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I was wondering if I could request a Ghost x Top Male reader, its been a rough week and reader wants to show Simon just how much he loves him. (Maybe some praise kink, breeding kink, lil bit of rough sex?)

Part of me wants to say maybe reader asks Ghost to be his? Like marry him? You can choose

Hello! I love this idea

(If any of my friends can see this, go away seriously if I find out you read this I will block you and die ☹️)

Sub!Ghost X Dom!male reader, Ghost is a bottom, reader is a top, praise kink, somewhat rough, Ghost is having a hard time so reader decides to help him out, pre-established relationship, NSFW, swearing, handjobs, anal, gay relationship, kinda my first time writing smut? I hope this is ok, doggy-style, mentions of marriage, fluffy smut, breeding kink??/creampie

The past week had been hard for Ghost, missions where getting even more exhausting than usual, even his casual banter with Soap was irritating.

He knew he was getting burnt out

He hadn’t even had a chance to be with you because you where separated usually on mission, not intentionally you two just worked better with other people when it came to the battlefield

The week was finally over but his emotions where still going haywire due to the missions he was sent on

He always got like this after missions but it was still hard for him

When you two finally managed to get back into each-others arms, you felt the familiar sexual tension between the two of you

This longing to hold each other as close as you can, to connect as one

This eventually lead to now

Ghost was below you, hand over his mouth as your own hand travelled down his bare stomach

You grabbed his hand and held it in your own free one

“No no, I want to hear you” you whispered to him

His breath grew heavier as you said this

Eventually your hand grabbed his length and slowly started stroking it as you watched his face twist into one of pleasure

He moaned lowly as his eyebrows furrowed before turning upwards

His eyelids fluttered for a moment as he looked down to where your hand held his dick, playing with it slowly

Too slowly

He was so sensitive from not being able to even be near you all week

You started to stroke quicker, your heart swelling seeing him melt under your touch

Spreading his pre-cum over his tip, you pulled your hand away and started to shuffle your pants down

“Turn around baby, I want to make you feel good” you murmured to him, just loud enough for him to hear

He slowly turned to lay on his stomach as you softly grabbed his hips and pulled them up

You ran your hand down his back, stroking his spine

His breathing was laboured and his legs shaky

You gingerly inserted yourself into him as you massaged his shoulders to calm him

Eventually you started moving, cooing praises and loving words at him

His hand was gripping the sheets of your bed as you both babbled incoherent words together

You started to pick up your pace as you let your hand travel back down to his dick as you played with it lovingly

“F-fuck, your gonna make me cum, darl’” he stuttered, his voice muffled by the pillow

“Let go for me, please” you almost whined

The sound of skin slapping together, your moans and whines, and the sounds of where you connected filled the room

To any onlooker it would be a lewd scene, a scene of just sex but to you two, it was an act of love

A way you two could show how you made each other feel.

“Ah~ baby I’m gonna-“ he murmured

“Go on, cum for me my love” you replied

His body started to shake and his eyes rolled back into his head, he was seeing white

Finally he let out a loud moan, like it was finally released from his throat, before-hand, being stuck in there

You followed quickly after him as you rode out your orgasm

Filling him with your cum

After a moment of bliss, you pulled out and turned him around, kissing his face all over whispering praises such as “you did so well, my beautiful boyfriend”

What caught him off guard was when you said “I cant wait to marry you, you’ll look so good in a suit”

His heart skipped a beat as you said this, a wide smile spread over his scarred face

His nose scrunching slightly, as the lines near his eyes showed themselves

God he looked so cute smiling like this

Who knew someone so hard and cold on the outside could be this adorable

“I’d love you marry you, I’d be the happiest man in the world”

I hope this is ok 😞

Reblog if you genuinely support asexuals

It terrifies me that there’s so much raging passion in the lgbt+ community that insist on marginalizing asexuals and implying that asexuals don’t deserve to have safe spaces. There’s still so much acephobia so I just wanna know which blogs are genuinely supportive and a safe space for asexuals

This is so cute

Home | Simon Ghost Riley x m!reader

anonymous asked: “The world will never know another man as amazing as you”with ghost please? Really love your writings and this giant of a man

summary: there's only one thing on Ghost's mind, and when he finally gets it, he's the happiest man in the world.

tws: swearing

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

Home.

The only thing that had been on Ghost's mind since he was told that the task force's job was done, finally able to go back home and to go back to the man he loved; he was fucking relieved, to say the least. Those stuck up yank bastards the task force was put with wouldn't understand, they were all glory chasers who had no idea about humanity; they mocked him every time he mentioned to Gaz or Price or Johnny that he was fucking glad to be going home.

To his own husband.

Sleeping in his own bed. Drinking the coffee he liked most in the world, made by his husband. No more uncomfortable hammocks and bunks, no more coffee that tasted like shit, no more forced small talk; he could bury himself in his puzzle books and in games of solitaire at the dinner table for hours on end while you sat nearby and did your own thing, an easy peace sneaking through.

Home. He couldn't fucking wait.

Sitting on the plane for hours was torture, constant questions about his husband that he didn't want to answer being thrown his way by stupid yanks; he didn't understand why his personal life was of such interest, couldn't understand why they wanted to know what Ghost did with his husband behind closed doors.

He was glad when the plane landed and the pilot said everyone could get off at last; he practically ran off, pushing soldiers aside as he fought to get onto the tarmac.

At least the taxi ride home was quiet, though, only soft jazz music playing over the car radio; the driver didn't talk much, Ghost wondered if they had any idea how fucking thankful he was for that. They asked him a few questions - where he was from, what he did for work, where he had come from.

The usual stuff anyone would expect of a cabbie, really; Ghost answered politely, but didn't give them too much information. He asked to be dropped around the corner.

He fumbled with his keys for a second, but the second the door unlocked, he chucked his bag inside, leaving it in the porch as he pressed on towards the kitchen; you were exactly where he had expected you to be, and he didn't waste any time in creeping up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder as he pulled you close and wrapped his arms around you, a heavy sigh coming from the back of his throat.

"Oh, thank fuck."

"I take it your flight didn't go well," you chuckled, quickly turning around and returning the embrace as tightly as you could, inhaling his scent.

Ghost shook his head, grumbling quietly as he kept you so close to his body that he almost worried he might suffocate you; but he needed it, he needed to feel his husband in his arms again, needed to smell your cologne, needed to feel the way you held him tightly, needed to hear your voice.

He needed you. More than anything and anyone, more than everything else, he needed you.

"You would've kicked off," he murmured. "An American kept hitting on me, even when I told her I was married and had no interest in women anyway."

You laughed, shaking your head as you dared to pull away enough to get a proper look at him; he looked exhausted and frustrated, like he was about to collapse at any moment or fall asleep exactly where he stood. "Yeah, I probably would've kicked off... you look tired, rhith."

Ghost nodded. "Knackered."

"Why don't you go take a nap?" You asked him softly. "Get some rest."

But he shook his head as he backed you up against the nearest surface, leaning into you and resting his weight on you as he sighed heavily. "Later, I just need you."

You were happy to oblige, getting up on the counter and spreading your legs so he could stand between them, resting his head on your shoulder as he yawned softly and hugged you closely. "Y'know, I missed you a lot."

"I know," he nodded. "Feelin's mutual."

You scoffed, resting against him as you hummed softly, closing your eyes and listening to him breathe for a moment; it was soft and shallow, the kind of breaths that came when someone was in a deep sleep, steady and calm. The way he breathed reminded you of rivers that swallowed the whispers of the wind and bathed in the sun with an olive coloured smile.

For a while, you both stayed like that, revelling in being together again and being close once more; making up for all the time you had missed one another far too much, familiarising yourselves with scents and feelings all over again. Wanting nothing more than to simply be close once again.

But then Ghost pulled away, looking up at you with a pleading gaze as he sighed heavily. "Can you make me a coffee?"

You nodded, grinning as you softly raked a hand through his hair. "I thought you'd never ask."

He stepped aside, letting you get down before he attached himself to your back, resting his chin on your shoulder as you went about making two cups of coffee; he was always so clingy when he came back from deployment and when he was about to leave. You loved that about him; the same as you loved the way he always cuddled into you at night and held you so close.

You didn't even think of handing it to him as he let go of you partially to grab the mug, chuckling softly when he realised what the design was; it was an older mug of yours, one that you had bought him for your first anniversary when you were only dating, long before your nikkah. It was his favourite.

It was black, with a print of a greyhound on it; you had gotten it from a charity who were doing a fundraiser and selling merchandise to raise money for ex-racing greyhounds who needed to be rescued and prevented from being abused further. Ghost always donated to the charity when he could, greyhounds were his favourite dog.

He sighed heavily, gently drumming his fingers against you for a split second. "Y'know, the world will never know another man as amazing as you."

You scoffed. "You're such a softie, y'know."

Ghost grumbled. "Only for you..."

Home.

He was finally home, and he couldn't be happier. The man he loved so much was right against him, making his favourite coffee in his favourite mug; nothing could make him happier.

trans women cute reblog if you agree

THIS IS SO CUTE😭😭

SWEET BOY

- Werewolf!reader x König

- Proofread:

- Genre: Fluff

- Synopsis: König is the first to find out what reader truly is, and with his new knowledge he’s also target for reader’s affection. Finding himself courted by said lycanthrope.

- Apologies for the weak ending, been struggling to write and I just wanted to get something out. I do however like the midsection of this story :)

- Reblogs are really useful right now! This post, as far as I’m aware, didn’t make it into tags. Which is highly upsetting as a writer on Tumblr, so yes, if you can and don’t mind, please please please reblog<3

════════════════

There were rumours of the new recruit having some strange secret, and though König was never one to follow foot with others, he couldn’t help but agree. There was something to the new lieutenant that made him feel uneasy.

It started the first week of his arrival. König took notice to the fact that he typically stuck to a high protein diet, though he had brushed it aside as everyone had weird diets. But then it got to the point that he was hunting animals around base. At one point he had dragged back a deer.

Though it was strange enough alone, it got worse. He was noise sensitive, and not your typical jumping at loud noises, but instead hearing the faintest of sounds.

And his teeth.. they were the strangest things ever. König had been minding his business while the lieutenant ate, but he couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of the man’s unnaturally sharp canines. Akin to a dogs, sharp and large, and ready to pierce through anything.

Now, König wasn’t one to discriminate or assume, of course not, but whatever this man was, was not human. There was no possible way he was.

And so, König set his goal to find what this new member of his team was.

════════════════

It had been late night on base. The area silent other than the pounding rain that echoed off the rooftop. König had set his goal to stay up late, staying watch for the new sergeant.

Sergeant MacTavish had told of rumours that the new recruit was often heard training late. Ungodly noises echoing around and the source being the gym. So, of course the Austrian had set camp within a dark corner of said gym, waiting.

He’d been there no longer than an hour now, and just as he was planning to drop his goal, the sergeant had entered the room.

The air turned eerie, cold and chilling. König felt his breath catch in his throat, his eyes stuck on the sergeant. Nothing looked different about the man, but everything felt wrong.

“I know you’re there.” His words held a low growl, rumbling deep in his chest. “I can smell you.. smell yer fear..” A tone of amusement paints is words, turning to face König’s chosen corner.

The Austrian tenses. The sergeant’s eyes are reflective, not like that in a photo’s, but those of an animal’s. He tilts his head with an mocking stance, his lips tugging in a wide smirk. Teeth bared in a silent threat.

“I’m sure you would taste just… divine.” There’s a moment of panicked silence, shortly ended when the man gives a howl like laugh. “You’re such an easy tease. Why so tense? Does your name not mean King?”

König feels embarrassed, mocked by the sergeant. “I-I’m sorry! There were rumours, and I was curious, and-“

“I’m not upset,” he rolls his eyes “I mean, a little. If you were curious, you could have simply asked.”

There is an undeniable frown behind König’s mask, having not meant to intrude in the sergeant’s personal life.

(Y/n), however, moves closer. His nose is in the air, sniffing gingerly before releasing a blissful sigh. “You truly do smell divine..” He purrs, his eyes flickering to a doting amber before returning to their natural colour.

König is anxious, unsure on whether this was a compliment or a threat. His breaths are shallow, and it’s clearly known to the other.

“Relax, I’m not going to eat you.” He coos, his teeth bared in a gleeful look. “You’re far too cute for that.”

The Austrian’s cheeks flush, thankful for the cloth that covered his face, shielding him from his humiliation. “D-Danke…”

“Natürlich.” (Y/n) replies, only further flushing the poor giant. “Now, why don’t you tell me of this rumour.” He hums, tilting his chin up softly.

“Some recruits.. they said you were not human… something more akin to a canine..” He stammers, avoiding eye contact with the other.

“A canine?” He mocks with a tone of amusement. He holds that same wolfish grin, tilting his head softly.

König immediately squirms, throwing his hands up in a form of surrender. “J-ja! But I don’t agree!”

“Oh but you should,” He coos sweetly, cutting off the anxious boy “They’re not wrong, König.” His eyes hold that same amber colour, bright and reflective, similar to beasts. “I’m far from human.” And once more, a growl holds through to his words.

A chill trails down König’s spine, his knees going weak.. but from fear, or perhaps attraction? “Es tut mir leid…”

He looks so ashamed, head hanging low as he shifts his weight between legs. It’s quite the sight to see such a large man so anxious.

“Oh liebling, so pitiful..” He pouts teasingly, once again sniffing the air that surrounds. His brows furrow at the bitter smell, letting his nose further guide him to König.

Despite his lack of personal space, his sniffs all against König, from his chest to the crook of his neck. His words breathy as he provides praise, “such a sweet delicate smell.. sehr süß…”

König is tense again, refusing to breath in fears he’d interrupt the other. “Why so tense, mein welpe? I promised no harm, no?” He coos, scratching his canines along the man’s neck.

Suddenly, he pulls away, straightening himself up before sharing a smile to König. “I will see you tomorrow, Ja?”

There is no room for reply as he exits the gym, leaving a flustered Austrian behind. Left to gather his own thoughts, unable to understand what he felt for the sergeant.

════════════════

The next few days had grown to adore strange behaviours from the sergeant.

He sat close to König, thighs touching as he cheerily expressed his activities throughout the day. Happily sliding shares of his food to the Austrian, exclaiming that he were to eat more to stay big and strong. And lowly snarling at anyone that dared question or stand near the two, a mean glare to match.

“Oh! König, would you like to come to my quarters after lunch?” He innocently coos with that same wolfish grin.

The Austrian sits hesitant, slowly agreeing as he comes to terms that no harm could be done. And so, they set off to the sergeant’s personal quarters.

He allows König to step in first, a faint purr following from his chest as he shuts the door. His room his dark, cold even, and a bit messy considering his bed consisted of only a disorganized group of sheets, pillows, and clothes.

“MacTavish is quite the mouthful..” He mindlessly rants, stretching out his arms before loosening up. And before König is able to process, the man sprouts to fluffy ears atop his head and further so, he lower the waist band of his pants just below his tailbone, freeing his tail to match. “Hurts my ears some times.. very endearing though.” He muses, unaware of the Austrian’s shock.

He happily climbs into his bed, pulling the larger man along. “And that chatter.. oh the chatter..” he whines, ears folding back as he does so.

König comes to realize the wolf man is very expressive, and furthermore, he comes to realize he adores the fact. (Y/n), however, clambers onto König’s chest, continuing his rant as though it was nothing.

“Drives me insane..” He huffs, nuzzling into the man’s neck, drugging himself with his scent. “But you… so sweet..” he purrs, the rumble deep in his chest, vibrating oh so gently against König.

The Austrian hesitates, slowly wrapping his arms around the werewolf. The action along causes him to squirm closer, happy to be held.

“You’d make such a good mate… so healthy.. so sweet..” He lazily coos, causing König to flush with all his praise. “My mate…” he purrs, mindlessly nipping at his neck.

And, it’s then that König learns just how deep his suspicions had affected the male. Learning how clingy and possessive his species was. Acknowledging the strange behaviours and coming to understand they were acts of courting that König had mindlessly accepted..

Eating the sergeant’s shared food, only agreeing as he complained König needed more protein to stay healthy.

Allowing the werewolf to constantly touch and hold him. Indulging in such acts by looming around the man.

Thanking him for all the times he scared off recruits. Grateful for the way they no longer prodded and stared at them.

He hadn’t realized until now, but he had subconsciously fell into the werewolf’s courting ritual, accepting all factors and giving himself title as the wolf’s chosen mate.

And despite having only known the man for such a thin time period, he wasn’t against the idea. He knew he’d be safe in the werewolf’s hands. Knew he’d be protected and cared for.. and so, he simply went along with these beliefs.

Besides, he quite enjoyed the doting and spoiling behaviour of the man. For once he felt welcomed and cared for, not as a teammate, but as his own being.

“J-Ja… dein paaren..” He agrees softly, relaxing into the contact as the other only purrs louder.

“My sweet.. sweet boy..” he whispers, indulging in the larger man’s scent. Glad to have him accept his request. Glad to have someone as his own.

════════════════

© Copyright @jimmy-j-james, 2023

All rights reserved

do not copy/paste, claim as your own, post on different sites, or translate without prior consent from me

Reblog if you’re bisexual, support bisexual people or are actually a bunch of tiny velociraptors in a human suit

Reblog because trans people are hot

I love fat men

I love thin men

I love muscular men

I love average build men

I love men with big thighs

I love feminine men

I love masculine men

I love short men

I love tall men

I love nerdy men

I love emo men

I love himbo men

I love old men

I love trans men

I love poc men

I love soft jawed men

I love men boobas

And omg I love and adore pathetic loser men

I love men. I love men so much why am i so alone.

you’re just some twerp little faggot pretending to know things abt the real world

i’m obsessed with the way this is worded, reblog if you’re just a twerp little faggot

trans women cute reblog if you agree

Like and reblog if you can relate.

When I see a Female Reader story:

When I see a Male Reader story:

I may or may not have written a love poem about a COD character and I was wondering how the ones you write for would react to getting love poem from their s/o? Thank you :3

MW2 Reaction to Receiving a Love Poem from their S/O

Warnings: Pure Fluff <3, Just Big Military Men™ in Love, No Pronouns used for Reader Except 'You'.

Ghost

Dies on impact.

Will seize up like a mannequin for a solid three hours before he can even open the darn thing.

And when he does, with twitching hands and a flinching heart, the stiffness plaguing his body evaporates.

His heart leaps out of his chest with each passing word, and the world around him grows into blended shades of red and pink.

His skin is prickling, though not with injury, but abashment.

Love.

He’s sweating so much that, by the time he’s finished reading the poem, some of the letters where his fingers have been are smudged.

He panics, tears his hands off the scene as quickly and as delicately as he can before placing the poem somewhere safe.

From that day forward, he can’t seem to keep eye contact for as long as he usually could.

Or remain in as close proximity to you as he would like to.

One may take Ghost’s behaviour as stand-offish, perhaps even rude.

But you know otherwise. Especially when you see the corner of your love note peeking out from the pocket of his tactical vest, knowing that Ghost knows there is no place safer in all the world for it to be kept; the same reason he keeps you by his side. Because you both know that nothing short of an act from God can harm you when he’s there.

König

Regardless of how long you’ve been dating, König will always have to sit down for half an hour or so with your note across from him on the table before he can even bring himself to open it.

Why, you ask ?

Well, when you’ve gone without love for as long as König has, one typically becomes…unaccustomed to such grandiose acts of selflessness.

Especially ones as strong as love.

So, with the contents of your heart bursting onto the paper that König can so easily hold, crumble,tear in his hand, he wants to be extra careful.

To him, you are that paper. And he would rather face Hell and fury than let it get damaged in any way, shape or form.

When he eventually does pluck up the courage to read it, he’s never been so grateful for his veil.

His face blooms a deep red, burning his skin.

He’s certain it would show even beneath the war paint.

He doesn’t want to rush, to take anything you’ve written for granted, so he reads every word twice.

Sure, it takes longer to read your poem, but that isn’t a disadvantage to König.

That’s a bonus.

And he carries your words with him wherever he goes – memorises them like the holy scripture they are.

He doesn’t want to risk your note getting hurt or lost while he’s out at work, so whenever you visit his apartment when he’s away, you see it framed and hung up in his bedroom, right where it will be the last thing he sees as he falls asleep and the first thing he sees when he wakes up.

Soap

Though he won’t show it, he’s a bag of nerves.

But, he’s the type to deal with his anxieties as quickly as possible.

He’ll tear through your note like a summer wolf, thin and growling and restless as he obtains the general vibe of your poem.

But, even with a passing glance, he can feel how strongly you mean them.

When he’s prepared himself for the onslaught of feels your note is going to impart on him, he starts from the beginning.

And takes his time.

He wants to savour every word, every letter and syllable.

And he does.

Believe me, he does.

And when he’s finished reading it over for the eighth time, he folds the paper – carefully – and holds it to his chest.

He can feel his heart thrumming through the paper, feel it in his head like church bells.

And he remembers that feeling.

Whenever he’s scared, doubtful, alone or anxious, he remembers not only the poem, bu the feeling of it.

Your skin palpable in his hands, your spirit watching over him like Heaven’s Phoenix.

And the world isn’t so scary anymore.

Valeria

Don’t tell anyone, but she can feel her whole chest flutter when that slip of paper is pressed between her fingers.

She shuts herself off in a quiet room, unwilling to share your light with anybody else.

She wastes no time in uncrafting the lithe swan you’ve fashioned the paper into, deconstructing it like an anti-god and reducing it to its most basic form.

But that makes it no less beautiful.

Now, your love has nowhere to hide, not between the illusory feathers or the cracks in the body.

And Valeria, her heart stammering, reads your poem.

For a time, she forgets where she is – who she is – as her world is brought into focus with yours, two moons passing in a fleeting eclipse.

And in these twilight moments of you, Valeria feels what no amount of money, work, or euphoria can bring her.

Joy.

She can feel her cheeks lifting the deeper into this Aphroditecal fantasy she descends, for this feels more of a work of fiction than real life.

Caleria brings the paper to her nose when she’s done, her eyes close and in the darkness of her mind forms a likeness of you.

A crude recreation compared to your beauty, but a monument all the same.

And there, Valeria holds you, looks upon you, feels you, knowing that, even though she’s not with you, you can feel her and all the love that weighs her heart and keeps her human.

Price

In all his years of service, he’s seen terrible things, as well as the piques of human selflessness.

Sacrifices for the greater good, for love, the destruction of cities and lives.

But, as he sits at his desk, his cigar extinguished as he gives all his attention to the fragile poem in his hands, his eye twitches.

His heart pounds, spinning an orchestra of drums and nothing else.

Even in his infinite wisdom, his intellect and intuition, Price knows there is nothing in all the world that can prepare him for this.

He knows that, in his hands, he holds art.

In its purest and most innocent form, he holds a sliver of you, a wraith.

He unfurls the paper as if handling the gossamer threads of a spider’s web, the paper reclining into his touch.

And he reads.

He consumes every morsel of amour you’ve packed into the letters of your most soulful confession, that being the most universal phrase there is.

I love you.

Price is glad for his hat for, as he reaches your signature at the bottom of the note, he can feel his throat burning, his eyes stinging and straining.

A tear, mythical in its nature, a family of one in a species thought extinct, takes to the table. Makes it its home.

Price’s fist clenches, your note remaining uncastracted in his other hand.

He needs to be with you. Now.

And he does everything in his power to make it home to you.

Horangi

Considering how bare his existence once was – owing money to some very choice individuals, making poor choices, living a bleak existence – Horangi feels nothing short of overwhelmed when your poem sits in his hands.

His heart throbs and he can barely keep still as your love lies between a folded page.

And, excavating it, reading of its expanse and extent, Horangi’s throat goes dry.

All he can think, wonder, is what he did to receive such unconditional, unfathomable love.

And from you, of all people !

Horangi reads, re-reads, re-re-reads that poem every day, regardless of the time or how exhausted he is.

When he’s away from you, settling into bed for the night, he likes to imagine you there with him, laying at his side, your head on his chest.

And you recite the song of your undying love for him.

“I love you more,” he says to the darkness.

His words don’t carry to you, but he hopes beyond hope that the feeling, the sincerity, does.

In a world where hate is the greatest weapon, love is Horangi’s greatest defence.

Truly, with your letter nestled into the wristband of his uniform, right where his pulse is, Horangi knows there is nothing in the world that can hurt him.

Alejandro

He already knows what your poem is going to say.

How can he not ?

You’ve both already said all that can be said to each other a million times.

Every form and configuration of love is no mystery to the pair of you, having found and documented and catalogued each one.

Nevertheless, there is a harpstring thrum in Alejandro’s chest as he unravel your note, merely a bundle of thin strips of paper fashioned into an iridescent, gift-topping mass of brightly-coloured ribbon.

Each sentence could be read in any way, any order, any direction, and still make sense.

And Alejandro smiled, widely and unabashedly, for he knew the world that went into it. Felt the love, joy and logic that was demanded by your unique form of love.

And Alejandro read each strand.

For hours, he read each sentence backwards, forwards, in different orders, until every combination had been discovered. Found.

And, despite his preconceived notion that every form of love had already been ventured by you and him, he found excitement and gratitude for his incorrect assumption spark in his centre.

Much of the poem was familiar to Alejandro, yet the sentiment was…different.

It was not spoken in neither the dark hours of the night, nor the morn, but laid bare on paper in pen and ink.

Tangible.

Alejandro kept the bundle in a locked box in the wardrobe, covered by blankets.

And on missions where the hours gruel and the light never comes, he walks through his house, a phantom, brushes past you while you sleep.

He sees into the wardrobe, into the box, and reads your poem.

And he can feel the sun flicker against his eyelids.

Rodolfo

Giddy.

Does a little twitching dance and a squeal when he receives your poem.

And he squirrels himself away into another room, away from where anybody could see him and judge him, to read your note.

The love and effort you put into it is palpable in his hands, a live, beating heart.

And when he reads, he does not look upon your creation as literature, but as a painting.

He watches the shape of the words, a bobbing, oceanic rhythm, a tide lunging and baying.

When this planet is mapped, every continent, country, county and city, Rodolfo allows himself to read.

And he is lost to this familiar terrain, this best-selling concept which all artists mimic in some proportion or another, yet all fail exceedingly in their lack of experience.

And Rodolfo knows that you are writing from experience.

His experience.

Your tale of adoration is so distinctly and universally that of love that it could not be construed as anything but.

Love in both its simplest and most intricate form; to weave the fabric of your consciousness into the incomparably simple and cognitive language of humans.

Rudy doesn’t even let Alejandro see the letter.

To him, it is his slice of Heaven, a page from a human Bible, a declaration of epic proportions.

And the blanket warmth that overcomes him whenever he thinks of that poem – of you – fends off all manner of nature, of destruction and callousness.

Because, at the end of it all, no matter how dire the circumstances seem, Rodolfo can remember that, even if he dies, or succumbs to a medical sleep from which he will not wake, he was closer to Heaven alive than he is then for he, if only for a second, had you.

And you have him.

Graves

Just because he’s Graves doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate art.

On the contrary; he’s so rich that he studies it in his spare time for fun.

And not just your Michaelangelos or your Klimts or your O’Keefes.

This man knows art as if he’s created it.

And all that knowledge, that recognition and appreciation for art and artists either forgotten or rewarded by time is nothing compared to the overwhelming sense of uh-oh he gets when he receives your letter.

At first, he’s unsure as to what it is. But, inspecting your handwriting, the neat folds in the letter, he’s calmed by the fact that you did not write it in a hurry, nor did you seem panicked or hastened to get it to him.

But that begged the question…what were the contents ?

And, with neither caution, nor trepidation, he tore open your letter.

The desire to be patient has never haunted Graves more than it did in this moment.

The content of your letter didn’t sink in, even as he skimmed over it like blades across ice.

It was only after he’d finished it, laid it on the table, that his understanding unfurled.

Realisation dawning on him, he snatched the note back up, eyes softening as he noticed a crinkle along the edge, and re-read it.

It felt as if the words which were invisible to him before suddenly seeped through the paper, the letter feeling longer now yet not long enough.

Graves’ heart fluttered.

For the first time in…his entire life, Graves’ chest tightened with the feeling of crawling.

Restlessness.

He sucked the inside of his cheek between his teeth, his gaze settling on nothing in particular, only the off-white of your note and its incantations legible to him.

He knew the tune of this mood, heard it, saw it in other people, yet never recognised it in himself.

Until today.

A distant song, a relic of a time passed, he thought and thought, in his desolate office, for its title, its origin.

And it hit him.

The artist was you – your soundtrack to love.

And Graves was simply one of your instruments.

Leaning back in his chair, his discovery urging a smile onto his face, Graves looked back to the poem.

He knew all that you displayed so plainly for him to see was, in no uncertain terms, love.

However, what he didn’t expect, what had knocked him so far back that he was now staring at the dimly lit ceiling, the constellation of you appearing in his mind’s eye, was for it to afflict him, too.

Something that, until you, had never happened before.

Gaz

War is exhausting. Especially on someone as young as Gaz.

That’s why, when that little note with your handwriting emblazoned across the front lands in his hands, the weight of the world is lifted from his shoulders.

And your poem is nothing short of tranquilising as Gaz soaks the love poured into them, basking in a warm glow of a man-made sun.

He holds your poem to his lips and presses a spectral kiss to the letters, able to feel, just for a second, your lips doing the same.

Your letter is kept stored away safely with others you’ve sent over the past few weeks, in a padlocked box beneath Gaz’s bed which, occasionally, even he can’t access because he’s hidden the key so well.

He never takes your poems for granted, often reading them to help him get to sleep on the nights where work is particularly taxing.

And when he comes home, he plans on returning the favour tenfold.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

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Men with big, warm, comforting brown eyes...

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Mi futuro amor (Namor x M!Reader)

Suggested by Anon:  “ How about a fic where Namor first meets his lover? “

Content warnings: None. 

A.N: He’s soooo…. ughhhhh. Btw, here’s the gag: it’s a male!reader fic but this could’ve very well be a gender neutral!reader one. So, feel free to enjoy it, even if you’re not a guy. Pls, like and reblog if you do!!! - E

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