paintlavillered

[paintlavillered]

"One of me is cute but two though!"

2.4k, cw: breeding kink, smut, kinda baby trapping (?), not proofread

a/n: based off Juno by Sabrina Carpenter hehe happy reading :)

Simon would go to the ends of the earth for his bird. You wanted to watch your favorite movie for the millionth time with him? Done. You were craving take out from that special spot across town in the middle of the night? He’s placing your order and grabbing his keys to go pick it up after a quick goodbye kiss. You wanted him to kill a little red-haired prick who got too close to you -grazed your arm- yesterday at 17:37 while in a crowded line when he went to the loo, with his bare hands? Fan-tastic. (He may be projecting a little)

But he was worried. He might not be the most perceptive man, but he wasn’t so thick headed he couldn’t see the signs.

The way you made googly eyes at every baby you passed by. Fuck sakes he had never seen so. many. babies. 

Little things everywhere nowadays, though it might just be he’s now paying enough attention to notice. It definitely helped the unintentional search that your grip on his arm tightened every time you saw one. Your soft coos as you turned to him to say for a third time in a row that the babe was the “cutest thing you had ever seen”.

He loved you like he loved his gun after it got him out of a tough spot (he loved you more, but he's pretty poor at putting an example on it), but there was one thing he was wholly unsure he could give you. Being a father has never been something he was sure of, his own making his childhood a living hell assuring him that it wasn’t in his genes or anywhere in his future. He came to terms with that years ago and shoved the idea out of his mind entirely. 

As you both sat down at a coffee shop while taking a break from your park walk, you just happened to get seated right next to another woman, a stroller in your direct view.

Fuckin’ great.

Biting your lip you take a peek at the chubbiest little thing in a deep sleep. Catching the gaze of the mother you smile. “She’s adorable” you chirped. 

As the mother responded with a smile of her own, Simon felt a foot gently nudging his leg as gave him the prettiest eyes. Did you even try to hide it anymore? No, you really didn’t. Eyes filled with thinly veiled intentions, eyes that said “Look how cute! Jump across this table and give me one now,” 

“Isn’t she cute Si?!”

He sighed and replied in his usual grumble, “course, ‘er little jumper is nice.” Tactics. Swiftly move out from the topic and do not let the missus see the little bows… on the jumper… he just pointed- for fucks sake you saw it.

After quite some time giggling with the mother over photos, because of course that had to be the natural progression of things, Simon observed in his characteristic shadow-like demeanor before the little one began to fuss in her sleep. The mother excused herself and the babe to nurse and it’s then you finally turn back to your silent companion with your usual beaming.

“ ‘avin fun there, yeah?” He laughed which came out more as a snort as you mockingly kicked him under the table.

“I am as a matter of fact!”

Pulling his hands into the air in surrender he looks you head on. “Okay, I get it.”

“The baby was just so- ugh! Did you see how chubby she was? Her little hair.. Gosh!” Stay on task. Do not get distracted by the target's beautiful smile or laugh. Someone had to be the voice of rationale after all.

“Like I said ‘er jumper was nice, luv.”

When the pout came to your lips, he considered it a success (you were hot either way) and chalked the whole thing as a minor bump in the road. Whatever this baby fever was would pass.

Nonetheless, he should’ve known his bird better than that. She wasn’t a quitter, that’s for damn sure. As you cooked up dinner in that cute apron and served it plated up so nicely it dawned on him just how… domestic this all was.

It was nice, he concluded. Calm.

You remained pensive and quiet for the most part during dinner, clearly desperate to say what you had been on your mind for weeks. He could see the way your mind's gears turned, wanting to blurt it out. Like an animal going feral at the bars of its cage. Except your the animal and your cage is the inherent trust you will not go awol and chuck your birth control pills into the trash while he’s not watching.

“Simon…” 

Here it comes.

Simon grunted out his response while chewing on his food, looking up to meet your cautious gaze. Leaning across the table you gently lay your hand on his which held his fork, pushing it down.

“I’ve been thinking… a lot lately.” There you went with that look again. “Have you… ever thought of kids before? I- I know we’ve had this talk before… but-”

“C’mere.”

He outstretched his big arms and patted his lap. With quick acceptance you hurried over and let him pull you on top of him, one hand on the back of his chair and the other on your ass for support. The deep kneading of it was also for support of course. 

“You know how I feel about them. ‘Is jus not somethin I think about, luvie.” He didn’t dare look away from your eyes. If he was about to take that gleam out of your eyes he at least owed it to you to watch.

You grabbed his face with a light touch and caressed the stubble which had begun to grow with a look beginning to resemble a spot of desperation. Pressing yourself further into his body, you couldn’t help your protests.

“Si.. I just- I want one so bad.” You began to slide your hand down the side of his neck, pressing forward to gently place a kiss. Leaning your forehead in the junction between his shoulder and neck you continued before he could respond.

“Don’t you? A little baby with us all the time.”

Someone had to be the voice of reason and Simon was going to have to put his foot down on this.

“You’re not thinkin straigh’, luv. It would be cute-” He was cut off in shock as he felt the slight rock of your hips as you cowered into his shoulder.

“Just imagine it! One of me is cute enough, but two!” The pace began to speed up as you blatantly started grinding against him. He let out a little huff. Voice of reason. Though his reason was nowhere to be found when he put his hand that was idly on the chair to your backside to encourage the movement.

You knew what came next, you had to sweeten the pot. You knew you were being mean, but you just had to! You were practically given no choice!

“Don’t you want that Si! Don’t you wanna make something together?” You all but pleaded. He looked straight past your head with a crumbling steely demeanor. Fuck.

You already began to tug at his shirt and with a final glare, Simon couldn’t help but look at his pretty bird. His pretty bird on top of the prize she coveted, heat passing between their bodies. Just one time. One time and then they could talk about this properly. 

Simon gathered you up in his arms and stood while pressing an eager kiss to your lips. It was a soft and long thing as he brought you both to the bedroom you shared. He threw you down on the bed and stripped himself as you excitedly did the same.

Smiling up at him as if you won. You did not win. This was not a win, right? You were on your birth control either way, he would pull out as needed. What harm is there in fucking his own girl.

Pushing you on to your back he parted your legs to look what lay between them. There was the prize he was most proud of. Puffy cunt at the mercy of the cool air being pushed out by the vents. You were already beginning to shine.

“You were just waiting for it weren’t you? Knew I couldn’t leave you hanging, yeah?”

With a giggle you spread your thighs further and wiggled your hips teasingly. Simon dropped to his knees and pulled your body to the edge of the bed. Throwing each of your legs on either of his shoulders he spit into your cunt, taking two thick fingers and rubbing it in, catching on to your hole lightly as he played with the slick. He could see the way your stomach tightened as he circled your clit and he winded you up further when he firmly flicked it.

“Si” you whined.

“Wha’ is it?” He grinned as he lowered his head to press a kiss down. Devolving from a kiss, he grabbed onto one of your thighs with a strong grip and began to sloppily lick while you let out your breathy little moans, sensitive to the absolute tank holding you still as he ate straight from the source.

He licked and it just kept going. Dragging his tongue around your cunt, up to your puffy clit. He harshly sucked as he latched on to it drawing a cry from your vulnerable form. Tugging at his hair, he only looks up with his eyes, refusing to pull away his mouth. 

Shaking your head with wide eyes you couldn’t help but push your fluffy little agenda.

“Si please. Please. Please, I need it! I’d never ask for anything else-” you moaned in surprise once again as he added a finger into your hole. Willing himself to pull away from you, Simon continued to fuck his finger into you as he spoke up, spittle and slick coating his mouth. He had to switch gears, use logic (and cum) to deter you.

“We’d never have time. All this?-” He added another finger into your clenching pussy “Gone. We’d be cleaning spit up instead.”

“We’d have a baby!” You exclaimed insistently.

You were practically off the edge, usually by now Simon had you fucked into your own little world. This incessant begging for a little one of your own is keeping you sharper than usual. He’d fix that.

“Please Simon” You pulled him up, the strain of his cock to be inside you encouraging him to follow your movements. He looked at you pretty tits, pretty like everything else on you. Taking a nipple between his fingers and rolling hard.

“These’d get all full.”

Fuck that backtracked his own point. His mind fighting back the onslaught of thoughts at the sight of your tits growing round and heavy because of something he could do. Would your body get all soft- NO.

Lining himself up and looking at that pleading expression, the only time he’d ever seen you so wanting of something you were willing to roll around with nothing else on your mind.

“Just one Si, just one with your eyes your nose your hair-” Your breath went short as he pushed himself in, giving shallow thrusts to feed into your aching cunt. Recomposing yourself you gripped on to his bicep, “Just do it, lock me down tonight.”

Simon couldn’t help the way he subconsciously began pushing your thighs up to give himself a deeper angle, your ankles dangling weightlessly above your head, knees to your chest. The groans which sounded through the room as his hips hammered into you in a desperate chase. 

The two of you could do nothing but stare into each other's eyes, losing yourselves in each other while your cunt squeezes him like a vice. Determined to keep him there, body obstinately stuck on one thing.

 Someone had to be the voice of reason. Someone had to object to a little one with his eyes and your personality. Someone had to be rational and not think about painting the nursery while you waddled about. Someone had to remain level-headed and not imagine the way your eyes would light up with unfettered joy.

You tossed your head back and he couldn’t help but grip your face in his hand, tugging it right back to him.

“With me luv, with me. Look at me.”

Someone had to be rational.

Nodding your head shakily you keep your eyes on the massive man pounding away at you, feeling the way your stomach bulges trying to accommodate all of him, your cunt coaxing him further into the sticky trap.

Your body begging for one thing, you looked like you needed it. Tongue lolling out of your mouth as you were fucked stupid, sweat collecting on your brow. You looked perfect. Your whining swallowed by his own mouth when he presses another kiss to your swollen lips, body enduring in hopes the fat cock ruthlessly disturbing its peace would grant it the big load it craved.

Someone had to be rational?

Maybe it was the way you sucked him in, the way he couldn’t stop thrusting into you, but it’s as if your body sent some message to the receptors in his mind. All that flashed before him images of happy and full and with his baby.

As if you could sense his thoughts, your own peak quickly overcame you white hot. The way you spasmed around him with a loud cry of pure ecstasy.

“Give it to me!” You somehow managed. His mind went blank as drunk off the pleasure as you were, the only thing he could do was thrust, unable to comprehend anything else.

 A shame Simon couldn’t be rational when it came to his bird.

With the final slam of his hips, his release went into the deepest depths of you. His grip on your hips burning from how tight it was as he kept himself flush against you.

It took a few moments to come down from the high. Simon looked at your sweaty face, hazy from lack of energy. Maybe you did win this one, but he really didn't get all this effort (not that he was complaining) if you were still on birth control.

Birth control... which he hasn't had to remind you to take for quite some time...

Out of pure curiosity at his realization, he gently pushed the two of you further up the bed while keeping you plugged up. Opening the first drawer he manages to grab the box which contained your birth control pills. Upon further inspection, he notices it remains unopened and untouched. Shaking his head with a gruff laugh he peers down at you as you shiver from the rumble.

“Dirty girl”

You just smiled.

[paintlavillered]

WHERE DO I FIND A MAN LIKE THISS

Sugar on the Rim vol. II

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

part one

warnings: heavily implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), smut, oral fem!receiving, nervous but enthusiastically consenting reader

You’d tried to calm your nerves but they couldn’t be helped.

You’re anxious about everything, all of it. What he wants you to do, what he’s expecting you do, whether it’ll hurt, whether you’re ready.

You think you trust Bruce, but you also know that these things are different for men and women. You don’t necessarily expect that he’ll have a mind for what you’ll need, but honestly, neither do you. You don’t know what to do to make this easier for yourself—you don’t know what to do at all. 

You bought the lingerie, you’ve got it on under your clothes and it feels like a costume. You can’t tell if that aids or worsens the anxiety. 

You’re fidgeting with the hem of your skirt and you wish you could quit it, you’re radiating enough nervous energy as it is, you don’t need to be sending him visual cues on top of it. 

Bruce holds your free hand in his as he guides you through the manor, you think it’s a different section than you’ve seen before. His hand engulfs yours unfairly as he leads, but the touch of his skin is so warm and inviting that you can’t tell if your hand is still shaking under it. If it is, he pretends not to notice.

He guides you up the stairs and into a corridor and then another before you arrive at a set of double doors. You’ve never seen double doors on the inside of a house before.

He lets you in ahead of him, and you have a distinct thought that you’re glad he can’t see the look of awe on your face as you walk in. His bedroom has an entire living room inside of it, and altogether it’s bigger than your whole apartment. A maroon couch and matching chairs surround a grand fireplace at the front of the room and the resulting glow from the active embers has the area shrouded in a warm light ahead of the shadows filling the rest.

You glance past the seating at his bed; large and proud. It’s definitely bigger than a king sized, with an overhead canopy and streams of dark burgundy curtains draping down from the corners. There’s another set of closed double doors past the bed, you imagine leading to the bathroom.

The end of the room displays a large window seat that looks like it’s never been used, and vast tinted windows. You look up to find the ceiling higher than you’ve ever seen in a bedroom with a very expensive chandelier hanging over it all.

He takes your arm, steering you out of your wonderment and leads you towards the couch rather than the bed, gesturing for you to sit down with him. You do, quietly glad when he positions himself so that you’re close to each other but not pressed right up against you. He’s able to relax his body more than you’re able to fake it on yourself, and you think your thoughts must be vibrating out of you by now.    

One hand comes to rest on your thigh as his other nudges your cheek towards him. “Hey, nothing’s happening right now. No need to be nervous.”

You nod blankly, but your thoughts are running wild with everything that you very much are nervous about.

He takes your hand in his, rubbing circles with his thumb. 

“You’ve got to relax,” he coos, “Remember what I said?”

You take a breath, “You’re not going to throw me in the deep end.”

“Exactly,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Just wanna make you feel good, right?”

You nod, easing your posture.

He looks you in the eye, “You gonna let me?”

You hum, nodding again.

“Good girl,” he purrs, pulling away.

You quickly find that the distance is not at all what you want, and you decide to push forward—as forward as you can—sitting up again to peel your jacket off. He watches you move with a look in his eyes, you take it for intrigue but it may just as well be something akin to pride. Pride in you? He’s openly flirted, kissed you, and straight up propositioned you for sex—but sure, he’s proud of you for taking your jacket off.

Your nerves transition into insecurity before you can catch them, and you’re starting to feel a little stupid, like a child playing pretend.

You watch tentatively as he tilts his head at you, running his own assessments of your actions. 

“Will you come sit on my lap?” he asks you after a moment. 

You suddenly become acutely aware of the amount of air in your lungs. This feels like a big request and you’re not even sure how to take his meaning. Does he want you to sit sideways? Your back to his front? Or fully straddle him? 

He wants whatever you want, he’d said. What do you want?

You glance down at his thighs, covered by fabric more expensive than you can imagine. Positive confirmation rings through your head immediately, willing you to push yourself forward a little more. 

You reposition yourself over him, straddling his lap in spite of your nerves.

Again, he looks pleased. Happy even. One of his hands comes to stroke soothing patterns across your lower back, the other resting on your waist. 

He makes sure to catch your gaze, “You’ll tell me if you want to stop.” 

He follows when your eyes stray, “Yes?”

“Yes.”

He places a tender kiss on your cheekbone, “How did shopping go?”

“Um, good. It was good. One of the sales girls helped me,” your breath is shaky as he kisses your jawline.

“Yeah? Tell me about it.”

“I, uh, I just went to this little boutique up on third street,” he places another kiss on the column of your throat as you talk. “Um, it took longer than I thought it would. There were so many choices.”

His hands come up to soothe over your ribs, pulling you a little closer as they do. He hums for you to keep talking, his kisses continuing to lower until they’re down to your collarbone, though they remain relatively chaste.

“I—I didn’t really know what to look for,” you admit, breath shaky as you exhale. 

“But you like it?”

“Yeah, I—I do.”

He hums, smiling against your skin. His fingers inch under the seam of your shirt, caressing your waist. “Can I take this off?”

You nod timidly, trying not to seem so on edge with anticipation. You’re not confident that he can’t see right through you.  

He presses another chaste kiss to your neck upon receival of the permission, and your shirt begins to come off slowly, his hands skimming every new bit of skin revealed. As he pulls it over your head, he glances down at the baby pink bralette you’d picked out for yourself.

He groans quietly as he takes in the sight, “Oh, pretty girl. Beautiful girl,” He noses at your chest, leaving little kisses where his lips make contact with your skin, “Look at you. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your stomach flutters as his hair tickles your cheek. His hands roam up your sides, stopping to stroke placid circles along the sides of your breasts.

His touch makes its way around your back, expertly undoing your bra clasp without a second thought. Your bra hangs forward a bit off your shoulders, but he leaves the work of entirely removing it to you. And you do, with more confidence than you’d imagined yourself mustering.

He immediately shows his appreciation, kissing and caressing your chest with lover-like admiration. Your head falls back involuntarily as he noses at your soft skin.

He’s breathing heavy when he pulls back, humming low and deep before lifting you up off his lap to stand. The sudden shift has you a bit thrown off, working to catch up as he kneels down in front of you and repeats his earlier process with your skirt—kissing your thighs and tugging the fabric down bit by bit.

When it’s discarded on the floor you stand only left in your underwear, the lace practically illuminated against your skin.

He looks up at you from his place on the floor and smiles as he takes in the sight of your body. His hands find your hips as he asks you, “Has anyone ever seen you like this before?”

You hesitate for half a second before answering truthfully.

His smile grows, “No, you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s nodding, “Yeah, I know.”

As he rises to stand he scoops you up by the back of your thighs and lifts you in the air with no discernable effort. Now at face level with him, you get a bit bolder and lean in to kiss him. He kisses you back, pleased, beginning to walk the two of you over towards the bed.

He sets you down gently atop the soft mattress, kisses pushing you backwards to lie back on the bed. He scoops your wrists up and leisurely moves your arms up above your head. His grip is benign as he releases one hand in favor of holding your jaw. Your kiss is deep and controlled on his part, but in a way that makes you feel light in the head. You like the cloudy-sensation very much.

After a while, he pulls back to look at you with clouded eyes. 

He practically purrs, “You’re such a kind girl. So sweet to everyone, all the time. Will you let me be sweet to you?”

Your breath is shaky as you nod, attempts at hiding your anticipation failing.

He nods back at you with a faux-sympathy across his face. “Let me hear you say it.”

You force air into your lungs, giving you the willpower to speak the words. “Will you touch me? Please?”

The corners of his lips turn up, “Of course, sweet girl.”

He nips at your jaw as his hands travel down, petting the inside of your thighs with a touch so feather light it almost tickles.

Your knee jerks inward towards his hand, your body desperately seeking out more of this new sensation. He obliges, tracing his touch back up, up, up until his hand dips under the lace trim of your panties, skimming over your clit. Your hips flinch back away from him momentarily in surprise, only to press back forward a second later.

He actually laughs at the action, like it’s endearing. You feel a little silly for it, but you’re not given much time to dwell as he persists, brushing against you with a bit more pressure.

He tilts his head, watching your expression carefully with a remarkably pleased look on his own face. “How’s that, sweet girl?”

You nod, beside yourself. “Feels good,” you whimper. “Feels really good..”

You don’t necessarily mean to, but your hips grind up against his touch, your body too mesmerized with the sensation to remember to be embarrassed.

He’s certainly not complaining about it though, his quiet coos encouraging you to chase the feeling. 

He lets you grind up against his hand, taking in the needy look on your face with contentment.

“Poor girl,” he tuts. “Just need somebody to take care of you, huh?”

That makes your cheeks burn, but your attention finds itself more concerned with the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

You whine when he pulls his hand back out of your underwear, only for him to stand resolute in his actions. 

“Not yet, sweet thing,” he hums, pressing you back down to the bed with a light but firm touch when you try to sit up. 

He hushes you gently, murmuring for you to be patient as he shifts his position over you. 

He starts to move down your body, leaving kisses in his wake. The sensation of his lips tracing down your stomach has you feeling butterflies.

By the time he reaches your waistline you’re borderline dizzy from the anticipation, squeezing your legs together in an attempt to alleviate the ache.

He pauses there for a moment, torturously, and noses at the seam of your panties. A whine from you has him chuckling and finally moving to where you need him.

He kisses your clit over your underwear and you’re fighting thoughts of embarrassment over how sure you are he can taste how wet you are over the fabric.

It doesn’t seem to be enough for him though, as he tugs your panties down slowly, kissing your thighs as he goes.

Bruce’s hands hold onto your waist as he eats you out, holding you in place with an easy grip. 

You squirm against the feel of his tongue and you can’t quite figure out what to do with your hands. You almost wish he’d made you keep them above your head but really you’re not sure you’d be able to keep it together if he had. You’re not sure you’re keeping it together now.

He groans against your pussy, and one of your hands flies to grip his hair without permission from your brain. If you’re being honest with yourself though, your brain isn’t really the one calling the shots anymore.

You gasp when he licks a bold stripe, “Bruce—”

He groans again, briefly breaking away from you. “Oh, say that again.”

You sigh out, “Bruce, please.” 

He makes a pleased hum. “Good girl,” he murmurs before diving back in. 

He complies with your pleas generously, giving you more. He’s gradual but resolute as he inserts two fingers into you, giving you the time to adjust. But he’d evidently done a very thorough job prepping you for it, you’re so wet that the initial entry doesn’t sting like you’d expected. No, rather the first thing you register is closer to pleasure. A lot closer.

He begins to pump in and out of you at he continues to suck at your clit, and somewhere during you have a distinct thought of “oh this is it.”

You let out a little gasp and for once, you break out of your own head and just relish in the way his fingers curl inside you.

The way your thighs squeeze around him as you come, doesn’t hinder him one bit, only has him applying his ministrations with more intent. It doesn’t take long for the trembling of your body to give way to full on shaking, your body stuttering beneath him.

He continues working at you the entire way through your orgasm, until you’re flinching from overstimulation. 

He gives you one more lick before looking up at you with hooded eyes. “Y’taste sweet too, you know that?”

You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks as he starts to move back up to face-level, kissing the high point of your cheekbone.  

He pulls down on your bottom lip, your slick wet against your mouth.

You open without question, a clouding urge to please him the only thing running through your mind. 

He grumbles a low, pleased sound as you do, moving his hand only to provide room for him to kiss you again.

He sits back up over you and starts unbuttoning his shirt and you realize only now that he’s still fully dressed. 

He glances down to his belt as he undoes the buttons. 

“Will you help me out, sweet girl?”

You blink a couple times before registering the request, still overwhelmed by how quickly and skillfully he’d made you come. 

You struggle a bit to push yourself up into a sitting position, but he supports you by your waist, nipping along your jaw as encouragement.

Your hands shake as you undo the clasp, and while you’re still very much eager, if not moreso, you’re suddenly confronted with the very real possibility that you’re about to have your limits pushed. He ate you out and did a damn good job, stands to reason that he’d want you to return the favor.

So it takes you by surprise when he’s nudging you back against the pillows, removing his pants himself.

He keeps you occupied with an intense kiss as he does, and the distraction so smooth it’s almost like it’s rehearsed. 

You follow his lead easily, though surprised by his lack of desire to get his fill too.

He drapes himself over you nicely, his size easily dwarfing you out. He’s quick to block your chin from tilting down, gently bringing your face back up to meet his. 

He shakes his head lightly, murmuring, “Don’t worry about that. I got you.”

You are worried about it, but you trust Bruce, you know you do now.

You feel the weight of his cock against your stomach, at this exact moment, feeling like not much more than a daunting task.

“S’alright, sweet girl,” he lulls, brushing your hair back. “Okay?”

As heavy as the simple question is, you don’t need to think about it before you’re nodding and moving your hand to hold onto his bicep.

He peppers kisses all over your face as he starts to push in, effectively starting to distract you from the pain of the stretch. He hushes your whines soothingly and kneads at your waist with confident hands.

Your arms lock around his shoulders on instinct, your eyes squeezing shut as you try to convince yourself he’s almost all the way in, but you know you’ve got aways to go.

He pauses halfway, imploring you to open your eyes so he can check up on you properly.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he softly urges.

You will yourself to blink up at him and try to take on the challenge of both him and his gaze. Surely, an impossible task.

But you manage shaky eye contact that occasionally gives way to glancing down at his lips. 

It doesn’t feel good yet, but it only makes you more eager to keep going.

“I’m okay,” you nod, taking a breath. “You can keep going.”

He waits to find that reassurance in your eyes before he continues to push in, bestowing you a deep kiss in reward for your bravery.

Once he’s nearly bottomed out he waits a moment, then begins to rock in and out slowly, letting you get used to a starter of the sensation.

He brushes your hair back, weaving through the strands. “There we go,” he coos as you look down between you. “Doing so good.”

Your gasp is louder than they had been before, and closer to a sigh now. 

He’s fucking you gently, with a decorum that exceeds what you’d earlier told yourself you were stupid for hoping for.

It doesn’t take long at all for his movement to start to feel really good and your grip around his shoulders comes around to a different kind of intensity.

He noses against your jaw, applying kisses whenever  convenient. “‘S that feel good, sweet girl? Hm?”

He hits a particularly deep spot in you immediately after and it makes you borderline squeak. He huffs out a laugh that’s nothing short of affectionate. 

“Yeah?”

He then attacks that spot with extra intention, hitting it absolutely expertly every time. He speeds up a little, lips latched onto your neck as he fucks you nice and deep.

He drops a hand down between you and starts rubbing circles onto your clit with a pace that makes you want to scream.

You can’t help the moan you release when he teeths at your neck, clearly aiming to drive you crazy. But damn if he isn’t going about it the right way.

His circles pick up pace and you can be sure you’re leaving nail marks on his back. He seems to only get more encouraged by your sounds, working you closer and closer to the edge with every whimper.

He finally lets you over after a minute of shamelessly relishing in your moans, himself following close after.

He continues moving in and out of you until you’ve both completely finished, slowly coming to a stop. 

You get a moment to catch your breath before he pulls out delicately. You don’t even realize he’s moved before he’s got his boxers back on and is halfway to the bathroom.

You’re a little alarmed by the sudden shift in proximity, though you guess that’s the playboy experience, isn’t it? After a second you hear water running and assume he’s taking a shower.

You push yourself to sit up fully, minding your achy thighs, and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You glance at the foot of the bed where your underwear lies, then back over by the couch where the rest of your clothes lay discarded. You briefly contemplate how quickly you can get your clothes back on when the bathroom doors open again.

You glance up at Bruce, dazed, who looks surprised himself to see you sitting up. As he makes his way back to the bed you notice the supplies he has in tow and your brain begins to slowly start turning its gears again.

You don’t realize the glass of water in his hand is for you until he’s pushed it into your palm. 

His other hand carries a wet wash cloth that you, again, aren’t able to register the purpose for until it’s in action. 

“Drink,” he tells you as he spreads your knees apart gently, wiping away the mess between your legs with a notable amount of compassion for your sensitivity.

You do, gulping a few as he finishes, tossing the rag in a hamper before setting your glass down on the side table.

Your eyes return to the end of the bed and you nearly decide to get up, but he’s still standing so close to you, you’re not sure this is the right time.

You seem caught halfway between decisions now, you know you do. You’d honestly preferred when you thought he’d just ditched you for a shower because at least then this part wouldn’t be so awkward.

He watches you closely as you deliberate and seems to draw a conclusion about your hesitation rather quickly. His brow pinches as he processes, tilting his head at you. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” he says, bewildered. “Right?”

“I—” you falter, looking to the couch and back to him again. “No?”

He stares at you for a moment with an expression you can’t define.

“Lay down.”

You don’t have a second to process before he’s climbing back in bed too, pulling you down to lay your head on the pillow.

He pulls the covers over you and splays an arm over your waist, clearly firm in his decision for you to stay.

Your eyes are heavy and his bed is so comfortable, it’s difficult for you to even consider either of you wanting you to leave now.

Maybe you’ll just sleep for a little while, get some of your energy back. 

The way he traces soft patterns across your stomach certainly encourages the idea and doesn’t give you much power to resist.

You let your eyes flutter shut to the feather-light touch and listen to the steady deepness of his breaths.

Well, this isn’t so bad either.

🐲 reblogging is an ancient art form, only the strong may master it 🐲

[paintlavillered]

----------♡

Simon loves to kiss you.

Not the messy, desperate kisses like shown in movies, the ones that always lead to more -though he'll never complain if it happens- but the sweet intimate kisses that are shared between the two of you, those make life worth living.

The privilege of being able to press a gentle kiss to your lips, forehead, or cheek is unlike the usually brutal things he does when he's away and it gives him a feeling he never thought he'd find.

To love you is a privilege in itself and he's never been so grateful to have something before. He takes every opportunity to kiss you no matter what you're doing his lips will find their way to you.

Currently, his chest is pressed tightly to your back and his arms are wrapped like a viper around your torso while you cook breakfast. Simon's face presses against the side of your head nuzzling into your hair like a cat.

A smile graces your face at the feeling, "You alright, my love?" He grunts into your hair and nods before pressing what must be the twentieth kiss to your head that morning. You can only laugh- never did you think after meeting this man, this keep-to-himself man- that he would be the type to never want to let you go.

Simon's voice is still husky when he finally speaks, "I love you." He's quiet still hesitant to voice his feelings.

You twist in his hold and wrap your arms around his neck fingers lacing through the short hair at the base of his neck.

You place a quick peck on his lips, then one on each cheek, and one more on his forehead and it's all he needs to know that you love him too.

[paintlavillered]

mdni 18+

simon is the type of guy who doesn’t like you to go to bed mad at him. how could he when all he wants to do is make his bird happy? so instead of talking it out, like most people do, he fucks it out of you instead…

his big, veiny cock laid heavy over your stomach, the tip glistening with beads of his spend. your front covered in his cum, after many rounds of him showing you just how much he hated it when y’all fought. leaving you absolutely fucked out, your eyes lost in the back of your head.

‘i’m sorry, lovie, i just can’t help it.’ he’d say pressing kisses into your neck, his voice almost a begging whimper. ‘I never want you to leave me. please say you’ll forgive me?’

you do, only after he eats his cum out of your pretty pussy.

[paintlavillered]

HASAN NSFW HEADCANNON PLS ANYTHING WORKS!!

ask and you SHALL receive!!! i’ve been a longtime hasanabi fan, and I’ve heard WAYYY too much into about this man’s sex life you’ve picked the right person

- you’ve known Hasan since 2020 but you two only started OFFICIALLY AND PUBLICLY dating in like march/april/may 2023

- and if you had KNOWN the dick would be THAT GOOD you DEFINITELY would’ve confessed ur feelings earlier

- you’ll be seeing sex through a WHOLE NEW LENSE

- from dating for maybe like three weeks you already know what makes Hasan “break”

- anytime yall are out with friends? teasing. IRL stream he can’t end abruptly just to fuck you? teasing. halloween? forget it you might as well just wear a bikini because we all know that costumes being ripped APART

- your lowkey obsessed with his hands oh mannn

- and bestie…if ur into cosplay better start running (I remember one time he might’ve said something abt being like addicted to roleplay??? BUT DON’T QUOTE ME ON IT)

- he is going to want to fuck u IN cosplay

- literally thinks you’re the most beautiful thing ever to exist

- tbh you blow all his ex’s AWAYYY (am I projecting…? okay fine I am a little bit lol)

- but fr you really do he looks at you like you created the universe

- and I’m not saying you’ll be “addicted” to his dick bc “addicted” is a strong word but idk

- during his streams you’ll be bursting in and being like “heyyy whatcha doing?”

- trying to watch and engage in whatever he’s watching, trying your best to tease him without getting a TOS violation or banned, etc., etc.

- him trying to shoo you away with a stunlock but then coming to see you during a “pee break”

- y’all spend at least ten minutes going at it

- chat going like “bro is taking a long ass piss 💀”

- comes back sweaty af, hair messy…yeah we all know what happened buddy you can’t fool us

xoxo,

bunny

A/N: I’m so sorry I couldn’t get more requests out I’ve been so busy with school and shit and haven’t been on tumblr or even watching many of Hasan’s streams lately :’( but here’s my present to u ily all see you soon!

[paintlavillered]

Could you write about Hasan with a curvier/plus-size partner?

DAY NINETEEN: HASAN WITH A CURVY READER

notes: all of theses request/blurbs from day thirteen to the twenty sixth, i fucking kid you not i am WRITING theses from 11pm to 4am. so any mistakes or dyslexia in the way... DEAL WITH IT 😭 IM FAR TOO BURNTOUT TO RE DO THIS ALL😭

tags: @babydollfacedangel @the-phantom-author @fullofgutsndopamine @questionable-behaviour @hasblair @bunnywabigheart @nfr-girly @benzodiazepines-withdrawal @kayakhasan @hoziersmom @hellb0yhasan @hot-insurrectionist @ztuphid @azzypzazzy @aomi-nabi @ivyhasan @gotavansleep

--

HE LOVES UR CURVY SO MUCH

you kidding me? he constantly want you near him

"theres more to grab of you" your knees are BUCKLING...

always talking about good you look in everthing

contantly craving every part of you

hes a fucking killer for you thighs, the stretch marks spreaded across you thighs...

always tracing them with his fingers

always using your belly or thighs as a pilliow😭

his hands are constantly on your inner thigh

whenever hes driving, he loves seeing your thighs jiggle whenever he *purposely going over speedbumps or a rocky road 😭

anything you do, hes praising and kissing the ground you walk on

on the podcast he wont shut up about you body

its gets to the pount where will has to give him a intervention😭

overall, hes never leaving you. wether thats physically or relationship wise LMFAOOOOO

[paintlavillered]

request: Your shirt/jumper was in the laundry pile and I couldn’t help but steal it for female!reader x hasan xxx

i've been thinking about this a lot recently ngl i don't know how i haven't written it yet so thank you for the request anon ily | also it does get like. a tad bit steamy toward the end but it's just making out tbh

his clothes | hasanabi x fem!reader | ~850 words

There were many perks to having a giant for a boyfriend. Being easily lifted from the ground for no reason was one of your favourites, and so was the fact that when you cuddled, Hasan either squished you completely or his arms secured you to his chest with a firm comfort you’d never experienced. But the best one was his clothes. 

Hasan was a fashionable guy, but he did own a fair share of t-shirts and hoodies. A lot of them were his merch designs, or things he’s owned forever, but somehow, all of them were extremely comfortable when you wore them. 

Since Hasan streamed so frequently, and you normally didn’t have much to do, you’d resort to getting things done around the house to keep yourself from going crazy. So far, you cleaned the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher with last night’s dinner mess, and cleaned the living room and the bedrooms. Quickly, you took Kaya outside to pee and fed her lunch, scratching the top of her head before going to the laundry room to tackle the load you put in the dryer this morning. 

It was all a mix of yours and Hasan’s clothes, since you sorted all of it by colours, whites, and darks. Staring into the basket of clothes you pulled out and were now folding was like looking into an abyss. Most of it was yours, leggings and hoodies and socks. But a few items were your boyfriends. Including his himbo gym shirt. Even just holding it up to fold it, you could tell it was huge. 

Then, an idea sprouted in your mind, one that you couldn’t resist. Peeling off the shirt you were wearing, you threw on the one in your hands. Instantly, you were swimming in it, the hem of it nearly reaching your mid-thigh. If you chose to wear shorts instead of black leggings this morning, they wouldn’t have been visible under the shirt. 

After that, you continued with laundry, folding it and bringing it all upstairs to put it away. Once it was done, you took some time to decompress with Kaya, watching tv with her head on your lap, sleeping peacefully. Faintly, you could hear Hasan shouting upstairs; whether he was grilling chat or yelling about whatever he was covering, you didn’t know. It quieted just as you headed to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. 

Checking your watch as you unscrewed the cap, you realised that Hasan was probably taking the ad break. And as if your thoughts summoned him, you could hear his footsteps clamouring down the stairs, headed right to you. 

“Babe, do we have any more of those chocolate protein bars left? I’m starving-” he stopped himself short at the sight of you, practically drowning in his shirt. 

You smiled at him, screwing the cap back on your water bottle. “We should, I saw some in the cupboard last night.” When you noticed Hasan still staring at you, your smile widened. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just-” Hasan seemed to shake out of his stupor. “God, you look amazing in my shirt.”

You giggled as he approached you, hands instinctively resting on your hips as he pulled you closer, towering over you. “I was doing the laundry and it just looked so much more comfortable than the one I was wearing,”

Hasan sighed and leaned into you, forehead resting on the top of yours as his eyes shut. “God, I love you. You know that?”

“I think I do. Might need some reminding, though.” You spoke quietly, keeping the words between the two of you, as if anyone else could hear. 

Hasan was quick with his actions, instantly capturing your lips with his. There was no denying the passion and love he poured into the kiss, which quickly turned into peppering kisses all over your cheeks and jaw. With his hands still on your hips, Hasan guided you to the counter, pinning you there gently as his lips travelled to your neck and your hands into his hair. 

You often treasured moments like these, when Hasan wasn’t afraid to show his love for you in any capacity. Even if the moments happened often. 

But it didn’t take long for you to remember what he was supposed to be doing instead of this. Tugging his hair, you brought Hasan’s lips back to yours, muttering between kisses. “As much as I love this, and I really do, aren’t you supposed to be streaming?”

He groaned between kisses, unwilling to go back to his office to actually work. “I know, I know.” 

Slowly, he pulled away from you, and you stifled your giggles at his appearance. Still, he reached into the cupboard behind you for a protein bar and watched him jog his way back to his streaming room. 

The chat surely bullied him for his flushed cheeks, his swollen lips, and dishevelled hair. There was no doubt, though, that Hasan would have better comebacks than they did. And to him, it was entirely worth the few extra minutes he kept his chat waiting.

[paintlavillered]

Can you write something about Hasan and y/n being cute on stream?😇

God. he's started doing more funday streams which the poor kid really does need.

🌠🌠 (i love the comet emoji) 🌠🌠

really whatever was happening on stream would pretty much come to a halt if you made an appearance. sometimes it was a brief moment of passing, offering to take Kaya out or bringing her back in, bringing him something, coming back from work. but the real treats is when you'd stay.

you near immediately take a seat almost completely in his lap as you squint and read the quickly scrolling chat. his arm wraps around you to steady you while you grab his mouse and scroll through chat, replying to messages.

"hi chat, it's really cold outside i feel like my nose is going to freeze off... yes i was wearing a jacket, that wouldn't keep my nose from being cold?" you shook your head, continuing to scroll. hasan lifted his hands and cupped your cheeks from behind, almost yanking his hand back immediately.

"oh my god dude," his airy laugh barely catching the mic with you in front of it, "it's like touching freezer burn."

"hey!" you reached up and smacked his hands away, "you leave my cold cheeks alone if you're going to be mean." he wrapped one arm back around your waist to adjust you on his lap and used the other arm to grab his mouse back. "they're telling you to apologize, look right there, 'hasan should apologize to mom'."

"they are always on your side, you could murder me and chat would donate $500 because you'd look good covered in my blood." a flurry of just this emote

and 'LET HIM COOK', 'HE'S RIGHT' fill the screen and you are cackling on his lap.

"of course they're on my side, i'm mom." he barked a laugh and kissed the side of your head. "chat we're going to watch tiktoks of bunnies eating fruit."

"no, we're not."

(you do)

[paintlavillered]

hasan blurb/fic idea or request (idk if your taking requests?)

hasan blurb/fic based on the tree decorating stream but reader is very particular about how she thinks tree should be decorated and hasan just sits back and observes her lovingly decorating the tree while chat is saying he's down bad the whole time 😩

.ೃ࿐HEART EYES

summary — in which hasan can't help but sit back and watch with adoration while you decorate his christmas tree

pairings — hasan piker x reader

pronouns — she/her

word count — 736

note — they're not dating in this one but you can assume they're unofficially dating or not yet at the point of sharing their feelings. up to you! (also this is super late but i was away for the christmas period so!!)

YOU'D STAYED OFF YOUR phone ever since you last watched hasan and murat go to home depot with rae, marche and qt. you technically had other things to be doing — for one, finishing wrapping christmas presents — but you also wanted to be entirely blindsided by what hasan would be bringing home with him.

to be fair though, you hadn’t expected him to bring home multiple dog statues. when you knocked on the door to hasan’s house and his dad welcomed you inside, you were hoping that he’d come back with a tree and decorations, maybe some lights that you could string up across the trees in his yard.

the tree you were currently staring at was ugly. seriously ugly. apparently it was qt’s choice ( like the dogs ) to get it, and apparently it was the least ugly according to murat.

YOU stood there in the most disappointed fashion anyone had ever seen. once glance at chat and they all shared the exact same sympathy.

“hasan,” you interrupted his mindless chatter about how he was decorating the tree. you weren’t even sure who he was talking to anymore — it sounded more like he was trying to reason with himself that he was doing a good job. “can i just—“ you cut yourself off, now wanting to sound demanding when you were his guest. “nevermind.”

he had stopped the second he heard your voice directed at him instead of chat anyway, the baubles forgotten about in his large hands. “what’s up?” he asked, all his attention on you.

you blinked. “uh, tinsel and lights usually look better if you put them on first.”

without a word, he scooted the box of baubles away with his foot and pulled the tinsel off from where it was hanging around his neck like a scarf. “then it’s all yours,” he announced, placing the tinsel around your neck like a silver medal.

the atmosphere was different because qt and rae weren’t sticking around for the decorating. you kind of wished they had stayed because the vibes would've been easier to deal with. you hadn't been alone on stream with hasan since the recent . . . development in feelings that had started to bubble up into existence.

the second the ornaments were in your hand, you were in complete control of decorations. years and years of being the designated tree decorator as a kid were coming back full force. you started at the top, walking around the tree to sit the lights in an evenly spaced manner down the tree, and then did the same with the tinsel.

hasan was — uncharacteristically — at a loss for words. his eyes were on you the entire time, capturing every movement you made as if he would miss a thing if he blinked. he had very little commentary, fixated on every aspect of you like you would disappear, slipping away like you were never in his house in the first place.

the chat was not helping his case.

"shut up, chat," he tried to keep his voice low and serious, "i am not down bad. shut the fuck up."

you heard him of course, the space between you not large enough to whisper secrets. that, and you'd felt his eyes burning holes through you, a silent shadow across every one of your movements. every ornament

you heard him of course, the space between you not large enough to whisper secrets. that, and you'd felt his eyes burning holes through you, a silent shadow across every one of your movements. every ornament — all of it. you could only imagine what his twitch chat was saying as he cleared his throat uncomfortably at being caught.

he didn't have the pleasure of staying in the unknown, unable to tear his eyes away from every chat message, peripheral vision on you through the monitor. every down bad, whipped, are they dating? multiplied tenfold, then triple that. and triple it again. he was in for it now, and you were — supposedly — none the wiser to any of it.

you knew, you could tell. heat burnt across your cheeks as you kept your back turned, yapping on about decorations to chat to provide an out to hasan, a way for him to involve himself in the conversation to change the topic.

there was really no use in keeping it a secret now.

[paintlavillered]

holidays with Hasan and your cousins

Hasan spending the holiday with the reader's family for the first time & you see him playing with your nephew and you're like omg I love him and want to be with him forever and have a family with him 😭 (this may or may not be self indulgent)

so this ask is responsible for this. thank you again for trusting me with your thoughts!

🌠🌠

Hasan ends up the tallest one in the room during your holidays, for which your family finds hilarious. You're thankful because your family is on the funny side and Hasan fits right in, making the absolute worst jokes of his career, but your family eats it right up and responds in kind.

You're sitting on the floor with one of your family dogs with Hasan behind you as you hear your nephew open the door and start yelling immediately, saying hi to everyone. When he rounds the corner with his sister they run right over to you and barely miss stepping on the dog.

"Hey be careful! It's good to see you too," you kiss them both on the top of the head and your niece is staring at him behind you. "Oh this is my partner, Hasan." She's immediately shy about it and waves before running away, your nephew chasing after her. They had their hello rounds to make, they'd be back to you soon enough. Hasan leans forward and puts his hands on your shoulders, phone seated between his legs.

"I don't think they like me."

"Oh quite the opposite, actually. Just give them a minute and they'll be all over you." And sure enough they are, your nephew has gotten Hasan up onto his feet and he's trying his best to hold onto his arm. You reach out and grab your nephews sides, tickling at him and pulling him off of Hasan's arms.

Your niece comes around and asks Hasan about the bracelets he's wearing and she starts designing one for him. She has a lot of beads (she has pictures on her phones of her bead collection) and quizzes him on his favorite colors and animals and pivots unexpectedly when she finally realizes that he has nail polish on.

It's funny how easy he gets on with them, how easy it is for him to pick them up and throw them onto the couch, how easy they spoke to him. They had only met one previous partner and they didn't click with them the way they did with Hasan. Your heart was warm, almost like a dreamlike state fogged over your brain.

All you could think about was them being your kids instead. Him swinging around your kids, bringing them to family get togethers when they were older. They would have his curls, but your nose, and you'd want them to have tons of freckles just like him. They'd be adorable. If Hasan dropped down to one knee today, you'd say yes. It didn't matter how long you'd been together at this point, you were sold.

"Hey astronaut," he called, patting you on top of the head while your nephew tugged on your hand. "You still on Earth or are you back in space?"

"Oh, sorry, I'm here," you're sheepish as you smile at him and then your nephew. "Let's go eat."

[paintlavillered]

hubby Price driving you around at night like a newborn baby when you can’t sleep. radio turned on low, the rumble of the car surrounding you, his big hand gently pawing at the meat of your thigh. he takes turns slow, drives under the neighborhood speed limit - you’re the only ones out right now anyways. once you’re drifting off he takes the long way home, carefully parking before unbuckling you. big bear of a man, cradles you in his arms as he scoops you up, makes sure the car door doesn’t slam as he closes it. carries you all the way to bed, tucking you in all delicate. he doesn’t want to risk waking you up by crawling into bed so soon, instead he goes to sit in the living room for an hour or so, just to be sure, doing some light reading before he joins you

[paintlavillered]

mmmgoghhh kissing john price and hes so dominant and hes holding my face and grabbing me closer while his beard scratches me yesspuuhhleasseeuuhh

[paintlavillered]

HOW TO DISAPPEAR | Rocks - 1

[ NEXT ]

mlist . series mlist . ao3

The apartment was heavy with stillness, the kind that pressed down on your chest and made it hard to breathe. A faint, acrid smell lingered in the air—burnt coffee forgotten on the counter. The sink was stacked with plates smeared with the remnants of meals you barely remembered eating, and the hum of the refrigerator filled the silence, too loud for a home that rarely felt lived in.

The walls, painted a dull beige, seemed to close in, their blank surfaces interrupted only by crooked frames holding photos you wish were never taken. In the corner, the ashtray overflowed with crushed cigarette butts, a reminder of his habit and his temper.

You brushed your fingers over the frayed edge of the sofa, the rough fabric catching at your skin. Somewhere in the bedroom, the muffled buzz of your phone vibrated against the nightstand, a sound you used to notice but now couldn’t help ignoring.

Even here, in the supposed safety of your home, the air hung heavy, suffocating. His voice lingered in your mind, a distant echo of the words he’d throw at you once he arrived—sharp, cutting phrases that hadn’t yet been spoken, but you knew were coming. You should’ve cleaned up the kitchen. You should’ve called him sooner. You should’ve done better.

The windows whistled as a gust of wind rolled past outside, the only sign of life beyond these walls. You glanced at your coat draped over the back of the chair, and for a moment, the thought of fresh air became irresistible. Anything to escape the weight of this place, even if it's just temporary.

You grabbed the coat, your fingers stiff as they slipped it on, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality that sent an unexpected shiver through your spine. It was the kind of sound that felt like a decision made for you, one you didn’t have to think about but still felt the weight of. As soon as you stepped outside, the late afternoon air hit you like a slap—cold enough to make your skin prickle, but not enough to feel like anything other than the emptiness that had been gnawing at you inside.

Your feet moved, not guided by any real direction, but a need to be anywhere but there, to leave behind the quiet that was somehow louder than anything else. The city was still, the noise distant and faint, as though it belonged to someone else entirely. Your own steps echoed in the silence, each one a reminder that you were alone. You didn’t know where you were going, and, in the moment, you didn’t care. You just couldn’t go back. Not yet. Not now.

The jacket, thin as it was, barely kept the chill at bay. It clung to your shoulders, offering no comfort, but you tugged it tighter anyway. The sky above was streaked with hues of orange and gold, a warmth that felt at odds with the freezing weight inside you. It seemed so far away from how you felt—like you were living in someone else’s life, watching it from the outside. Your mind was clouded, distant. It was as though you were moving, but your body wasn’t quite attached to you. Everything felt like it was happening to someone else, someone far away who wasn’t quite real.

You walked, your feet taking you wherever, each step carrying you farther from the apartment, farther from his voice still reverberating in your head. The buzz of the city faded in the background, drowned out by the deafening hum of your own thoughts. Him. The apartment. The silence that clung to you, suffocating in the spaces between unspoken words. How'd you get here? What more could you give?

You didn’t know how long you’d been walking. The world around you didn’t seem to change, and yet it did. The pavement under your feet shifted, from smooth to cracked concrete, the rhythm of your steps altering with each change in the ground. Your thoughts were still fogged, but there was something about this place—this change—that centered you in the now. You didn’t realize how badly you needed this escape until your legs had carried you far enough for you to feel it.

The smells hit you first.

Salt. Sea foam clinging to the air mingles with something sharper—the sour bite of cheap beer and whiskey, the faint traces of lingering cigarettes. The blend wraps around you like a thin shawl, familiar yet unsettling. It makes you pause, a tightness creeping into your chest.

It’s not the smells themselves that stop you. It’s how they ebb and flow, carried by the breeze from the ocean—coming and going, just like the memories you buried deep. One moment, the scents are close enough to make you feel, to pull you back in time. Then, just as quickly, they’re gone, fading down the street as if they never existed.

You see the street sign second.

Pierpoint Avenue.

You stop, blink, and then look again.

It's just a sign, at first. It's worn with age, disconnected from your memory—brushed away by the waves of time, the ebb and flow that you loathe. The brief moment of familiarity flickers, and for a second, you could taste the nights you spent here four years ago.

Almost.

The weight in your chest pulls like an anchor, dragging you back to something you thought you’d left behind. Seafoam, cigars, and booze merge, turning into more than just the street’s odor—it becomes the familiar, intoxicating presence of the hard chest you’d spent countless nights resting against.

Memories of John Price drift through your mind, shrouded with unspoken words and a hungry void you’ve been trying to satiate ever since he left.

The streetlights flicker on as the sun finally settles below the horizon, leaving behind a muted palette of pink, purple, and dark blue. The soft glow from the lamps cuts through the thickening shadows, casting long streaks on the cracked pavement. You walk deeper into the street, It’s quiet now, the hustle of the city fading with the daylight. But this street, one you never thought you’d find yourself back on, has a rhythm. It only really wakes up after 9 pm, when the night takes its hold, but even now, there are a few people wandering in and out of shadowed doorways, the occasional distant hum of conversation.

The sea breeze nips your skin through you coat as you take in the street in a way you never had before. The old shops you used to frequent stand as they always have, though the grime of time and neglect has found its way to their windows. Graffiti sprawls across benches where you used to sit, the walls marked by tags and symbols that weren’t there before, signs of a place that’s moved on without you. The nostalgia comes in waves, familiar and painful, like water pulling you under.

Your gaze drifts over storefronts as you walk, eyes catching the dark, angular shapes of new scaffolding, the smell of fresh paint and concrete rising from somewhere beneath it. You note the shift—the way things have changed, but also the way they haven’t. The world still spins, and you’re still here, walking.

It’s when you’re nearing the end of the block that you see a figure under an awning. It leans against a closed storefront, arms crossed, silhouette near blending into the shadows. Something about him draws your eyes, but you don’t think much of it at first. Just another stranger, part of the city’s nighttime crowd.

You continue walking, the click of your shoes on the pavement rhythmic against the silence of the street, but as you draw closer, a glow emits from the figure—the tip of a cigar, the orange-red light cutting through the blackness. The sight of it makes your chest tighten. For a brief moment, your heart stutters.

It can’t be.

But as you take another step forward, the distinct scent of a fresh Montecristo. It flutters in the air, mingling with the oceans smell, dancing in the wind. The memories flood back like a punch to the gut, too sharp to ignore. You stop. A few feet away, the ember glows again as the figure takes another drag. You don’t want to look, but you can’t help yourself.

You stand there, locked in place, staring at the figure in the dark. The glow of the cigar dances, finally lighting his features just enough for you to recognize a face you thought you’d never see again.

John Price.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel like you’re frozen in time. The street, the smells, the air—it all blurs together in that one instant. All those years you thought you’d moved past, all the things you buried deep inside, rush forward, overwhelming you. The man standing in front of you isn’t the same one you used to know, but in this moment, under the dim light of the streetlamp, it feels like a curse has just completed itself

He doesn't see you, but you don’t move. You don’t speak. Can't. You just stand there, staring at him.

The streetlights buzz faintly above, their warm glow painting the cracked pavement with streaks of gold. Your breath catches, shallow and uneven, your chest tightening with each second you stand there. The world feels off-kilter, like you’re teetering on the edge of something you don’t want to face. You shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be here.

It’s been years—years of trying to move forward, of convincing yourself that what he left you with wasn’t a wound but a scar. And yet, standing here now, staring at the faint glow of the cigar in his hand, it’s like the past is curling its fingers around your throat, pulling you back into the ache you’ve worked so hard to bury.

Your stomach churns. You don’t know if it’s anger or grief—or maybe it’s both, twisted together into something ugly and raw. You can’t even meet his eyes yet, but you can feel them on you, heavy and unrelenting. It makes your skin crawl, but there’s something else, too��something you hate yourself for.

The way the sound of his voice still echoes in your memories. The way his scent—cigars, salt, and something else, something you can’t name—has been seared into your mind like a brand.

You don’t know if you’re ready for this.

No, you know you’re not ready for this.

But here he is, leaning against the storefront like it’s nothing, like his presence isn’t unraveling every carefully constructed wall you’ve built around yourself.

And then he speaks.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

The sound of his voice crashes into you, low and gravelly, with that faint lilt you used to think was comforting. Now, it’s a match against dry kindling. You hate how much it still affects you, hate how just hearing it makes you want to scream and cry and—God, no—stay.

You force a bitter laugh out of your throat, hoping it’ll cover the way your heart is threatening to claw its way out of your chest. “Neither did I.” The words are sharp, brittle, but they feel hollow even to you.

You don’t know what to do with your hands. They fidget at your sides, ball into fists, then relax again. You force yourself to stand straighter, to pretend you’re not breaking apart under the weight of this moment. But your mind won’t stop racing.

Why now? Why here? Of all the streets in this city, all the places he could’ve gone, he had to be here. He had to bring it all rushing back when you were just starting to feel like you could breathe again.

You swallow hard, trying to push down the lump in your throat. “Why are you here?” Your voice is sharp, cutting, but you hate how it wavers at the end. You hate how small it makes you feel.

He takes his time answering, and every second of silence feels like it’s pressing against your skull, threatening to crack it open. His eyes haven’t left yours, and it’s unbearable—like he can see everything, all the cracks and fractures you’ve worked so hard to hide.

“Didn’t plan to be,” he says finally, his voice quiet, and there’s something in it you don’t want to name. Regret, maybe. Or something heavier.

You bite the inside of your cheek, the taste of copper grounding you for just a moment. “Well, it’s a big city. Plenty of other streets to smoke your cigars on.” Your words are meant to cut, but they feel like they’re slicing into you instead.

You take a step forward, brushing past him, and your pulse spikes as the scent of him—smoke and salt and him—wraps around you, dragging you under. It’s infuriating, how he can still do this to you without even trying.

“Wait.”

The word hits you like a physical weight. His voice is soft but firm, threaded with something that stops you in your tracks.

You freeze, fists clenched, your back still to him. Your breathing is shallow, too quick, and your mind won’t stop screaming at you to keep walking. But your body betrays you, locking you in place as his words hang in the air.

“What do you want, Price?” The question slips out before you can stop it, and you hate how it trembles, how it betrays everything you’re trying so hard to hide.

The silence that follows stretches on, each second wrapping tighter around you. Your hands shake, but you clench them harder, trying to ground yourself in the present, in the cold night air, in anything but the ache that’s clawing at your chest.

When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than before, softer, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“Just a moment of your time.”

Your breath catches, and you feel it—the pull, the ache, the way his words sink into the hollow spaces inside you. And you hate him for it. You hate him for the way he makes you pause, for the way he makes you want to turn around, for the way he makes you want to stay.

The ache in your chest deepens as your eyes catch on a familiar sign ahead, swinging gently in the salty breeze. Tether and Tide. The letters are faded now, the once-bright paint chipped and weathered, but it’s unmistakable.

It’s like a ghost from another life, standing there as if nothing’s changed, as if it hasn’t been years since the last time you walked through its doors. Your steps falter, the past rushing back in vivid flashes: the scrape of barstools against wood floors, the sound of his laugh mingling with the clinking of glasses, the way his hand would brush against yours under the table, deliberate but pretending not to be.

And that night—the first night. The one where everything shifted, where the teasing turned to something deeper, where you let your guard down just enough to let him in. The memory presses against you, unrelenting, and you can’t tell if it’s pulling you under or keeping you afloat.

Your gaze flickers toward him, and for a moment, you wonder if he remembers too. If the sight of that sign twists something in him the way it does in you.

He’s watching you, his expression unreadable, but there’s a tension in his jaw, a flicker in his eyes that makes you think he knows exactly where your thoughts have gone.

You draw in a shaky breath, then nod toward the bar. “If we’re doing this…” Your voice is steadier than you expect, but it still feels like it’s coming from somewhere far away. “I’m not doing it without a drink.”

His brow arches slightly, the faintest ghost of amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. “Fair enough.”

You don’t wait for him to catch up, your steps pulling you toward the entrance. The soft, golden glow spilling from the windows beckons, the hum of low conversation and the smooth flow of blues, mingled with the faint crackle of a record player, wrapping around you. It’s like stepping into a memory, a place frozen in time, and it takes every ounce of your resolve to keep moving forward.

The door creaks as you push it, the familiar scent of old wood and spilled bourbon wrapping around you. It’s quieter than you remember, but the details are the same—the scuffed floors, the mismatched chairs, the way the bar itself seems to tilt ever so slightly.

You slide into the booth, the cool leather creaking slightly under your weight. The dim lighting in the corner gives the room a quiet intimacy, the flickering of the old neon sign outside casting brief, uneven shadows against the wall. You sink back, trying to steady your breath, your thoughts still spinning.

John doesn’t sit down right away. Instead, he hovers by the bar, speaking with the bartender, his words low enough that you can’t hear them over the ambient murmur of the other patrons. His body language is stiff, his back to you as he leans against the counter, his hand resting on the edge, but you don’t need to hear what he’s saying. You already know.

A quiet exchange. Maybe an apology—something he can’t say to your face. Maybe a promise he isn’t ready to make. It doesn’t matter. Not yet.

You focus on the worn edges of the table instead, the surface pitted with years of use. The smell of the bar—the sweet, bitter tang of spilled whiskey, the musk of aged wood—fills your senses, and for a moment, you let it wash over you, grounding you to the present. You let your mind wander back, just for a second, to when this place was home. When it was the two of you and everything felt simple. Before everything got tangled, before everything slipped away.

Those days are gone.

The scrape of a chair leg pulls you from your thoughts, and you glance up to see John finally sitting across from you, his presence heavy even in the silence. He doesn’t speak. He just watches you, those eyes of his unreadable as ever.

A moment later, the bartender approaches with two glasses—one a whiskey, neat, the other your usual. He sets them down on the table with a quiet nod, but your focus is on the drink in front of you. The amber liquid catches the dim light, reminding you of something you almost forgot. Something that still lingers.

John remembered.

The weight of that small act presses down on you. He didn’t have to. But he did. And now, for just a second, you’re back there again. Back when things weren’t so complicated. When his memory wasn’t tainted by time and distance.

You reach for the glass, your fingers brushing the cool rim. You don’t drink yet, but you trace the glass with your thumb, your thoughts swirling.

John leans back, his gaze steady and unrelenting. The space between you feels heavier than the silence, as if an ocean stretches between the two of you—a vast, unspoken distance that no amount of liquor could bridge.

For now.

[paintlavillered]

something about price calling himself your man makes me feral

you and me both… I NEED that

cw: nfsw mentions

He definitely refers to himself in 3rd person like that… omg

Ranting him about an issue you have and he assures you that he’s got the situation handled. If he can’t do something about it, gives you his support ‘cause he’s always on your side.

“Your man’s gonna make it right, don’t stress honey, just relax.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I wish I could take care of it for you, but your man’s cheering you on, okay?”

He’s the type of guy to schedule a way to send you flowers every so often when he can’t bring them to you himself. Leaves you little notes, too.

“Missing you, sweetness. Keep being good while I’m gone, yeah? - your man, John”

And don’t get me started on when he’s got you in bed, panting and crying out his name…

“You like that? Your man making you feel so good, hm? Such a sweet thing for me, honey.”

“You’re moaning so much… Is your man making you this loud? Tell me, sweetness. Tell me what I do to you.”

[paintlavillered]

husband!simon riley follows you around like a lost dog 24/7.

whether it be in the comfort of your own home, or out in public, the man is basically your shadow. like a moth to a flame, he is the moth and you're his flame.

it doesn't matter where you saunter off to, chances are, he's stomping right after you. Around your house, he's following you to every room.

need the bathroom? keep the door open, he'll lean against it with his arms crossed over his chest, either watching you silently or tapping away on his phone.

cooking in the kitchen? he's hovering over your shoulder. you can't count the amount of times on one hand you bumped into his broad, brutish chest, stepped on his foot, or, definitely not on purpose, whacked his groin with a small pan. still, he never learns.

watching TV in the living room? you best bet he's going to sit his big ass right next to you. even if you're on the single person armchair, he'll squish you into the armrest if it meant being next to you.

showering? not without him because he'll join you, and find a way to release pent-up need at the same time, that is if you aren't already stressed that day, then he'll just wash your hair and run a relaxing bath for you to soak in peace afterwards.

In public, people give him weird side glances, numerous occasions where you've had concerned folks tap you on your shoulder and give a small point over your shoulder, to which you reply sweetly with the biggest smile on your face, "oh, that's just my husband!"

he keeps a thick finger hooked into the waistband of your pants, or shorts, or looped in one of your belt loops to keep you near him. since you're much smaller than him, it can be easy for you to get lost in big crowds, and this just assures simon that you're never out of reach.

it's a funny thing to watch for the guys to watch, observing their lieutenant follow you around aimlessly like a big puppy, eyes soft as he gazes down at you, sharpening when another person approaches or observing.

you think it comes from never being able to control his surroundings, his obsessive need to keep you safe, more so now that you have a wedding ring on your finger, forever tying you to him. not physically, but he wouldn't hesitate to if it meant keeping you safe.

[paintlavillered]

simon’s first instinct was always to protect you—before himself, before anyone or anything else. whether in dangerous situations or small, everyday moments, his reflexes kicked in without hesitation. every action was a subtle yet undeniable promise: i’ll always keep you safe.

sidewalk rule? it was non-negotiable. he always made sure he was between you and the street, shielding you from traffic. if you drifted too close to the curb, his hand would find the small of your back, guiding you firmly to his side.

“stay here,” he would murmur, his tone gentle yet resolute, as if daring the world to try anything.

whenever the car came to a sudden halt, simon’s arm instinctively shot out in front of you, bracing against your chest. the seatbelt should’ve been enough, but he never trusted anything more than his own reflexes.

“you alright?” he’d ask, his hand lingering just a little longer, scanning your face for any sign of discomfort.

in a crowded space, simon always led the way, carving a path with his broad frame. his hand would stay on yours or at your back, making sure you stayed close. and on a full train, he caged you in without hesitation, using his size to shield you from the press of strangers. his arms rested casually against the poles, but his stance was clear—no one would get too close.

whether you were climbing into the car or walking through a door, simon’s hand would always reach out to guide your head, ensuring you didn’t bump it. in the kitchen, he’d gently tilt your head away from open cabinets, all without thinking. it was pure instinct—small actions that spoke louder than words.

one night at 3 a.m., a car backfired down the street, the sound tearing through the stillness. before you could even react, simon had you pinned beneath him, his body shielding yours entirely. his heart raced, convinced it was a bomb. even after realizing it wasn’t, he didn’t let go, whispering against your ear, “i’ve got you, lovie.”

you could wear whatever you wanted—simon never cared. he wasn’t possessive, but confident. no one would dare glance too long in your direction, not with him at your side. and if anyone was foolish enough to try, one sharp look from simon was enough to make them think twice.

with simon, protection wasn’t just instinct—it was devotion. in every gesture, every glance, every step, he ensured you knew: your safety will always come first. because to simon, loving you meant keeping you safe—always, no matter the cost.

[paintlavillered]

some husband material headcanons with simon riley

late-night garage dances are his quiet way of loving you. when the house is quiet and you’re both waiting for your daughter to get home from a party, he’ll pull you into a slow dance. he doesn’t say much, just rests his chin on your head as the two of you sway to soft music in the dim light.

if you’re too tired to shower, he’ll gently coax you into letting him wash your hair. his hands are rough but so careful, massaging your scalp in a way that makes your shoulders relax instantly.

when you’re at the beach, you trace your name on his back with sunscreen, leaving the rest bare. later, when the tan sets in and your name is etched on his skin, he looks at it in the mirror and smirks. he loves the quiet claim you have on him, even if he pretends to roll his eyes when you point it out.

simon takes his time applying sunscreen to you at the beach, even though he could be quick about it. he’s meticulous, rubbing it in gently over your shoulders and back, making sure you don’t miss a spot. “can’t have you burning, love,” he says softly. he always uses it as an excuse to trail his fingers along your skin, a subtle moment of affection.

he’s big on touch, even if he doesn’t always initiate it. his favorite moments are when you lay your head on his chest at night and trace the scars on his arms. he doesn’t always talk about them, but he likes the way you don’t shy away from them either.

he’s the kind of dad who stays up until he hears the door click after a late night out. he’ll mutter about the time under his breath, but he softens immediately when your daughter leans in to give him a quick hug before heading to bed.

if he hears you sigh in frustration while cooking or doing something around the house, he’ll quietly walk over, take whatever you’re holding, and finish the job without a word.

he doesn’t say it often, but he loves being domestic with you. folding laundry, fixing things around the house, or even grocery shopping together is calming for him.

simon keeps a picture of the two of you tucked in his wallet—a candid photo of you laughing. when he’s away, he takes it out to remind himself what’s waiting for him back home.

he’ll let you put ridiculous face masks on him during a lazy evening, even though he grumbles about it. “this better not make me smell like a bloody fruit salad,” he mutters, but he stays still for you.

he’s terrible at hiding his smile when he hears you laugh. even in the most mundane moments, your happiness is his favorite sound.

sometimes, he’ll sneak up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, and sway you gently to a song only he can hear.

if your child ever talks back to you or says something disrespectful, simon doesn’t let it slide for a second. his voice is calm but firm as he says, “that’s your mum you’re speaking to. apologize—now.” he rarely raises his voice, but the weight behind his words is enough to make them realize they’ve crossed a line. later, he’ll sit down with them, explaining why respect is non-negotiable. “she does everything for us. you don’t ever treat her like that, understood?”

when you have surgery, simon steps into full caregiver mode, even though it’s not something he’s entirely used to. he carefully helps you into the bath, always making sure you’re comfortable and secure. his touch is gentle as he washes you, murmuring, “tell me if anything hurts.”

he dries your hair after the bath, combing it slowly so it doesn’t tangle. “you’re still as gorgeous as ever,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

he insists on carrying you to bed, even if you tell him you can walk. “don’t argue with me, love. you’re meant to rest.” he tucks you in, makes sure you have everything you need, and stays close by in case you need him during the night.

simon takes every opportunity to teach your child the importance of kindness, especially toward you. he models this by being gentle with you, always showing them how love and respect are expressed.

he’s a firm dad, but never unfair. when he has to scold your child, he always makes sure they understand why their behavior was wrong, but he’s quick to reassure them that he loves them no matter what.

during your recovery from surgery, simon takes over all the household duties. he’s not a great cook, but he’ll follow recipes to the letter to make sure you’re well-fed. when something doesn’t turn out quite right, he mutters, “bloody hell,” but doesn’t stop trying.