” walls. when he hears you let out a needy whimper, urging him to move, he begins to grind his hips down onto yours experimentally as he massages your cervix with his tip, groin simultaneously rubbing against your puffy nub in a way that ignites a fire in your stomach and has you writhing beneath him.

your noises are angelic— sweet, drawn-out moans of his name that ring in his head as his eyes roll back into his skull at the plush grip of your spongy walls— it has the muscles in his chest contracting and cock twitching inside of you almost frantically, in search of release.

after keeping his ministrations up for some time, he can tell you're almost to cum by how the sounds that leave your lips increase in volume and frequency, and he takes this as the perfect opportunity to pull back out of you almost fully and drive back into you with a harsh, erotic groan.

shouto stops for a moment to catch his breath, the grip of your gummy walls around him making him feel like he might cum with just another thrust alone. you’re incredibly tight, almost painfully so, and it has the fire in the pit of his stomach only burning brighter with each passing moment. he draws back and forth deep into you, knocking your cervix with every thrust as they progressively get faster and rougher.

"i- ahn, right there, right there- fuck!" your mind goes numb from how he abuses the most sensitive spot that lies within your walls, and you weakly claw at his back in search of purchase.

your words prompt shouto to hoist your legs up onto the tops of his broad shoulders, the new angle he's hitting you at making your jaw fall slack and back arch, chest pressed flush against his own as he leans down to swallow your cries, "t-that feel good, angel?”

"mhm— gonna cum—!” he knocks your cervix repeatedly, the velvety feel of his dick squishing up against it finally getting that coil in your stomach to snap loose. it sends you reeling, walls spasming around his length and your eyes squeezing shut while you ride out your wave of pleasure.

shouto thinks he’s going to cum too— he can tell by the way an unusual burst of pleasure courses through his veins and into his palms when he subconsciously heats one of them up and cools the other one down. before he can fully process his actions, the words spill out from his lips as a begging request, “can i brand you, baby?

“mhm, y-yeah—please…” your sweaty palms land on top of the backs of his hands, pressing them further into the fat that wraps around your hips, “make me yours, wanna be your pretty girl forever ‘nd ever…”

and that he does.

with a breathless proclamation of his love, he manipulates the temperatures radiating from either palm to leave a faint burn mark on your right hip and frostbite on your left while he spills inside your womb, thrusts faltering when you clamp down around his length— the pleasured pain from his quirk tumbling you into another orgasm as you cream around his cock yet again.

but it’s not enough— the mass of arousal from the lust quirk still weighs down heavily on your abdomen, and your hands find shouto’s to intertwine your fingers with his.

holding them to your chest, you lazily open your eyes and look up to meet his heterochromatic ones, sighing happily when he reaches down to kiss away the tears that spill onto your cheeks, “one more?”

his cock stirs awake from its place within your walls at your tender plea, and he raises your hand to plant his lips over each knuckle, “of course, angel… as many more times as you want; i’ll be right here,” with a final kiss placed to the inside of your calf, shouto leans forward, folding you nearly in half while he nestles his cock deeper within you— so deep you swear you can feel him in your womb.

he slowly draws his hips back and forth; this time around made a little easier from his milky seed smeared against your walls, and he calculates his thrusts so that the fat head of his cock prods that one spongy, sensitive spot that has you keening against him and your fingers holding a vice grip around his larger hands.

your silken walls are quick to pulse around his length, breathless pants picking up their pace and whines of, ‘please, please, please!’ getting higher in pitch— the sweet noises reminiscent of those that you made when you came around his length not five minutes ago.

shouto frees a hand from your grasp, moving it up to cup your face as he kisses you deeply, muffling your shaky cries with his low groans, “that’s it— let go, baby,” his voice is silky and saccharine on your lips, and it, along with a final nudge of his cock against the deepest pleasure point inside you, sends you toppling into a third orgasm— this time stronger than the past few as overstimulation settles in your bones.

you’re shaking profusely under him, body wracked with trembles— and the only thing you can bring yourself to do is mindlessly babble against his skin while you cum on his cock, “i love you, i love you, i love you—!”

“f-fuck, i love you too— s-so much,” shouto lets out a guttural groan at your proclamation, the words travelling straight to the fire in the pit of his stomach as he buries his face in your neck and spills inside your womb—creamy seed sloshing around your walls to paint them an opaque, milky white.

he jerks slightly on top of you, jolts of intense euphoria shooting through his limbs— but before he can catch his breath, shouto’s leaning down to swirl his tongue over your nipples after another meek whimper of, ‘once more?’ falls onto his heeding ears.

one more time turns into three more times turns into more times than shouto can count—it’s been nearly six hours since he’s arrived home and the sun’s begun to set now; it shines down on your body from the open windows of your bedroom and casts a warm orange glow over your skin. if shouto weren’t so focused on engraving the sloppy mess of his cum and your cream coating the base of his cock and groin into his brain, he’d be looking deep into your eyes, admiring the way they twinkle and glow a few shades lighter under the setting sun.

but he’s far too gone for that now, his hips slapping erratically against the backs of your thighs while your legs tremble atop his broad shoulders— cum gushing out of your worn pussy and dribbling down your skin to soak the bed sheets with every hasty thrust.

the air is thick with the smell of sex and lewd sounds of your shared moans as your lover makes you cum for the sixth time that day— an additional two times on his tongue and fingers.

this was too much, even for a man with his stamina— filling you up with his hot seed nearly enough times to count on both his hands— yet he can’t find it within himself to stop; not with your angelic mewls, not with the way your nails scratch red wings onto his back, not with how your wet walls suck him in— it all sends him spiralling as he chases high after high.

shouto’s convinced he’s shooting blanks inside you at this point, cock beat and overstimulated, veins protruding from his biceps as the sweaty hold he has on the headboard only gets tighter. he’s uncharacteristically talkative in this state, too— stuttering and hiccupping on words that spew from his lips almost nonsensically, “b-baby, oh, god— so s-sensitive— you’re so fuckin' beautiful— h-hah, fuck—"

he continues to rut uncontrollably into your sopping cunt, unable to think straight— but he can tell he’s almost done for. his arms are trembling from holding up his weight for the past few hours, two-toned hair wet against his forehead and sweat dripping down his body onto yours. you’re spent too— he can sense it in the way your high-pitched whines of his name turn to incoherent babbles and how your hands fall limp from his back to grip at the silk sheets.

with one last push, he slows down his thrusts, angling them so that the head of his cock fits in between the opening of your cervix, thumb tiredly massaging circles into your near numb clit as you fall into a final orgasm.

your heels dig into his shoulder blades, not sure whether to pull him closer or push him away when you feel an unfamiliar hot streak rip through your abdomen and down your limbs, body breaking into trembles as your back arches off the bed and your hands weakly clasp at the edges of the pillow your head lay on, “f-feels funny, shou— ‘m gonna—!”

“‘s alright, baby—oh, f-fuck— me too,” and with a quick snap of his hips forward, shouto fills you to the hilt with his length, cock twitching frantically against your pulsating walls as he empties himself inside you one last time, teeth clenched to suppress a wanton groan when he feels a thick gush of your arousal spray all over his abdomen.

his limbs give out from under him, and he lowers himself down gently onto you before rolling over onto his back and cradling your head in the nook of his neck, his other hand pressing your chest flush against his.

you feel each other’s heartbeats like this, and you share a tired laugh when shouto’s cock softens and slips out of you, the cum he’s plugged you up with slowly following suit as it leaks out onto the already soaked, taut skin of his tummy. you lay together in the remnants of your arousals, too blissed out to be bothered by the messiness of it all.

shouto speaks up first after he catches his breath, voice raspier than usual from overexerting it in the hours prior, “you had me worried, y’know… thought someone had broken in, or something.”

“‘m sorry…” you lay slow kisses over the expanse of his chest apologetically, shyly smiling when you realize he’s tracing hearts into your back with his finger, “i tried taking care of it myself, but it’s jus’ not the same without you.”

warmth floods his chest at your words, and he leans his head down to place his lips firmly on the crown of your head, “i’m glad you called— that was… amazing.”

“maybe i should accidentally get it hit with a lust quirk more often,” you smirk up at him mischievously, poking his cheek when he returns your look with fake incredulity.

“and keep me from doing hero work?”

“you would be doing hero work; rescuing me, a poor civilian, helping them tough it out…”

he only responds with a cheeky hum as he glides his tongue over his top row of teeth, to which you scoff.

“what— would you rather i call someone else instead the next time this happens? what if i called baku—”

“alright, alright, i get it,” shouto interrupts you before you have a chance to finish your statement as he wraps his arms around you tighter, almost protectively— and runs a heated finger up and down the groove of your spine.

you lay in comfortable silence a tad longer— watching the sun set and the moon rise, listening to the singing of the birds as it dwindles off into the chirps of the crickets.

shouto opens his mouth to ask about getting you cleaned up, only to shut it just as fast when he notices that you're fast asleep, little snores pushing past the part of your lips where drool dribbles onto his chest. he smiles down at you with adoration and stars dancing around in his eyes at how sweet— how innocent you look like this— his beautiful girl.

his fingers find your hips, rubbing soothing circles over your slightly burnt skin from when he had branded you in the hours prior— a symbol of your love, a silent vow to protect you and keep you out of harm's way for as long as he lives, a reminder that you belong to each other.

from coco ๑‧₊˚ ෆ here she is . . a slight rework ++ repost of my longest smutfic 2 date >u< ! i hope tis okay . . it's a littl different from my current writing style && i dunno if i vibe w it as much ^^; regardless ! i rly hope u luvd dis piece <3 comments + reblogs r supa dupa appreciated && help me a ton ! let me know wat u think (ᐡ⸝⸝ɞ̴̶̷ ﻌ -⸝⸝ᐡ)

taggiez ๑‧₊˚ ෆ @clelevanters @5ugu @intergalacticrory @twinbladesgaylia @tsumuomiiz @keiphoria @lilliangazer @thesoftestcherub @lem-hhn @itsyabitchbrooke @asaptakami @namu-lovebot @soumies @secretpastaneckapricot-blog @itachislut @cherrykamado @nekoiin

push & pull | kim doyoung

❀ slytherin!doyoung x hufflepuff!femreader ❀ genre - SLOW BURN, smut, fluff, a bit of humor (idk not rlly) ❀ details -  hogwarts!au, fwb to lovers?, y/n is a player lol, jealous doyoung, mutual pining, doyoung is a lil mean ❀ word count - 9.7k ❀ warnings - explicit language, possessiveness (a concept of marking), dom!doyoung, angry sex?, slight dirty talk, penetration, fingering, praise kink ❀ synopsis - in which a prideful slytherin and an oblivious hufflepuff play a clueless emotion game of tug of war.

❝I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?❞  

❝People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you pursue me?❞ ❀ a/n - i changed the plot a little bit as i was writing lol but hopefully it still fits everything! i said this in the teaser, but i want to preface and say that the magic/marking is not canon to harry potter, and that the only thing im using are the sectional houses/subjects. besides that, everything is made up LMAO also pls b lenient with me, i read hogwarts!au but writing it is very out of my comfort zone and am very bad at creating anything magical 

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Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, mindlessly and imperfectly steals glances your way across the dining tables and under several hundred floating lit candles. He sits huddled with his few posh friends that wear the same green and silver tie situated so tightly underneath their necks. And you, just looking as dazzling as ever, with your yellow and black tie hanging loose and a few buttons undone from your dress shirt.

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Bad Ideas

Simon 'Ghost' Riley X GN!Reader Word count: 2000± Warning: Profanity, ankle injury Summary: Now, you're the one taking him out on a date.

A/N: So, I don't think I would ever write smut and that seems to be what people were expecting by the end of the last one (which is open to your own interpretation), but what I can provide is hopefully some cute shits happening some time after that.

“No,” you sighed. “Now that I’m here, I realise that this is a bad idea, Simon.”

“You took me here, Y/N,” Simon recalled.

“I know, but our opponents are likely teenagers or some weird, gamer guys with noodle arms and you’re a one man army who’s trained to shoot,” you reasoned.

“They have their practice in PUBG, we’re very much even,” Simon said.

It was a good idea at first. Maybe instead of him taking you on another date, you suggested that you should be the one taking him on the date.

For some reason, indoor paintball sounded like another good idea at that time. Which was why you both were here. For paintball.

It had been another few months since your latest, very lovely encounter with Simon. Last time, he spent a night in your flat and you delivered him back to his the next morning. Well, noon. There was a lot of delay.

Later that same day, Simon knocked on your door again and informed you that he was leaving for work, again. That was when you told him that you wanted to be the one taking him on a date instead of him taking you on another date in spite of him insisting that he was the one owing you a date.

Of course, upon his arrival home last night, Simon knocked on your door and you woke up on the same bed by the morning like last time. 

Today, being another Saturday, a few days after his arrival home, you finally executed your plan. It was a good idea after all. At the time. Up until this point. Until you changed your mind a few seconds ago.

“When we’re in the field, you do everything I say, alright? As long as you do that, I’ll keep you alive and I have your back,” Simon said.

“You can literally obliterate them in five seconds,” you pointed out.

“No,” Simon denied. “I’ll only need three seconds.”

Simon made sure that your goggles were secured whilst you looked at him in disbelief.

“This is a bad idea,” you said again.

“This is your idea,” Simon said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I don’t know, like… everything goes awry and you’ll hate me to a point that you’d rather move out of your flat and we’ll never see each other again,” you said.

Simon let out a light chuckle, something you did not remember ever hearing before. There was something serene and satisfying about his laugh and who knew someone’s breathy, hitched, somewhat low voice could be like that.

“No,” Simon said, putting a hand on the side of your face. “The worst that could happen is you spraining your ankle or face planting on the ground. Maybe getting a few bruises. Of course, there are cases where—”

“Okay,” you cut off. “I get it.”

“Good,” Simon nodded.

Fast forward approximately twenty minutes later, you were in the field full of people screaming and yelling and a referee who was laughing their ass off.

Earlier, when Simon heard the other team—that happened to be a team of three and you were stuck going two against three for some reason—being very tactical, he decided that he should do the same though not as loud. He did that on purpose, saying everything in military terms and watched you struggle to understand half the things he was saying.

Simon, being very capable of obliterating your opponent in three seconds, decided that he wanted you to celebrate this… not so bad of an idea for a date. Most of the time, he was fishing the enemies out and had you take the killing shot. Well, until they took you out and Simon literally took out the remaining opponents in three seconds.

As you were about to get out of the field when it happened. The worst. Somehow, in a brief second, you tripped. Simon was ready to catch you, but alas he was too far behind you by inches.

As a result, you fell face forward on the ground.

In any instance, should any fall happen in any place where there was at least another person around, the damage would be more on the mental side than the physical. However, in spite of the embarrassment, the pain you felt on your ankle was felt impeccably.

“You alright, love?” Simon casually asked once he was kneeling next to you, helping you get up to sit at least.

Looking at him, though, you could see his eyes lighting up.

“I—my… Simon, the fucking worst just happened to me,” you replied. “And you think it's funny.”

“I don't," Simon said, but not really convincing you of his denial. "Where does it hurt?”

“My ankle,” you answered.

Simon scooted over to your feet level. Carefully, he put his hand on your ankle, but accidentally pressed too hard on it and triggered a yelp from you.

By then, a few people had passed along and you tried to serve them an awkward smile.

“Alright, you’re not walking on that,” Simon stated.

“What am I—”

“I’ll find something to wrap it up with, you wait here,” Simon proceeded before walking off.

Simon returned fairly soon after that with a roll of bandage. He sat on the level of your foot and looked at you in a questioning manner.

“What am I supposed to do?” you asked.

“Let me take your shoe and sock off and patch you up,” Simon said.

“Okay,” you nodded. “Are you sure?”

“I got my training, love,” Simon said as he started getting to work.

Even in a dire time, the way he addressed you like that still got your stomach churning.

As Simon wrapped your ankle with a bandage, you removed your gear and collected your shoe. Once he was done, Simon looked at you and you could feel his smile teasing you from behind that mask.

“It’ll get better,” Simon said. “Let’s get you home and get lazy."

“Sure,” you sighed, "Nurse Ghost."

Simon helped you to your feet. However, as soon as that happened, he swept you off your feet and carried you up.

“This is unnecessary,” you chuckled. “This is a bad idea.”

“This is you getting nursed,” Simon insisted.

Initially, you planned to take him somewhere else after this, but now that disaster happened, the two of you ended up getting on a cab to get back to your flat.

In the middle of the way, Simon put an arm around your shoulders. There was something about the way he held you that made you feel somewhat secured.

“I’m sorry this turned out disastrous,” you said, still somewhat embarrassed, but also felt quite alright now that Simon was still here.

“You did pretty well, actually,” Simon said. “If you pursue it, you could participate in a sniper competition with Soap in a few years.”

“Soap’s a sniper?” you questioned.

“He didn’t say?” Simon replied.

You shook your head. Simon only looked at you and patted you on the shoulder.

“I was gonna take you for ice cream,” you continued.

“You see the sky’s cloudy, right?” Simon replied.

“Even if it’s raining, I would’ve taken you there. They have hot chocolate,” you smiled. “With marshmallows.”

Simon said nothing, but you felt his smile again. Who knew if he was actually smiling, but it felt like he was. Maybe it was simply the tenderness in his eyes.

“We could have those at home,” Simon said. “Maybe watch something with ice on your ankle.”

“Am I reading this wrong or are you inviting me to cuddle?” you asked.

Not saying anything, Simon looked out the window.

When you both arrived, Simon helped you get out of the car and walked you both into the building. It took sometime, but soon enough you reached your floor.

Once you got off the lift, Simon picked you up and put you on his back like a backpack.

“What are you doing? I walked fine earlier,” you chuckled.

“Putting too much pressure on your injury is not a good idea,” Simon put out an open palm. “Key.”

“No,” you said.

Simon proceeded to walk towards his flat.

“Wow,” you said in disbelief.

Once inside, Simon sat you down on the sofa. He stretched your injured leg and made sure it was comfortable with a stack of cushions underneath it. After that, he hunched down on the backrest to level with your face, sort of peeping on it. He put his chin on his knuckles.

“What flavour ice cream do you want?” Simon asked.

“No,” you chuckled. “It should’ve been me asking you that.”

“I’ll guess, then,” Simon stood up.

Simon only looked at you. It seemed that there were a few thoughts going in his mind.

“What do you need?” Simon asked.

“I mean, you said ice for my ankle,” you answered. “But, I can get that myself, just a few doors away.”

“No,” Simon said. “I’ll get it. What else do you need?”

“The rest of the weekend with you?” you answered.

“Copy,” Simon said. “Give me ten minutes.”

Before he left your flat, he kissed you on the forehead through his mask.

If you were allowed to scream without getting any consequences, it would be really nice. It was probably either screaming or squealing. Maybe both.

He was so lovely and cute. Maybe Simon was too tough to actually admit that he was inviting you to cuddle, but the way he went around it was as admirable.

When Simon returned, he had a bag of ice and quite a number of snacks that he laid on the coffee table. He took the ice and moved next to your leg.

“You might want to get the ice cream first before they melt,” Simon said as he unwrapped the bandage from your foot.

“Simon—”

Simon cut you off by shushing you. He was not even looking at you.

So, you reached to get the ice cream. It was surprising that he got two tubs of your favourite ice cream flavour. 

“You might want to put one of these in your freezer,” you suggested.

“That’s where I put my heart,” Simon said as he was putting the ice on your foot, but before you could comment on his latest statement he said, “It’s not swelling too bad. Should be improving in a few days. Don’t walk on it.”

You handed him one of the two ice cream tubs.

“Thank you,” you said.

“I've done nothing yet,” Simon sighed before walking off for a moment.

Simon returned with two spoons and a mug. He joined you on the sofa, setting up his telly. You scooped half of the ice cream into the mug before presenting the two options to Simon. He took the mug.

By then, you were snuggled against him and whatever film Simon put on was starting.

“Nice way to end the day, don’t you think?” Simon asked.

“It’s 2 pm, Simon,” you said.

Simon lifted his mask to his nose. You looked at him and he delivered a kiss to your lips right away.

“What are we watching?” you asked, resting your temple on his chest.

“Something Soap recommended. He said it’s from a book,” Simon said. “Said something about Nicholas Sparks.”

“Oh, Simon,” you hummed, lightly chuckling. “Do I need to get worried that I might be ruining your relationship with him?”

“Let’s see how this goes and I’ll answer that by the end of this film,” Simon sighed.

Your light chuckle made Simon look at you.

“Maybe this is a bad idea,” Simon stated.

“The paintball was a bad idea, but this is not,” you stated.

“Just so you know, it was not a bad idea,” Simon said. “If the worst didn’t happen, I would’ve proposed for another game.”

A smile bloomed on your face.

Before actually investing in the film while eating ice cream, Simon kissed you on the temple.

Would it be a good idea to spend the rest of the weekend like this? Simon definitely did think so. Besides, it was his birthday weekend, he should treat himself a little.

However, of course, you had no idea that today was his birthday. Simon was tempted on telling you, but he did not care if you knew or not. He felt celebrated and that was enough for him.

@pasta-m1lk @cutiecusp

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

the send-off | steve rogers

summary | Being his best friend and assistant, Howard Stark asked you to be the first one to be tested on his time machine project. After some unexpected errors, you ended up stuck in the modern times of the 21st century. Where you meet the man you thought died years ago: Steve Rogers.

pairing/s | steve rogers x reader, avengers x reader

genres | angst, fluff, crack, time travel au, unrequited love au

warnings | will be specified in each chapter

note | This one happened in another universe. Everyone is alive and well. And this will be my first fic here so... please go easy with me 😬 Asks are always open for feedback and questions :)

1 — The Test Trial

When Howard asked you to be the first one to try his new invention, you did not expect to be thrown into the future with almost no chance of coming back and being stuck in a time with the so-called Avengers.

2 — The Arrival

You are in the 21st century with brand-new and a couple of familiar faces in front of you. Howard is nowhere to be found. Steve was informed of the arrival of a certain woman.

3 — Welcome!

New people. New room. New clothes. New home.

4 —

5 —

6 —

DRABBLES

not listening - Steve tried to explain himself to you after you saw him with Private Lorraine, only for you to be distracted by something else.

THE SEND-OFF TAGLIST [usernames in bold means can't be tagged, will be removed if not fixed.]

@supraveng @sunflower-golden-vol6 @curi0usc4t @caitlyn-who @bitchy-bi-trash @stilltoomuchafangirl @matisse556 @gitasor @ladybug05 @sunwoahkim @meanttobea @j69confessional2 @thenyxsky @maximoffmaxipad @swthxrry @justab-eautifulmess @7minutes-tomidnight @curlycarley @thefalconandthewinterwidowshield @wisepenguin @shatfairy @coffeeshub @stillthatbetch @cosmicgirls-things @sabrinaselina55 @mediocre-m @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @mrsjaderogers @themerc-with-a-mouth @slutdreams @mrbutterbunz @royalwritersoftheuniverses @yunloyal @avengersinitiative2012 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @noodle81937 @madnessinwrighting @lilizia @saintmagx @evanswife1918 @saranghaey @elmphoenix17 @animegirlgeeky @t-stark35

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@rosedpetal

A Maldição do Mar: Nenhum Garoto Está a Salvo - Shea Ernshaw

Descrição do livro

Quando corpos de garotos começam a aparecer no litoral da cidade de Sparrow, alguns moradores se perguntam se a antiga lenda sobre as bruxas vingativas seria verdade. Mas até onde essa caça às bruxas pode levar? Há dois séculos, três irmãs foram condenadas à morte por, supostamente, cometerem bruxaria. Pedras foram amarradas em seus tornozelos, e elas morreram afogadas nas águas profundas que margeiam a cidade. Agora, por um breve período de tempo – a cada dia primeiro de junho até o solstício de verão –, diz a lenda que as irmãs retornam, roubando os corpos de três meninas para que, por meio deles, possam buscar sua vingança, seduzindo e afogando meninos até a morte. Como muitos habitantes locais, Penny Talbot, conhece a lenda de cor. Mas, neste ano, quando a cidade se prepara para o anual retorno das irmãs, um rapaz desconhecido, Bo Carter, chega à cidade buscando suas próprias respostas. E Penny o acolhe. Mas quando corpos de meninos locais começam a aparecer no litoral, o clima de desconfiança e medo atinge a cidade, dando início a uma verdadeira caça às bruxas. A narrativa alterna, os eletrizantes eventos do presente com relatos do diário das jovens condenadas por bruxaria, resultando em um thriller sobrenatural inesquecível.

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✦ Classificação indicativa: +14

the little things

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Medic!Reader Synopsis: Five times Soap questions the relationship between Ghost and the 141's Medic, and the one time he gets an answer. Word Count: 2.9k Warnings: mentions of blood, mild swearing Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters.

part two. part three. part four.

The first time is purely by accident. 

It’s not like he’s trying to eavesdrop; it isn’t his fault the infirmary doors were left wide open, and it doesn’t seem like you and Ghost are trying to be quiet. Price called everyone for a meeting in twenty and, since the infirmary’s on the way, Soap figures he’d swing by and grab you. He’s walking towards the doors, paying attention to nothing in particular, when your unmistakable laugh echoes into the hallway. Soap stumbles slightly, caught off guard by the sudden noise. 

Someone’s enjoying themselves, he thinks. He’s almost six steps from the door when you laugh again, this time followed by the deep timbre of a familiar voice that makes Soap stop in his tracks.

Price was the one who had brought you onto the team, but it was supposedly Ghost who had recommended you. “Only medic I ever met who actually knew what they were doing,” he had said. Apparently the two of you had previously worked on multiple missions together, and that was made obvious by the way you two worked flawlessly around each other with an efficiency that could only have been cultivated through a deep trust and years of teamwork. 

Soap slowly approaches, all his stealth training coming to the forefront as he leans next to the door and focuses in on what you’re saying.

“It’ll only take a day, two tops. I promise.” Soap can hear the smile in your voice. Glancing at the glass panes of the doors, he can just make out your reflection. You’re standing beside an empty bed, behind an overbed table that’s covered in papers, leaning on your elbows to smile widely up at Ghost as he stands against the wall on the opposite side of the bed looking wholly unimpressed. 

“You want me to spend an entire day sitting in the corner and watching you give everyone on base flu shots?” 

“No, I’m asking if you’ll sit in the corner and look intimidating while I give everyone on base flu shots. The “look intimidating” part’s important,” you speak matter-of-factly. 

“I’ve seen you amputate a man’s leg at the knee mid-combat. You’re telling me you can’t handle a few shots by yourself?”

Soap makes a note to ask about that story later. 

“I can handle myself just fine, thank you. It’s everyone else that’s the problem here.” Ghost blinks at you, seemingly not believing you. “I get it, you’re all big, tough guys who face death every day-” Soap sinks his teeth into his cheek to fight back a laugh as you try to lower your voice in a very poor imitation of Ghost, “-but the way some of these guys act, you’d think I was coming at them with some kind of medieval torture device. I just think-” “That’d be a first.”

“-If I had someone that everyone respects, and is a little bit afraid of, sitting nearby then they’d stop with the whining and I can get my job done faster.” 

There’s a long pause as you and Ghost stand locked into a staring contest. Soap swears that, for a moment, something like amusement crosses Ghost’s eyes. 

“You think people are only a little afraid of me?” Ghost asks, tilting his head ever-so-slightly. You let out a loud, exaggerated scoff, throwing your hands up.

“Fine! Go lurk in a dark corner and scare children, or whatever it is you do, instead of helping me. Just don’t be surprised if I’m suddenly out of painkillers the next time you get shot.” You’re facing away from him, pouting like a child with your arms crossed over your chest. Both Soap and Ghost know you don’t mean it, your flawless reputation is too important to you, but Ghost sighs and nods anyways.

“Just tell me what days-” Ghost is barely done talking when you’re spinning around, nearly knocking the table over.

“Really?”

“Whatever will get you to stop being a brat.” Like water off a duck’s back, the insult runs right off of you as you clap your hands together. “Now, come on. Don’t want to be late to Price’s meeting.” Ghost pushes himself off the wall as you shuffle your scattered papers into organized piles to look through later. Soap leans back, taking a few quiet steps back from the door as you and Ghost start to leave the infirmary. 

“Hold on, one sec.” Soap pauses as he hears your hurried footsteps, looking back to your reflection in the glass. Eyes widening, his jaw drops as he watches Ghost let you grab his arm and push yourself up onto your toes to place a quick kiss to the cheekbone of the larger man’s plated skull mask. “Thank you,” you speak softly, taking a couple small steps back. 

Soap doesn’t have time to process as you and Ghost step out of the infirmary, immediately spotting him as he stands dumbly in the hallway. 

“Hey Soap! You heading to Price’s office, too?” Soap blinks, shaking off the shock and giving you a quick nod. 

“Yeah, I was just about to come get the two of you.”

“Let’s go, then,” Ghost says, turning and walking away without waiting for you or Soap. You fall in step behind him almost instantly, waving Soap over. Soap glances between the two of you as he follows. He knew the two of you weren’t strangers. He’d even speculated you might’ve been friends, but he’d never imagined you might’ve been something more. He wants to know more, but also gets the sneaking suspicion that this isn’t something he should be prying into. Ghost has always been a private man. 

Either way, he has no time to think on it further as the three of you enter Price’s office. 

-

The second time, he’s in far too much pain and far too tired to really remember if it actually happened. 

Despite everything, the mission had been a success, though the cost had almost been too much. Your team of seven has two unconscious, three severely injured, and the rest sporting a variety of bullet grazes and knife wounds. None dead, thanks to your quick thinking and efficient work. It’s late and the team’s holed up in an old safehouse overnight waiting for evac. Soap is sat up against the far wall, watching you with drooping eyes as you flit around the safehouse, tending to everyone’s wounds. He had been fortunate enough to only have a few minor wounds, but the adrenaline of the fight is fading fast and the comedown is hitting hard. 

Ghost is on watch and is the last person you check on, at his own insistence and much to your annoyance. He bats you away from any of the minor cuts and bruises, so you pull up a chair next to his and focus on the deep gash running across his right forearm. Through his sleep-hazed gaze, Soap watches you expertly stitch Ghost’s arm. He can hear the two of you mumbling to each other, but doesn’t have the energy to try and decipher your words. Once you’ve finished wrapping Ghost’s arm, you glance around at the others. 

You must assume everyone is asleep by the way you deflate, running a tired hand down your face and stretching your neck with a grimace. You scoot your chair closer to Ghost’s, shutting your eyes and letting your head fall against his armored shoulder. To Soap’s surprise and not to yours, Ghost makes no move to push you away, instead shifting so your head’s not at such an awkward angle and settling into his own chair. Soap can feel his curiosity creeping up, but sleep wins out in the end and he passes out not long after. 

When he wakes, Ghost is in the same spot, but you’re curled up in a beaten up arm chair across the room still asleep. 

When evac finally arrives, everyone is awake, and you and Ghost hardly acknowledge each other as he briefs Price over comms and you help load wounded into the helicopter.

-

The third time, he’s sneaking through the rain and blood-soaked streets of Las Almas, Ghost guiding him through his ear as he makes his way to the church. 

He knows he should’ve seen it coming, but Graves’s betrayal stings nonetheless. Soap pushes the anger down, instead focusing on reaching the rendezvous point so they can escape and rescue Alejandro. The banter helps, but there’s an edge to Ghost’s voice that Soap understands as worry. 

They haven’t heard from you since you all were separated. 

They both know you can handle yourself, and worrying about it won’t help, so they talk and sort through their situation: what supplies Soap can pick up, how bad tequila tastes, the tactical uses for dog piss. Everything is as fine as it can be while on the run from deadly mercenaries. Until-

“The mask. Take it off.”

“Show my face?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Negative.”

“Are you ugly?”

“Quite the opposite.”

“Can confirm.” Soap nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden sound of your voice. 

“Holy hell, where have you been?”

“Aw, you worried about me, Soap?” The teasing tells him you’re not in too much danger, or are at least somewhere you feel safe, but something in your voice feels…off.

“What’s your status?” Ghost cuts in.

“Managed to get out of the village,” you groan through a deep exhale, and give a haggard laugh, “can’t say the same for the Shadows.”

Ghost gives a quiet hum of praise, but all Soap can hear is the strain in your winded voice. “You alright, Doc? You sound-”

“Dings and scrapes, Soap. I’ll be fine. Meet up with you later.”

“Wh-”

“Don’t worry about it, Johnny,” Ghost sighs, “just focus on getting to the church.” 

“Right,” Soap mutters. He returns his focus back to the mission at hand, rummaging through the drawers in front of him for rope he can wrap around his extra fan blade. 

It hits him just as he spots the reflective shine of a shard of glass on the floor. Can confirm, is what you’d said. Did that mean-

“The Doc’s seen you without the mask.” It comes out as more of a statement than a question. 

“Let’s worry about you, Sergeant.”

-

The fourth time, he lands hard on his feet in the pitch black of Alejandro’s safehouse. Soap has his back turned as Ghost climbs in the window behind him. Luckily for him, as Ghost sees the laser sight aiming right for Soap’s back. 

“Don’t move!” Ghost calls out, before launching a knife into the support beam across the room. Soap whirls around to shine his light at the beam just as someone calls out from behind it.

“¿Quién está ahí?”

Before either he or Ghost can answer, someone else stands and walks around to the front, “About time you two showed up!” Your voice is an instant relief as they both relax while you turn back to let Rodolfo know it’s safe to come out. 

“Either of you injured?” you ask, eyes scanning over Soap as Ghost hops down from the open window and Rudy returns his knife. 

“Nothing major,” Soap assures you, though your eyes linger on the bullet hole in his arm. 

“Found this one trying to climb in through the same window,” Rudy explains, nodding towards you. 

“I almost had it,” you laugh, leaning to the side to put your weight on the beam. They don’t miss the way you wince, and it doesn’t take long to notice your right leg is a deep red from the knee up.

“Your leg-”

“Looks worse than it is.” 

Soap doesn’t believe you, but the subject changes to Graves and he lets it go. The four of you settle around the table as the guys formulate their plan for Alejandro’s prison break. You set your palms atop the table, leaning forward to take as much weight off of your leg as you can so you can focus on the conversation. It doesn’t help much, but it helps enough and soon the plan is concrete enough to take action. While Rudy leads Soap to the weapons locker, you take a seat on a nearby box to check the haphazard bandages you’ve wrapped around your thigh.

“You’re staying here.” Soap glances over as Ghost speaks. You laugh quietly, leaning back on your hands to stare up at the man towering over you.

“Leaving me all by my lonesome?” You sound like you’re complaining, but even from a distance Soap can see the relief in your face. Your teasing does little to soothe the stress radiating from Ghost.

“Just-” Ghost lets out a long sigh before dropping his voice so low, Soap can barely hear his words. “Be careful. Please.” You sit up straight, face suddenly serious as you set a gentle hand on Ghost’s wrist.

“For you? Always.”

“Soap, can you grab the rest of the guns?” Soap snaps back to attention, nodding at Rudy and collecting what guns he can. It takes all of two minutes, and when he turns back, Ghost is sorting through papers and you’ve set to properly bandaging your leg. 

-

By the fifth time something happens, Soap is absolutely sure there’s something between you and the Lieutenant. He notices it everytime the two of you are together: the quiet banter, the dark jokes only the two of you enjoy, the way Ghost always seems to hover near where you’re standing. It isn’t until the 141’s every-so-often night out that his suspicions are confirmed. Gaz and Price stepped away for a round of darts ten minutes ago, and now Soap finds himself sitting alone watching you and Ghost talk at the opposite end of the bar.

“You keep staring like that, and they’re going to notice.” Soap chokes on his drink as Price takes a seat next to him, Gaz snickering as he flops down on Soap’s other side and claps him on the back. 

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Soap coughs out, clearing his throat and looking anywhere but the other end of the bar. Price sees straight through his lie, of course.

“Gaz, why don’t you see if the Doc wants to try a hand at darts?” 

“Sure thing, boss.” Another clap on the back and Gaz is making his way over to you and Ghost. Soap startles as Price leans close and nudges him in the side with his elbow. 

“Keep your eyes on him,” Price whispers, and leans away to sip at his own glass. Soap takes another drink, sneakily glancing up just as Gaz reaches you and Ghost. You smile widely at him, nodding when he gestures towards the darts board. You turn and say something to Ghost before standing from the bar and following after Gaz to the other side of the room. Ghost’s eyes follow you the entire way, never once leaving your form.

“Watches like a hawk, that one,” Price hums, “and I thought he’d be better at subtlety.” Soap turns to his Captain, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“You-” Price shushes him, and nods back towards Ghost. Soap looks back, and they watch as Ghost sets down his empty glass, stands, then makes his way over to you and Gaz. He posts up, leaning against the wall closest to you where you can easily smile at him every time one of your throws lands. 

“Like a lost puppy,” Price laughs.

“What’s the situation there?” Soap asks, glancing back at Price, but all Price can offer is a lazy shrug. 

“Don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s been happening for a long time.”

-

“Alright, just got a couple papers for you to sign and you should be good to go,” you smile, gently turning Soap’s head to examine the area you’ve just pulled his stitches from. 

“Thanks, Doc. ‘Preciate it.” You give a playfully dismissive wave, disappearing behind the dividing curtain. 

“I’ll be right back!” you call and Soap nods, more to himself than you. He glances around at his sterile surroundings, eyes bouncing from the white walls to the white floor to the white bedsheets. The overbed table sits just next to him, though this time there’s no mess of papers scattered atop it. Instead, there sits a single file and after twenty seconds of solid boredom, Soap can’t help himself. 

Lifting from the bottom corner of the file, Soap nearly drops it as he sees your picture clipped to a pile of papers. He looks behind him, pulling the curtain just enough to peer through. He spots you on the far side of the infirmary, waiting patiently at the printer. Letting the curtain fall, he quickly turns back to your file. He flips it open, picking up the paper with your photo attached. It’s an older picture, maybe from three or four years ago, but your smile is still as wide as ever. 

Flipping the picture up reveals almost two entire pages of solid black lines. There’s more redacted information here than Soap has ever seen. Soap skims through what few sentences are available, every so often catching things like SIS and specialty interrogation tactics and a slew of words he never would’ve associated with your cheerful demeanor. He gets to the final page that appears to be a printed copy of the photo and his heart nearly stops as he reads the name written at the bottom and everything clicks together in his head.

Your last name is Riley.