#‘I liked the way his beard felt on my soft porcelain skin’ my ass

[piperslovebot]

Headcanon that Jackie likes the way a beard looks (i.e. being attracted to Kelso again when he had one, saying that she liked how ‘scruffy’ Hyde looked in his), but not the way it feels on her. Which is the only reason why Jackie begged Hyde to shave his beard off.

[alrightberries]

“may i?”

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff & angst.  ❈ word count: 8k

❈ summary: you’re the medic assigned to take care of captain levi as he heals from the explosion. you’re also the only person he tolerates.

alternatively: in which you create prosthetics for humanity’s most war torn soldier.

❈ trigger warnings: manga spoliers. profanity. mentions of violence, blood, gore, and death. mentions of sexual themes.

a/n: levi’s kinda ooc bc i couldn’t write the progress of his relationship with reader without making it longer than it already is. also this is medically inaccurate (re: healing time of broken bones and amputations) for the sake of the plot so pls no one throw hands. 

Levi doesn't like looking at mirrors.

There was no tragic backstory behind his distaste for the reflective surface, no deeper meaning or hidden symbolism as one would expect from a man with his past. The reason behind it was simple: he just saw no reason to.

He wasn't vain, wasn't too concerned about his face, didn't care much to look at his physical appearance aside from when he had to cut his hair or get ready for the day to look presentable to his comrades. He knew he was attractive, and effortlessly so. The little letters and gifts he’d received from fans and admirers proved as much, and his title of “Humanity’s Strongest” only added to the appeal. Really, there was no reason for him to always be looking into a mirror.

But now... Levi simply couldn’t understand why that mindset had vanished. It was replaced with the fervor to always be staring at his own reflection— not out of vanity but out of disgust.

The disgust of staring at his mutilated face.

He warily lifts up the small mirror he held in his hand, features contorting into a grimace at the man staring back at him. Scars and cuts littered his cheeks— some deeper than others, but none as terrible as the long jagged scar that ran down the right side of his face. It started from his forehead and ended at his bottom lip, held together by ugly black stitches the medics had hurriedly sewn on him the second he got back to the base. His right eye was split in half, completely useless, completely blind; held together by the same black stitches that donned the ugliest scar of all.

And Levi couldn’t help but think that this man was hideous.

He was hideous.

Levi reaches out with his right hand to touch his scars out of habit. He feels his heart tighten when he realizes there’s only air where his fingers should be and he nearly breaks the small mirror he held in his good hand from how hard he was squeezing it. 

The mirror makes a gentle clink as he sets it down onto the mahogany of his desk. Bitterly, he stares at his three fingered right hand. His pointer and middle finger were gone, nothing but pathetic stumps protruding from his knuckles where they used to be. It was still covered in bandages and a makeshift brace so he wouldn’t strain himself when he moved, but he knew it was useless. He couldn’t move those stumps even if he tried.

He probably should’ve been thankful to have made it out of that explosion alive— not unscathed, but alive nonetheless. Though Hange had tried cheering him up (“Look on the bright side, we can wear matching eyepatches now!”) he simply couldn’t find it in himself to celebrate coming back so... useless. 

His writing was as legible as chicken scratches. His right eye spasmed in pain every time he blinked. He couldn’t even try to relearn how to use the ODM gear with his new circumstance, and he mentally curses out his orders to stay put and heal.

Too many things were lost, too many people, too many lives.

All because of that damned explosion.

All because of that damned bearded bastard.

Levi is pulled from his thoughts when three soft knocks reverberate throughout his otherwise quiet office, and he rushes to put his eyepatch on and hide the mirror in his desk drawer. He attempts to sit in what he hopes was a seemingly ‘professional’ position but his stiffness gives away his discomfort. 

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

He feels himself release a breath he didn’t even know he was holding once he hears the voice. Your voice. 

“Come in.”

The wooden door creaks open before it closes with a soft click, floorboards making minuscule sounds at the weight as you make your way to his desk. Levi pretends to look busy as his good eye scans the document he held in his hand. 

The sound of porcelain clinking against porcelain grabs his attention.

“Brought you tea.” You murmured. “I figured it won’t be up to your standards again but I did try my best.”

Levi still doesn’t look up as you set the tray down on his desk, and his good hand reaches for the steaming cup to take a small sip. His eye twitches at the taste.

“If you were going to bring me shit tea anyway then why bother.”

He hears a gentle chuckle but doesn’t see the way you smile at his contradictory words and actions. He made no move to throw the “shit tea” away, something he was infamous for with teas that didn’t meet his standards. Instead, he keeps sipping, gently placing the cup down onto his table once he finished.

“I thought that maybe distracting you with terrible tea would keep your mind off me changing your bandages.” You explained, and Levi nods but doesn’t speak. When silence once again filled the room, interrupted only by the occasional crumple of documents you knew he wasn’t reading, you take it as your cue to pick up your pen and clipboard to start the checkup.

“Have you felt any discomfort or pain in any of your extremities such as your right eye or your right hand?”

“No.”

“Have you felt any throbbing or other sensations in any part of your body?”

“No.”

“Have you experienced any fevers, headaches, dizziness, or sudden spasms in any part of your body?”

“No.”

He hears you set your clipboard down and his skin tingles from your doubtful stare. He didn’t have to look to know it was there. He risks a glimpse at the papers attached to the wooden board in your hands but just as he expected, you didn’t write down any of his answers.

“Have you lied to any or all of the questions I’ve asked during your routine checkup for today?”

“...yes.”

A soft sigh escape through your nose and your eyebrows furrow in disappointment. “Captain, lying to your medic won’t get you to the battlefield faster. You’re of no use to anyone when you’re injured.”

Levi clicks his tongue at your reply but he holds his smart ass comments back. He knew you were right, and it infuriated him so much.

“Fine,” he grits out. “My right eye’s been twitching all day. The fucking stumps on my right hand don’t feel like stumps. It feels like I still have fingers there, and I know it’s complete bullshit since they were lying next to my face when they got blown off.”

His angry glance finally lands on you. “That the answer you were looking for, oh medic of mine?”

It was now your turn to click your tongue. “Not quite,” you mumble, writing down his answers onto the file in your hands. “Feeling your missing limbs even after they’re amputated is normal. It’s called phantom touch.”

You place the clipboard back onto his desk and reach into your pockets, pulling out pristine white gloves before gingerly putting them on.

“Your right eye still spasming though, that’s concerning.” You add. Your hands slowly reach out to his face, and Levi momentarily flinches away out of habit. But you made no move to touch him.

He eyes you warily, tense muscles relaxing even just the slightest as he sees your gentle stare.

“May I?” You ask softly, a caring smile on your face.

Levi only nods, not trusting his words, and he once again tenses up as he feels your hands unbuckle the leather straps of his eyepatch before setting it down onto his table. He keeps his bad eye shut.

Your hands are gentle as you touch his face, touch nothing but a soft caress in such a way that his tender stitches felt no pain. Your eyes are focused on his stitches, lacking any judgement or ill will, and Levi’s suddenly aware of how close you actually were to his face.

Your eyes were beautiful, he noticed. They always were. The little furrow in your eyebrows as you concentrated was cute, and the soft caress of your hands on his cheeks as you inspected his face felt... nice, and dare he even say relaxing. Momentarily, when he finally lets himself adjust to the atmosphere, he lets his tense muscles ease.

“Can you open your right eye, Levi?”

“Y-yeah.”

FUCK.

What the fuck.

Did he just fucking stutter?

Levi’s surprise is only painted on his face for a few mere seconds before he schools his expression back to one of stoicness and neutrality, and he prays to all the existing gods he knew of that you wouldn’t notice.

He risks another glance at you. One of your eyebrows is arched and the corner of your lip is quirked up in a small smirk, but you dared not comment on the captain’s speech mishap.

Fuck. So you did notice.

Before he could try to save face by dishing out some bullshit reprimand of being disrespectful for calling him by his name and not his title, the words die on his tongue as you lean in impossibly close and oh god your noses were almost touching, your eyes are even more beautiful up close, and what the fuck is—

“Captain,” you repeat. “Can you open your right eye please?”

Oh, right.

He doesn’t speak as he does what he was told. He feels his eye open but no vision comes to his senses. 

“It’s looking... not so good.” He hears you mumble, face contorted into one of concern. “It’s actually looking pretty bad.”

Levi scoffs. “Not one to beat around the bush, are you.”

You roll your eyes, the small smile once again returning to your lips.

“How long have you been keeping the eyepatch on?” You ask. Your hands are holding his head in place now, grasp a little more firm but not enough to hurt.

“An hour at most.”

“Are you lying again?”

He sighs. “Yes.”

You nod but made no further comment, leaning back to grab the clipboard once more to write down your observations. 

“So,” you start. “Are you going to tell me the truth or do I have to poke your bad eye?”

Levi’s lips turn into a frown at the notion. “I’ve kept it on the entire day. And I know you’re probably lying about poking my eye, but in case you’re not, no. I do not want you poking my eye.”

You nod your head again, writing more things down onto your little clipboard.

“You should let it breathe. Keep it on for an hour or two at most but take it off when you sleep. Too much friction with the eyepatch might cause irritation.”

As the consultation draws on, Levi tries (keyword: tries) to be as honest as he could. Not that he could be dishonest when you were so good at snooping out his lies, though. You were already used to his stubbornness.

He wasn’t lying, however, when he tells himself that his heartbeat did not speed up when your hands gently held his own as you changed his bandages and cleaned his amputation; he wasn’t lying when he tells himself that the tips of his ears were not burning a bright red, cheeks flushed as you asked him to take off his shirt; and he definitely wasn’t lying when he tells himself that his dick did not twitch in his pants when your hands caressed his abdomen and back, accidentally hitting sweet spots he didn’t even know existed, to inspect his still purple bruises and healing ribs.

Yeah, he definitely was not lying.

“Okay, I think we’re done for today.” You say cheerfully. “I’ll be back same time tomorrow for another checkup.”

He glances up as he finishes buttoning the last buttons on his shirt. The gloves from your hands are taken off and tucked back into your pockets, and you hand him a small vial full of pills.

“Take one of these, twice a day at most, whenever you feel pain in your right eye.”

“I’m not feeling any—“

“Sure you’re not.” You cut him off with a smile. “I believe you. But feel free to contact me for any pain or discomfort you feel at any time of the day. I’ll be more than glad to find you.”

Levi says nothing, opting to instead stare at you as you gather the now empty teacup and kettle, placing them back onto the tray along with your clipboard and pen.

“Oh, by the way.” You speak, walking towards the door and opening it. You don’t spare him another glance as you finish your sentence. “I don’t think I can prescribe any pills to lessen blood flow to your dick.”

The door shuts with a soft click behind you, and Levi’s momentarily mortified as he processes your words. He risks yet another glance, this time down to his lap.

Shit, he thinks before he sighs. His hands readjust the hard-on in his pants.

Nothing goes past your observant eyes.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

Levi doesn’t bother to look busy like he did last week, you noticed, because this time he was actually busy. Which was odd considering he was taken off paperwork duty until he could write again.

“What’re you up to?” You ask, setting the tray down onto his desk and pouring him a cup of tea. Your eyes curiously glance at the papers scattered about his usually clean desk, each filled with indiscernible writings of his name.

“Trying to write. I’m useless until I can.” He mumbles before he scoffs. “This would be easier if I had all my fingers.”

You nod along to his replies yet made no move to stop him. You picked up your pen and clipboard to write things down as well.

“You’re not supposed to be using your right hand, your amputation is still too tender.”

“Tch, what do you expect me to do then?”

“Uh... use your non-injured, complete left hand?”

Levi blinks at your words, and he has half a mind to slap his forehead for being dumb and not thinking of that. Which he undoubtedly would’ve done had you not pushed the steaming cup of tea closer to his sitting form.

“Have some tea. You look like you’re about to pop a vein.”

Your smart remark is met with silence and a steely glare, and surprisingly, as Levi drank the tea you prepared, he notices it’s not downright terrible.

“Your brew’s better.” 

“Yeah. I finally took your advice of using a thermometer to get ‘the perfect temperature’ after you complained about my ‘shitty tea’ for the nth time that week.”

Levi hides his little smirk behind the teacup, silently reveling in his small triumph before setting it down. From the corner of his eye, he notices you eyeing something, and his heart drops as his gaze follows your own.

The mirror. He forgot to hide the mirror.

Discreetly (or as discreet as he could) he takes the mirror and shoves it back into his desk drawer. You had many questions, that much he knew, but he was thankful when you didn’t push it further.

“Shall we begin?” You ask instead.

“Yeah.”

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

Levi’s been trying to write again, you surmised, as you glanced at his focused eyes and the tenseness of his shoulders. Scattered papers still littered his desk and he was still trying to write his name. This time though, you were relieved when you saw he was using his left hand.

“Finally took my advice?” You asked, pouring him a cup of tea.

“Regretting it.” He doesn’t look up from his task as he answers, something you noticed he always did. “It’s been three days since I took your advice and my handwriting’s shittier than it was then.”

You smile, hand reaching out to hold his incomplete one that was clenched into a fist on the desk. He immediately stops writing, opting to instead stare at your hand atop his before glancing up at you.

“What are you doing?”

“Making you relax. You might tear your stitches.”

He feels you give his hand a gentle squeeze, and the warmth of your hand is suddenly gone from his own. You reach for the cup of tea you prepared, and he wills his cheeks to not show his blush at the small gesture. You slide the teacup across the table.

“What makes you think holding my hand will make me relax?” He asks snarkily. He reaches for the tea with his good hand.

“Are you relaxed?”

Levi ponders the question in his mind, noticing how his muscles were no longer tense, his shoulders were now slumped down, and his eyebrows were no longer scrunched. He sips the tea.

“Your brew’s still shit.” He replies instead.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I came here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

Your head peaks out from behind his door as you enter, closing it with your foot and making your way to his desk. You were no longer surprised when you saw him still writing and scribbling messily at his desk as he’s done for days now, and you discreetly eye the papers as you pour him his tea.

“You don’t have to keep bringing me tea.” He comments, still focused on writing.

“I know.” You reply. “But how am I going to perfect your brew if I don’t practice?”

Levi glances up, and he raises his eyebrow as he sees you sat on his table, a cheeky grin on your face. He makes no move to scold you for being so casual in his office and instead reaches out to take a sip of the tea. He notices your expectant eyes, the grin on your face widening as he nods in approval.

“Your tea’s not bad today.”

“Really?! You think it’s good?”

“I said not bad, I didn’t say it was good.”

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

The first thing you noticed as you entered Levi’s office was, of course, the scattered paper around his desk, face focused as he continued to practice his writing. The second thing you noticed was that he was no longer using his left hand.

“It’s barely been two weeks. Did you give up already?” You ask as you pour his tea.

“I write better with my right hand.” He simply replies, not even glancing up as you slide him the beverage. He uses his good hand to reach out for the cup, silently preparing his tongue for another unpleasant attack.

He takes a sip and his eyebrows shoot up from surprise. The tea was... delicious, absolutely delicious, and Levi couldn’t find anything to complain about. The temperature was right, it wasn’t too bitter but wasn’t too sweet, and the aroma was delectable. He takes a sip once more to double check if his taste buds were deceiving him, but the second sip was just as good as the last.

His suspicious eye makes contact with yours, a shit eating grin painted on your face as you eagerly awaited his feedback. The porcelain makes a sound as he sets it down.

“You bought this from the tea shop across the barracks. That’s cheating.”

“For fuck’s sake!”

Three soft knocks reverberate through the door to Levi’s office. The captain hastily hides the papers with your name scribbled on, shoving them inside his desk drawer. A shiny glint catches his eye before he could close the shelf and he pauses as he realizes it was his mirror. He hadn’t taken it out in a while. He was always too distracted with criticizing your piss poor tea to even think about his appearance.

“Name and business.” He calls out, still eyeing the shiny object.

“Hange Zoe. Y/N asked me to do your daily checkup.”

Levi's eyes widened, heartbeat stopping for a second as he heard Hange’s voice. Where were you?

“Come in.” He closes the drawer as the door opens and Hange walks in. 

Levi couldn’t help but notice that he was becoming uncomfortable the closer his friend got; skin prickling, hands sweating, his collar feeling a little too tight. Little by little getting more conscious of himself as Hange walked closer.

Was this what insecurity felt like?

He briefly wonders why he didn’t feel it with you, but his mind answers him with a simple fact: you were the only person who’s seen him mangled and bruised, and each time, you showed nothing but gentleness and care. Yet even with this knowledge, the notion that a person other than you would be doing his checkup today didn’t sit right with him.

He pushes his discomfort to the back of his mind, telling himself to remain objective. But it didn’t stop him from subconsciously adjusting his eyepatch and hiding his incomplete hand underneath the desk. He eyes the tray in Hange’s hands, spotting the kettle and teacup.

“I don’t want your shitty tea.”

Hange doesn’t look up as they pour him a cup, humming a tune Levi doesn’t recognize as they hand him the warm beverage.

“It’s not my shitty tea.” They reply. “It’s Y/N’s shitty tea. They made you a batch before they left for the mission.”

Levi’s good hand pauses for a brief second as he reaches for the cup, mind still processing the fact that Hange said Y/N and mission. You hadn’t mentioned anything to him, and since he wasn’t allowed paperwork duty until he could write legibly, he wasn’t aware of any missions.

“I see.” He takes a sip, and he immediately squints his eyes in doubt once his tongue caught taste of the flavor. “This isn’t Y/N’s tea.”

Hange looks up from the clipboard they were writing on, eyebrows are arched in curiosity. “What?”

“This isn’t Y/N’s tea. This is from the tea shop down the road.”

Hange’s confused face stays still for a few seconds, silently assessing whether Levi was being serious or not. A smile cracks on their face, turning into a grin as small chuckles left their lips, before finally turning into full blown laughter. The captain waits for the eccentric soldier to stop cackling and start explaining, but Hange’s answer only serves to confuse him more.

“Nice try, shorty. You crack me up.”

Levi ignores the remark about his height. “What do you mean?”

“Y/N owns the tea shop down the road. Made the recipe for the black tea you love so much, even.”

The captain’s good eye twitches, and if Hange notices, they don't comment. Levi takes a sip of the tea once more, a little more doubtful this time, before sighing in content as the drink makes its way down his throat.

“Why did Y/N go on the mission? I thought they were to be my caretaker until further notice.” He chooses to ask, placing the cup down and pretending to busy himself as he absentmindedly starts practicing his writing.

“Y/N is our topic medic, their skills are more valuable on the battlefield than in an office with you.” They reply, and the captain pretends that the truthfulness of the statement doesn’t sting the slightest.

“Besides,” Hange pulls out white gloves from their pockets, sliding the cloth over their hands to prepare for the checkup. “Y/N personally asked to be reassigned.”

Levi sputters and chokes on his tea at the sudden revelation, and he feels Hange’s hand patting his back as he tries to compose himself. You asked to be reassigned? But why?

“Why?” He manages to choke out before once more descending into a coughing fit. Hange silently hands him a napkin.

“They didn’t say.”

Perhaps you were done with his incessant criticizing of your tea making skills (if so, then why’d you keep brewing him a crappy batch? Clearly you could’ve made good tea whenever you wanted.) Perhaps you grew tired of watching over him everyday when you could’ve been attending to more injured soldiers in the medical wing or the battlefield. Or perhaps you felt a little cooped up in the office with him, hating that you were confined when you could’ve gone on missions to help the wounded.

Whatever your reason may be, Levi finally gets himself to stop coughing and wipes his mouth. Any questions he had, he would ask you. For now, he pushes his feelings to the back of his mind to ask a more important question.

“Why are you here and not on the expedition, Commander?”

Hange shrugs.

“I wanted to bond over eyepatches with you.”

Levi was trying, okay? He was really trying.

But god, the new caretaker assigned to him was nothing short of a complete and utter noob. His bandages were always either too loose or too tight, his touches every time he tried to inspect Levi’s scars were always an ironclad grip, and worst of all, his tea was pure and utter shit.

“Watch it!” Levi barks, and his caretaker jumps about two feet away from him at his yell. “What’re you trying to do?! Are you inspecting my broken ribs or trying to give me a broken rib?”

Oh, that too. His caretaker was the hands on type, something Levi wouldn’t have minded if not for the fact that his caretaker was also heavy-handed, and Levi had had enough of this bullshit.

“Stop it, just stop. Get out of my office, right now, and find me a new caretaker.”

“B-but, Captain, there’s no one else who can—“

His caretaker is cut off when he makes eye contact with the enraged captain. Levi’s eyebrows were knitted together in anger, and the glare on his left eye was nothing short of terrifying. The fact that he only had one good eye left did nothing to lessen the intimidation of his glare; if anything, it made it even more intimidating.

“I will not repeat my order. Go.”

The boy in front of him nods nervously, head bowed down and metaphorical tail tucked between his legs as he quickly scurries out of the room. Once Levi hears the soft click of the door shutting, he takes a deep breath and lets his body slump into his chair.

That was the fifth caretaker he’d kicked out this month. He wasn’t picky, he tells himself; he just had standards. Standards that apparently these damned amateurs they kept sending him couldn’t meet.

Briefly, his conscience contradicts him; the image of a certain top medic popping in his mind, one that he hadn’t spoken to in almost a month since they dropped him out of the blue. Maybe, just maybe, he was being picky. With a dash of passive aggressive and a sprinkle of butthurt. But Levi quickly brushes that thought aside when he remembers the incompetence of all his recent caretakers.

That was definitely it. He wasn’t petty, all his caretakers were simply idiots.

The captain hears three loud knocks on his wooden door, and he grits his teeth as he mentally prepares himself for whatever fuckery the clown caretaker they assigned to him was about to do this time. True to his words, Levi did end up breaking a rib from how heavy handed the last one was, and though he knew it was partially because his body was still quite fragile, it didn’t hurt his request for a new medic.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here to do your daily checkup.”

Levi feels his eyes widen and heart speed up, and he once again rushes to hide all the papers scribbled with your name as he shoves them into his desk drawer. He composes himself, trying to appear uninterested and professional as he speaks.

“Come in.”

The door squeaks open and Levi doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes soften and his shoulders slump in relief as he sees the familiar sight of you. A soft smile dawned on your face as you gently kicked the door close, walking towards his desk and setting down the tray you held in your hands.

“Heard you fired everybody who came after me.” You mused, eyes teasing as you poured him a cup of tea. He didn’t think he’d miss someone pouring him a cup of tea as much as he did now.

“Their tea was shit.” He replies, taking a sip of the warm beverage and holding back his sputter at the god awful taste. “Yours is too.”

You chuckle, picking up the clipboard and pen to start writing for today’s checkup. “Can’t help that I suck at brewing tea.”

“You don’t have to keep making me shit tea anymore. The secret’s out.”

You freeze in your spot, eyes widening for a fraction of a second before you nervously clear your throat. Levi definitely noticed.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I know you own the tea shop, Y/N. Stop lying.”

You let out an irritated sigh. “Hange told you, didn’t they?”

“Yep.” He replies, popping the ‘p’.

I’m going to fucking kill Hange, you think to yourself, silently gathering your composure once more. Levi watches you intently, continuing to sip on the terrible tea before deciding that he’d assaulted his taste buds enough and placing it down.

“Why’d you do it?” You hear him ask. “And don’t lie to me. You’re not the only one who’s gotten better at spotting lies.”

Why’d you brew shitty him tea? Is he that affected by it?

Your reply was already on the tip of your tongue, head glancing up from your clipboard to say your answer. But your words don’t come out and your mind suddenly cleared when you saw the look in his eye.

Levi’s eyes were nothing short of gorgeous; a beautiful gunmetal gray with a gaze deadly enough to kill a man with one mere look. But right now, even though they were schooled into his usual look of disinterest, you could see him... wavering. A mix of unanswered questions, curiosity, and— for the briefest second you swore you saw— hurt.

“I take it you’re not asking me why I brewed you crappy tea for the past three months?”

Levi clicks his tongue in irritation. “No, you idiot. I’m asking you why you left out of the blue. If you had a problem you could’ve brought it up with me—“

“No!” You quickly interrupt. “No, god no, you’re perfect.”

The captain’s eyes widen, and you suddenly realize the words you’d spoken as you quickly try to explain before Levi could interject.

“There was no problem, okay? I didn’t request to be reassigned because I had a problem. It’s quite the opposite, actually.” You murmur.

He eyes you curiously.

“What do you mean?”

“I think I have a solution. May I?” You gesture, asking if you could sit on his desk. Levi nods, not understanding why you needed permission now when you’ve done it of your own volition countless times before, but he suddenly understands when you sit directly in front him and not across from him like you usually would.

He watches as you pull a small brown box from your jacket, placing it down onto his desk before opening it. Levi is quiet as he eyes the item inside.

“It’s just a prototype for now. I was hoping to carve out a better one in my free time, one that would be a custom fit, but my free time kinda went flying out the window when you started firing people left and right until no one would accept you but me.”

You pick up the wooden prosthetic fingers and gently place them onto his desk. Your hand opens palm up, waiting for Levi to be comfortable enough to lend his hand to you, and he does so silently.

“The prosthetic’s made from redwood and the joints are connected by small metal rods. It’s light and durable, and I weatherproofed it so it wouldn’t break down so easily when you use them.” You explain, unwrapping the bandages around his hand. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out the concept, actually. I just took a pair of standard issue Survey Corps gloves and cut out all the fingers. Then, y’know, attached the wooden fingers to where the pointer and middle should be.”

Levi could only nod. You weren’t sure if his silence was good or bad and you couldn’t read his look. But Levi— Levi was speechless. In his mind, he dared not speak in fear of looking like a fool. Especially not in front of the person who gave back a piece of himself (quite literally, at that.)

He tenderly looks at the way you fitted the prosthetics onto his own hand, fastening brown leather straps around his wrists to secure the glove. The minute the glove is on and he sees all five fingers for the first time since the explosion, he feels like he’s about to cry.

“I had Hange help me with the anatomy so you could still bend them as you would normal fingers. I couldn’t figure out how to make them move on their own though, so you’d have to manually do that yourself.”

To demonstrate, you bend one of the prosthetics, the wood imitating the bend of his finger but not springing back up despite his brain commanding it to do so. You watch intently as he fumbles around with his hand, moving the fingers about. The wonder and astonishment in his usually unimpressed eye didn’t go unnoticed by you, and it spurred  you to continue on.

“Unfortunately, it’s not strong enough to flick the switches on ODM gear. You still have to relearn how to hold your blades when you’re cleared for training again.” You say regrettably. “But it’s strong enough to hold a pen.”

Your hand reaches for the forgotten quill across his desk, dipping it in the inkwell before offering it to him with a small smile. Levi slowly takes it, still speechless, as he readjusts his prosthetic to hold the quill and write.

His writing is still shit, undoubtedly; still no better than chicken scratches as he messily writes down the words. But god, the sight of the indiscernible handwriting next to five fingers brought tears to his eyes as he finally finished writing his name. The slightly legible letters of ‘Levi Ackerman’ stared back at him.

Levi couldn’t hold it back anymore. He immediately set the quill down before standing up to engross you in a warm embrace. You tense in his arms, not used to Levi willingly initiating any form of physical touch at all. But as he tucks his head into the curve of your neck and his shoulders start shaking, splotches of wet dripping onto your collarbones, you feel your arms encircle his waist, bringing him closer as you whisper sweet nothings into his ear and let him cry in peace.

Your hands ran through his scalp, willing him to calm down. Though normally the sight of a crying Captain Levi was something you never thought you’d see, you couldn’t help but feel honored he chose to share this rare moment of vulnerability with you.

You let him cry, still holding onto him, giving him his time. Briefly, you wonder what he was thinking. What pushed him to tears? Did the captain ever let himself mourn his losses? Does he mourn his friends, his family, the little pieces of himself that he’d lost along the way?

Though you had a million questions in your mind you dared not pry as you continued to comfort the weeping man in front of you.

Finally, after a few moments of nothing but silent sniffles and your sweet words, Levi finds it in himself to finally speak.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

Night had fallen around the base, encasing the world in darkness that beckons slumber. Levi continued to stay awake, still in his office, staring at the prosthetic you had given him hours before.

Curiously, he feels himself form his right hand into a fist, not surprised that the two wooden fingers didn’t comply like the rest. It was imperfect and he himself thought it could use some tiny adjustments for the sake of comfort— something he definitely would bring up to you as requested.

And yet, despite knowing his ‘fingers’ were nothing but wood, leather and metal, he couldn’t help but think it was the best thing he could ever ask for. 

Silently, under the lone glowing light of his oil lamp, Levi pulls out a blank sheet of paper and begins to turn his feelings into thoughts, thoughts into words, and words into sentences as his quill meets the white surface.

Hours later, he finds himself in front of your quarters, a candle in his left hand while his right held a pristine white envelope. The envelope containing unsaid words, unspoken wishes, and hidden feelings.

Your eyes are sleepy when you answer the door, half lidded and hair a mess when his knocks had woken you from your slumber. You rub your eye, adjusting to the light as you stare at the person in front of you.

“Captain?” You ask, stifling a yawn. “What’re you doing here so late?”

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he opts to look at you with an unreadable expression as he asks, “Can I come in?”

You stare at him for a few seconds more, and the thought of you slamming the door on his face crossed Levi’s mind; but that didn’t happen. Rather, you nodded and ushered him inside your bedroom, closing the door behind him as you once again flopped onto your bed. 

He places the candle down on your bedside table and now he was unsure what to do. He had a plan— or, he thought he had a plan— but awkwardly standing in your room in the middle of the night wasn’t part of it.

Quietly, you chuckle at the sight of Humanity’s Strongest looking so odd and out of place, unsure and slightly panicked. You pat the spot next to you, inviting him to sit, and he complies.

Both of you had your knees pulled up to your chests and you were thankful when you noticed Levi had taken his shoes off before sitting on the bed. A comfortable silence encompasses the atmosphere in the dimly lit room. Shoulders touching, heads not daring to turn because of the close proximity. 

From the corner of your eye, Levi looked like he was deep in thought. Not the kind you saw plenty of times in the battlefield or in strategy meetings, not the kind you saw when you entered his office as he hastily tried to hide his mirror. But the kind you saw when he quietly suffered through his own living hell. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask, finally breaking the silence. He shakes his head. 

“Well, what brings the mighty Captain Levi to my humble little room?”

“Levi.” 

“What?”

“Call me Levi.” He murmurs, downcast staring intently at the envelope on his lap. “In this room, I’m not your captain. I’m not your patient. I’m not Humanity’s Strongest.”

You feel your eyebrows scrunch as surprise and curiosity paint your face, but not because of the captain’s offer to call him so casually. No— the surprise you showed was because he unclasped the prosthetic you made, not even sparing it a second glance as he carelessly threw it to you, and you barely managed to catch the limbs you’d spent countless hours and sleepless nights to create.

“Levi, what are you—“

“But I’m not a broken teacup for you to fix either.” He says, eyeing the stumps on right hand. “I’m not a doll who’s missing some parts. I’m not a charity case accepting donations.”

You were looking at him now, head turned in his direction as he unclasps his eyepatch and lets it fall onto his lap. He raises his head, eyes making contact with yours.

“I’m just Levi.”

A few moments of silence pass but neither of you look away. The reason why the captain continued to stare wasn’t something you knew. But the reason why you never looked away was because of his eyes. 

Levi’s eyes were still as gorgeous as you remembered them to be. Though his right eye was a different shade from his left, a lighter and paler shade of gray; though it lacked the light and emotions his unharmed eye bore; though it had a jagged scar running through it from where he was hit, you couldn’t help but think that his eyes were still the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen.

Gingerly, you lift up your hand to touch the right side of his face where his battle wounds lie, the prosthetic forgotten as it falls somewhere in the sheets. He doesn’t flinch like he did the first few times you did it, when you reached for his face during checkups to inspect his scars. But it didn’t stop you from asking.

“May I?” 

Levi doesn’t answer. Instead, he brings your hand to rest on his cheek as his head leaned closer to your touch. His eyes closed momentarily, almost as if he were reveling in your warmth. But they opened once more, and you willed yourself not to get lost in the sea of gray.

“You were never a charity case to me, Levi. Or any of the things you just said.”

“Then what am I to you?”

Your heart stops, eyes widening ever so slightly at his question. Would you tell him? No, you couldn’t. Not when—

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N.” His grip on your hand tightens a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to distract you from your thoughts. You realize the hand that held your own against his cheeks was his broken hand, his mutilated hand.

...would you really tell him?

You sigh, eyes finally leaving his. “You’re just another soldier who got hurt from a battle, asking a medic to take the pain away.”

Your hand slips out of his grip and goes back to your side, and you turn away from him once more. 

“Are you lying?” He asks.

“No.”

“Then look into my eyes and tell me what I am to you.”

“I can’t.”

Your voice cracks ever so slightly, hesitant but determined to stick to your words. And Levi knew that he was never going to get an answer. He sighs, shoulders slumping down in defeat. It was now his turn to look away from you, gaze falling to his lap. The envelope holding the letter crinkles and he’s reminded why he’s here.

“I know.” He whispers back. “But do me a favor.”

He doesn’t look your way as he hands you the letter. He doesn’t look your way when you silently took it, eyeing the red wax seal that bore his initials, fingers tracing over the edges before—

“Don’t open it yet. Open it tomorrow morning before you come in for my checkup.”

You only nodded in response. You reached out, placing the envelope on your bedside table before once again sitting next to Levi. Just as you had started, a comfortable silence blankets the atmosphere. Shoulders touching, heads not daring to turn because of the proximity.

But this time, it was he who breaks the silence.

“I don’t know what the future holds.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know what the future holds.” He repeats. “I could die in action tomorrow and be one of the bodies they wheel back from war, or you could die trying to save someone in the battlefield. Even if neither of us die tomorrow, there’s always a possibility that we’ll die the day after that. And the day after that and the day after that. Such are the risks of our jobs.”

He takes a deep breath. “But tonight, I don’t want to focus on tomorrow. I don’t want to focus on what the future holds. I don’t want to focus on titans or enemy troops or looking after my team.”

“Then what do you want?” 

“You.” 

Your eyes soften. “But what am I to you?”

You didn’t know what to expect, what his answer may be. But you know you didn’t expect it when Levi’s fingers gently grabbed your chin and coaxed your head to look in his direction. You didn’t expect it when you opened your eyes and met his, his warm palm resting on your cheek. And what you didn’t expect most was for his eyes to look at you with so much love, so much care and adoration. Gone were the facades of boredom and disinterest; the stoicness and detachment they always seemed to reflect. All there was left was softness, warmth, and what seemed to be the unmistakable swirls of vulnerability.

“You’re just another medic too busy putting other peoples’ lives before your own.”

“Are you lying?” 

“No.” He whispers. “But you make me want to plan for a future I know we won’t have— a future we can’t have.” 

And for the first time, you knew he meant it. You knew what he meant. 

In your line of work full of death and violence and risks almost too big to take. In what you once thought was your little world, turning out to be too big for you to handle. In your personal brand of hell where tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed, and loss was the only constant— it was enough. This small moment was enough.

“You have the most beautiful eyes.” You whispered, entranced. A soft chuckle leaves Levi’s lips, eyes turning into crescent moons so fitting of his gray orbs and your heart twitches at the sight and sound of his melodious laughter.

His thumb brushes over your cheek and your eyes meet his once again, the beautiful shades of gray staring you back. You didn’t know who did it first but at this point you didn’t care enough to find out because slowly, you both leaned in. Slowly, you both closed your eyes. And slowly, you both tilted your heads.

He pauses.

“May I?” Levi asks, lips merely inches away from yours. You nod.

“You may.”

And suddenly, the distance between your lips was no more.

There were no fireworks, no explosions in your heart or butterflies in your belly. There was no feeling of cloud nine, no feeling of want or need. There was only warmth in your chest, the feeling of a small fireplace crackling and glowing in the coldness of the night. The feeling of warm sheets and warm bodies cuddled up in an embrace.

Home. 

The feeling of home.

Because that’s what you were to Levi, and what Levi was to you.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your routine checkup.”

“Come in.”

As the door opens and you set the tray down on his desk, hands gently holding the kettle to pour him his cup of tea, you noticed that Levi was still trying to write. But what caught your attention wasn’t the fact that it was no longer his name he tried to scribble, opting to write down complete sentences. What caught your attention was that he was wearing his prosthetics, and his eyepatch wasn’t on.

“Did you read the letter?” He asks. His hands were still writing and his eyes were still staring at the papers in front of him. But you could tell he was anxious.

“Yes.” You simply reply, and he nods.

“Good.”

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

If you want to be added to the tag list, click this link!

[chadillacboseman]

So since he's TECHNICALLY an operator in R6, can we get some Zero? 😚 I love that old man

LOVE FOR SAM FISHER? IN MY ASK BOX?

IT'S MORE LIKELY THAN YOU THINK

--

Pairing: Sam "Zero" Fisher x GN!Reader Word Count: Under 1k Warnings: Self-loathing (mild) over his age, implied age gap (NOT ILLEGAL) A/N: Just a lil' Sam love, because his old ass needs it. --

Sam Fisher's eyes narrowed as he examined himself in the mirror; the flecks of grey in his beard and hair were suddenly starting to become more widespread than he liked. He pulled the skin at the outer corner of his left eye taught, then grimaced when it crinkled once more into a pronounced crow's foot.

"Fuck."

Sam ran a hand through his tousled hair and tried to tame it back into place; the grey hairs were much less cooperative than his once vibrant raven locks.

He heard the quiet squeak of one of the floorboards in the hall and his eyes darted to his periphery. Another squeak-

rubber-soled shoes, soft but sure steps- a person who knew the house.

You.

Sam relaxed his grip on the porcelain sink and felt his face crack into a smile as he watched you move stealthily behind him.

"BOO!" you leapt from behind the door frame and brandished your hands.

Sam chuckled and turned to face you, "When will you learn that you can't sneak up on me?"

"I'll get you one of these times- when you start to get old guy deaf."

It was a split second- maybe you imagined, it? No- his face fell almost imperceptibly for just a moment.

"Sam?" you closed the gap between the two of you and wrapped your arms around his waist. You certainly hadn't imagined it- his brow was furrowed and the corners of his mouth were pulled taught.

"You ever wanna be with someone younger than me?" Sam's voice never sounded like this- unsure, almost...afraid?

"What?" the word tumbled out of your mouth in your moment of confusion.

"Look at me, hun, I'm gettin' grayer by the day," he gestured at his beard, then at his hair, "Pretty soon I'll be able to slap on a red suit and sit on a bench at the mall."

"What- oh my God, Sam-" you reached up and ran a hand down his rough jawline, "Are you serious?"

Sam shrugged and leaned back against the sink, "You know you could have any damn man in this world, right? Hell, half the ops out there at Six would kill to have you."

He paused for a moment before adding, "Literally."

"And what makes you think I want anyone else, Zero?"

Sam bit his lip at the use of his operator name- he loved the way you looked at him while you said it.

"Maybe I like my men grizzled and sexy, hm?" you wrapped your arms around his neck and he touched his forehead to yours, "Maybe I like a man who knows what he wants."

Sam chuckled and pressed his lips to yours before answering, "I do know that."

[yespolkadotkitty]

Take What You Need

A special treat for the lovely @keeper0fthestars - a flimsy excuse to get railed into next week by Francisco Morales.

Warnings: SMUT. Porn with a flimsy nod to plot. Word count: 2300

Thanking @alwaysbethewest and @songsformonkeys​ for the beta!!

“All right! You heard the man, wheels up in thirty!” Redfly shouted across the small airfield. “Catch some sleep, eat, do whatever, but I want us all in that helo, in thirty.”

“Copy that,” Pope shouted back, heading off towards the thick bushes surrounding the hangar and aircraft. Ironhead followed, probably to try and talk some sense into him. Ironhead had always been the most sensible of you all.

In fact, it was William who had spoken up for you when Pope suggested you come along.

“She’s good with a rifle,” Ironhead said calmly. “And her Spanish is decent. Way better’n mine and Benny’s, anyways.”

Redfly - the infuriatingly traditional conservative middle-class American man - had ummed and aahed, and you knew it was because you had a vagina. 

But here you were, and you’d taken out two of Lorea’s guys from the roof with your rifle, so Redfly could suck your metaphorical dick.

The man in question loped back to the other side of the airfield, towards Pope’s informant, and started to talk to her about something.

“This is a clusterfuck of epic proportions.”

You turned at that voice. A little raspy, a little husky-edged, it sent a shiver up your spine. Always had, and probably always would.

Francisco Morales shook his head when you turned to look at him. His ballcap - dirty, soft - was pulled down low over his head. Hair the colour of milk chocolate curled out from underneath it. He met your gaze, and his own hazelnut eyes were so, so tired.

“It could’ve gone better,” you agreed, letting your eyes trail down his long, lean frame - a little soft in the middle, but you’d always liked his tummy.

Francisco - Catfish to you all, because during special ops training, he’d caught one almost the size of himself - was an enigma of a man. Soft, sometimes. Hard, sometimes.

You’d known him five years now, and during that time you’d seen him pull the trigger a foot from a man’s head without wincing, and you’d seen him comfort a three year old girl left homeless in a war zone, his voice soft, his touch gentle. The yin and yang of him fit, somehow.

Catfish scoffed. “Not sure how it could’ve gone any fucking worse.” He ripped off his cap, and your eyes were drawn to a deep cut on his cheek.

“What’s this?” You automatically reached up to touch his face. His tanned skin was rough under your fingers as you traced the edges of the healing wound. “It might scar.”

Francisco grunted. “Like that’s a concern right now.”

You grinned, dropped your hand. “It’ll be sexy. The scar, I mean.”

“You think?” He laughed without humour, wrung his cap in his hand, and you saw how drawn his starkly handsome face was, the patchy scruff around his jawline grey in places. God, had you thought about kissing that almost-beard, stroking your fingers over his bristly chin. “I wish being sexy was what worried me most. I’m fuckin’ losing my shit here. The scales are off the charts, the helo will never make it to the ocean-” he swore a stream in Spanish, and stuffed his hat back on. The frustration steamed off him in waves.

“Fish.” You braced your hands on his shoulders, looked up into his face, twisted with anger and fear. “We’ll be okay. We’ve had worse than this.”

“Yeah, but we’ve never had worse with you,” he bit off, shrugging off your touch and pacing away, shoving his cap back on, his hair curling at the edges. “Jesus fucking Christ, if anything happens to you, I’ll-”

“Fish!” You shout to be heard over the noise of the aircraft prep, the wind, the sound of Redfly and Pope’s informant arguing. “Nothing will happen to me. You saw me take out Lorea’s guys. And I saved your ass on that mission in Istanbul.”

Francisco shifted, adopting that hands-on-hips stance he always did when he was thinking. “I know.”

“Then what? I’m not a porcelain doll, Francisco.”

And you saw it. His eyes went hot when you used his full name. Hot and sort of.. Dark. Like he wanted to drag you into that hangar and bend you against the corrugated metal wall and rail you into next week.

And boy, you’d let him.

“What?” you challenged. He needed this release. Whether it was shouting at you or whether you wrestled until the fight had gone out of him, he could not fly that helo with your lives and that money at stake in such a state.

He muttered something in Spanish. Your command of the language was very good but his voice was pitched too low for you to make out the syllables.

“Oh, you wanna go?” You lifted your fists in a mock fighting stance. “You ever hit a girl, Morales?”

“There’s always a first time,” he gritted out humourlessly.

You danced around, goading him. “Maybe you’re afraid I’d kick your ass.”

Fish scoffed, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, in the line of his back. He was a loaded powder keg, seconds from a bloody explosion from the heat, the stress, the shooting. “Stop it.”

“Make me.”

You saw the moment his eyes changed - went dark again, and you turned, running for the hangar.

You heard him bark out a laugh as he pursued you, his long legs eating up the terrain. You ran flat out, reaching the hangar in under a minute, Fish hot on your heels. The minute he barrelled through the door you slammed it behind him.

“What the fuck?” he asked, confusion parading over his face - somehow even more alluring when he was dirty, tired, stressed.

You yanked him close and kissed him. It was the first time, and all the times you’d thought about kissing him, an inaurgural kiss, it was never like this. It was in your shitty home town, under some trees, or under the bleachers of the old high school, or by moonlight at the drive-in.

It took a second, and then Francisco was kissing you back, his lips fierce, hard, the kiss almost painful in its intensity. He tasted of terrible coffee and the beef jerky you’d all forced down, and you licked into his mouth, tangling your tongue with his, and the flavour of his little groan was divine.

“We don’t have long,” he whispered harshly. “What - what do you want?”

Your breath was coming in pants. He smelled of clean sweat, the outdoors, and the spring rain, and you were wetter than you’d ever been. This close to Catfish, you couldn’t cope with the well of desire, too long ignored. “You can’t fly us like this, Fish. In this state.”

His hands clenched on your hips. “What?”

“Relieve the pressure.” You slid a hand down his body, cupped him, felt his erection like steel in velvet. Your blood fired. “For us both.”

“Shit.” Francisco leaned down, rested his forehead against yours. “I’ve fucking dreamed of this. But not… not like this, like you’re a cheap fuck. You’re not. You’re… everything.”

The words shook you, and you pressed your lips to his, drinking him in, loving him, like you’d loved him nearly five years, and always been afraid to rock the boat.

Well, now the boat had run aground and it was time.

“You can show me that when we’re safely back on American soil, soldier. For now…” you yanked him close again, pressed your palm to his cock. “Take what you need. Give me what I need.”

“Fuck,” he bit off, and then he was kissing you like a starving man falling upon a banquet, all tongues and teeth and Frankie, and you pressed as close to him as you could.

“How long do we have?” you panted out.

He shot his cuffs, checked his watch. “Quarter hour.”

“Then make every minute count, Morales.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathed. And he got on his knees in front of you, pulling at your jeans.

Your heart leapt into your chest at the first brush of his breath on your bare legs. Frankie rolled the denim down, ghosted a kiss over your underwear.

“You would not believe, baby, how often I’ve jacked off to the thought of having you,” he whispered.

“Fish, if you don’t do something, I swear to God…”

He took off his cap, passed it to you. “Wear this for me.” After you slapped it on your head, he pulled your hand back down, thrust it into his hair. You tugged him close as he yanked your underwear down and proceeded to fucking feast on you.

You’d never experienced Frankie like this. Near feral, his tongue licking at you like you were his last meal, his favourite food, a longed-for treat. He used his hands - hands you’ve wished were on you, inside you - to spread you so he could spear his tongue inside you, nip at your clit, write his name with his tongue, whatever the fuck he was doing, it felt like Heaven. 

“Stop. Stop,” you whined, pushing at his hair. “Want to come with you inside me.”

He looked up, those cocoa eyes dark and hot and irresistible, and then he was on his feet in a hot second, and he spun you around to face the wall.

“Hold on to something, baby,” he muttered against your neck before he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin at your pulse point, the tiny hurt only making you wetter.

The sound of his belt buckle being undone and the shove of the denim down his thighs was loud to your ears.

“Please,” you gritted out, arching your back.

Frankie slid a palm down your naked butt, and you heard the growl in his voice when he said, “Sweet girl. When we get back on US soil….” And then he positioned himself and slid home in one smooth, hard thrust, and you gripped the hangar wall hard and cried out at the pleasure and the stretch. He kept going until he bottomed out, curses in English and Spanish falling from his lips in that husky baritone made for pure sin, and then as you groaned in satisfaction, he curled a hand around to your front and rubbed you in maddening circles.

“We don’t have long,” you warned, muscles already fluttering.

“Fuck. Won’t take long. You feel too good. You’re so fucking tight. How - how do you-”

“Fast and hard,” you instructed, and you felt him twitch inside you at your words, heard his moan. “I wanna feel you tomorrow, Francisco.”

“Oh fuck,” he grated out, and then he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in. The force was just what you needed, and you cried out at the wonderful pressure, the push of him inside you, the texture and shape of him. Better, harder, larger than you had imagined.

You spread your legs as much as you could given the  denim around your calves, and Frankie fucks you hard, keeping one hand on your hip and the other at the apex of your body, strumming you expertly.

“Wish we had more fucking time,” he rasped into your hair, pressing a frantic kiss there. “Sweet girl. You feel like heaven. Always.. Knew.. you would.”

“The things I’m gonna to do you when we get home,” you shot back, and pressed your hips into him. “Oh God, more, please.”

He upped the tempo, and the sound of your bodies slapping together was obscene. His fingers circled your clit once, twice more, and you flew off that sweet cliff edge, crying out his name and burying your face in your elbow to muffle the sound.

Frankie’s hips faltered as he gave you all he had, thrusting into you at a punishing pace before his hips stuttered.

“Two minute warning!” Ironhead yelled from outside.

“I want to feel you come inside me, Fish,” you whispered over your shoulder.

“Fuck.” And he tumbled over the precipice too, hips shaking. You felt him jerk inside you, felt the hot surge of his climax, and he pressed down hard on your clit, triggering another little orgasm for you, too.

“Jesus. Fuck.” Frankie leant his forehead on your back, panting. “Christ.”

“You gotta get some more swear words, Morales,” you said, but your breath hitched too, and you wiggled your hips, making him shiver.

He pulled out, zipped up, and then took care putting your clothes in order. When he tugged you close for a kiss, you tasted yourself.

“First fucking chance I get,” Frankie rasped, his lips in your hair, “I’m gonna take my sweet time doing everything I want to you. With you.”

“Then get us over those mountains, Francisco, and I’m yours.” You nip at his bottom lip, then sprang apart when Redfly yanked open the hangar door.

“Fuck’s sake, Fish, we thought you’d gone AWOL. It’s go time.”

“Copy that,” Frankie shot back. You let him leave first, glanced down to admire his ass in those jeans. 

And you thought, with single-minded determination: We just need to get over these mountains. Then Francisco Morales would be all yours.

Redfly looked at his departing back and then turned to you, eyes narrowed. “Why are you wearing Fish’s hat?”

****

Tagging the Pedro pals: @emmy-dandiliom918​ @thirstworldproblemss @cinewhore @poenariuniverse​ @keeper0fthestars​ @scarlettvonsass​ @casually-introverted​ @knittingqueen13​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @10-96dispatcher @buckstaposition​ @agirllovespasta​ @songsformonkeys​  @gamingaquarius​ @mstgsmy​  @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @dornish-queen​ @maxphillipswasright @winters-buck​ @mourningbirds1​ @pascalitomorales​ @mrsparknuts​ @alldatalost​ @abuttoncalledsmalls​ @mrschiltoncat​ @auty-ren​ @heatherbel​

it’s 10.45pm my brain has failed if I left you off I apologize!!

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Behind Closed Doors

Keanu Reeves x OFC (Emma Mathers) A/n- Just a random AU I wrote way back when.

Summary- An AU where the Emma (OFC), is hired to take care of the Keanu Reeves' kids; twins Mathew and Poppy Reeves. Tension between a boss and his young employee rise, but nothing good is ever easy.

Masterlist (very incomplete by adding it here nontheless)

Warnings- Brief NSFW/SMUT mentions

Prologue

His hands, surprisingly rough, slid the length of her body, starting at the curve of her ass, all the way up to the supple contour of her breasts. Lips peppered hot, wet, open mouthed kisses to her chest, Keanu's rough scruff bruising her silken skin, "You taste so good," he mumbled, almost too taken by her to speak.

Emma's only response was a breathy moan as her head lolled back, her long dark hair brushing the center of her back. When Keanu's hands inched forward, his thumbs pressing into her pebbled nipples, the sounds leaving her plump lips grew louder and she ground on him encouragingly. "What do you want sweetheart?" His low, gruff voice, the one she'd grown used to hearing for months, though in a far different capacity, filled her ears. Drunk on him, Emma clumsily felt around his chest, eventually digging her nails into his shoulders.

She knew what she wanted, Emma, for as long as she'd known herself, always knew what she wanted. That very evening, straddling his lap, feeling his girth pressed against her longing heat, both their bodies begging for what had been months in the making, Emma still knew what she wanted. It was the same thing she'd wanted as she'd grown to know Keanu. But the only question was, how'd she even get there?

7 months earlier

"And you can start tonight?" His dark, whiskey eyes were practically pleading with her, and it was the first time that Emma considered that someone of Keanu's stature could be desperate. They were at his office at Arch, a sleek glass table separating them, and in his hand, he held a manila folder containing every piece of information she'd given him about herself, and probably what he'd had his people dig up too.

Emma hadn't expected to just be thrust into the job when she applied for it. Hell, she wasn't even expecting to get it, things hadn't been going her way lately anyway. If they were, she wouldn't even be sitting in Keanu's office, discussing the job she'd heard of from the friend of a friend's friend. But alas, she needed the money. In fact, she was desperate for it, and coincidentally, Keanu was in dire need of a nanny. "I……" Hesitating, Emma thought back on all the warnings her mother had given her about jobs like that; it starts with the kids and next thing you know you're cleaning the toilets. But still, what other choice did she have; thanks to her flaky roommate, she was out of an apartment, the job that she'd worked her ass off to get had miraculously gone to someone who was far more connected than she was, and student loans weren't going to pay themselves.

"Yeah," finally, Emma nodded stiffly, "I can start tonight." When that seemed to sudden, she added, "Are you sure you don't want……like a trial period, you know where I get to know them a bit, see if they like me? See if you like me?"

"Honestly," Keanu chuckled, closing the folder and standing from his desk, "I'd be surprised if you make it through the night. Poppy and Matt haven't been able to keep a nanny for longer than a couple weeks."

Well that wasn't alarming at all. Not. Trying to laugh it off the way he did, Emma followed his lead and stood too, collecting her jacket and draping it over her elbow, proceeding to follow Keanu out. "I'm sure they're perfectly sweet," she smiled tightly and though he couldn't see it, considering she was a couple paces behind as they made their way through the desolate shop, fear lingered in her hazel orbs.

"Oh! Don't get me wrong," Keanu carried on, holding the front door open for her as they left the building, "They're great kids," she could hear the pride in his tone as Keanu spoke of his twins, "Fun, adventurous, adorable. But they aren't too keen on new people, especially if they think that someone's just gonna pack up and leave one day."

Noting the drop in his tone, a clear indicator that he didn't want to press the issue much further, Emma frowned, remembering everything she'd pieced together on the internet. It wasn't much, considering how private he was, but what she could gather was that his girlfriend had split a year after they'd had the twins, leaving him to raise them on his own. It wasn't much, and Emma was positive that there was more than what was out in the open, but as she got into the passenger seat of Keanu's car, she could easily tell that he didn't want to get into it. So instead, she just buckled up and listened to him shift the conversation back to his five year olds, listing some of the things that he wanted her to know before meeting them.

"Daddy!" A pair of giddy, little voices, jumping with excitement, grew louder as the sound of light feet pattering on porcelain drew nearer. In an instant, two dark haired children came bounding towards Keanu, who was already crouched with open arms.

"We missed you," the girl, Poppy said, hanging onto her father's neck, planting a kiss on his bearded cheek.

"Yeah," Matt was the one to pull away first, though, it was to eye Emma suspiciously. "Who's that?"

At that, Keanu stood, lifting Poppy up into his arms when she refused to let go, and ruffling Matt's hair when he clung to Keanu's jean clad leg, "Pop, Matty, this is Emma Mathers, if things go well, she's going to be your new nanny."

Groaning, Matt hung his little head, slumping his shoulders, and simultaneously, Poppy's grip on her father grew tighter, she was clearly the more reserved of the two. "Another one?" Matt, who wasn't too smitten with the idea, solemnly looked up at Keanu, and Emma smiled faintly realizing how much the boy looked like him, "Why can't you just take care of us?"

Sighing quietly, "You know I do my best bud," hugging him closer, Keanu continued, "But sometimes I need help." And even though Keanu would never admit out loud, he craved some semblance of a motherly figure for his children. Someone who could be around more often than his sisters and mother, someone who could care for them the way they deserved when he couldn't do it.

"But what about grandma? She helps," still reluctant, Matt didn't dare to look at Emma, probably hoping she'd just disappear if he willed it.

"You know I like it when grandma helps, but sometimes it's just not possible for her to be with us," Keanu worried on his lower lip, searching for an argument that would convince his son, hesitantly looking to Emma so she'd give it a go.

Taking a deep breath, hoping it would miraculously chase her nerves away, Emma stepped forward, the heels of her thigh highs filling the silence, "Hey Matt," she sank down in front of him, "I'm Emma," and when nothing but dead silence only interrupted by shuffling feet followed, Emma continued with yet another nervous breath, "You know, I used to like it when my grandma babysat too. She'd make me all kinds of fun snacks. Does your grandma make you snacks too?" Tugging at the hem of his t shirt, Matt surprisingly nodded yes, still avoiding her gaze, "Really? That's awesome, what's your favorite?"

His voice was soft, his head remained down cast as he picked at the hem of his pale blue t-shirt, and he definitely had no intention of speaking more than he had to, "Chocolate chip cookies."

"No way!" Emma smiled brightly, hoping it would encourage Matt to do the same, "I love chocolate chip cookies, and it just so happens that I have a recipe for 'em, they turn out great every time."

"Really?" A glimmer of a smile twisted his lips, and out of the corner of her eye, Emma could see Keanu's hopeful look too.

"You know bud," he intervened, "If we let Emma stay, and you ask nicely, I'm sure she'd bake you some one day."

"Would you?" His dark eyes widened in disbelief and his expression wasn't one anyone could readily deny.

"I would love too," Emma giggled, glad that she'd won over one of the kids. Next, was Poppy, though, when she stood, trying to get a look at the girl's face so she could say hi, the child immediately buried her head in Keanu's neck. "Hey Poppy," Emma went on anyway, "I know that it's a little scary having someone new around but I promise that I just wanna be friends."

When, after a minute, Poppy didn't respond, Keanu offered Emma a faint smile, mouthing, "She's a little shy." They exchanged tight smiles once again, before Keanu craned his head to look at his daughter, "Pop, don't you want to say hi to Emma? She's really nice, and I'm positive you'll like her," when she shook her brunette head in an unspoken no, he coaxed, "Come on sweetheart, Matty likes her," and with the slightest redness in his face, he admitted, "And I do too."

Maybe it was the way he looked at her, or maybe it was the little school girl crush she'd developed through seeing him on television sometimes, but when Keanu said it, heat rushed to Emma's cheeks, all the way up to the tips of her ears and she could feel butterflies fluttering in the pit of her stomach. When Emma lifted her gaze again their eyes locked unexpectedly when for a second and just before Keanu turned his head away, she couldn't quite decipher his expression. Though, even after the moment had passed, the awkwardness in the air lingered, and Emma felt compelled to fill the silence, "It's okay," her forced smile faltered, "Poppy and I have a lot of time to get to know each other, "Right?" Searching for confirmation as she held her breath, she once again looked to Keanu.

"Yeah," he agreed, looking immensely relieved, "Yeah, lots of time."

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

[solohux]

Are prompts open? If so, I would love a story where omega Charlie goes out and gets really drunk, maybe after a huge fight with Nicole. Then he meets alpha Monty (before monty met Paul) and they have a really hot and wild one night stand?? If prompts are closed, then I would love to hear your fav head canons about Charlie, either just about him or with the partner of your choice!

Sex has never been Charlie’s favourite thing. With Nicole, sex always felt like a chore, not that they’ve done it much since Henry was born. For a while, Charlie was afraid that his alpha had grown disgusted by the way pregnancy had changed his body: stretch marks and scars and soft skin. His self-consciousness was never addressed by either of them, not even during the few times that they would sleep together. Charlie would lie there whilst his alpha knotted him, his mind elsewhere though wishing it would be over soon.

This time, everything may be over soon.

Charlie can’t remember what they began arguing about this time. All he knows is that Nicole had called him an omega bitch. He’d left without saying another word to her, though he’d punched the wall beside the door before grabbing his coat and storming out.

He’d stumbled into a bar in an angry fit and ordered a double whiskey, downing it as quickly as he can through the burn of the strong liquid.

The hot, ginger-haired alpha had approached him not long after his third double-whiskey. Charlie had felt frozen in his seat when he looked up for the source of the voice that has asked ‘is this seat taken’, getting lost in shining green eyes and an alpha-scent so potent that it stirred up something needy deep inside of Charlie’s gut.

The alpha is called Monty. He’s staying in the motel across the street from the bar. After drinking and talking together for an hour, Monty invites Charlie back to his room for more drinks. Charlie hiccups before he says yes.

The walk over to the motel is a blur; all Charlie remembers is the strong hand around his waist leading him there.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” the alpha is saying as he kisses Charlie’s neck when he’s backed up against the wall of the motel room, pushing his knee up between the omega’s legs. His thick beard is scratching against Charlie’s perfectly porcelain skin and making it burn, but all Charlie can think about is how he wants that burn on the insides of his thighs.

“So are you,” Charlie says, his hands suddenly pinned either side of his head by Monty’s strong grip. “F-fuck.”

“Wanna ruin you, baby,” Monty growls, devouring the omega’s lips in a hungry kiss.

“God, yes.” Charlie ruts against the invading knee, feeling himself growing wet with slick with each passing moment that he’s in Monty’s alluring, alpha presence. He’s moaning with each thrust of his hips, laying his forehead on Monty’s shoulder as he chases his pleasure.

“Harder, Charlie,” Monty orders, and it takes all of Charlie’s strength not to moan ‘yes, sir’ like a true slut. “I want you to come like this before I get my knot in you. Make you nice and wet for me, baby.”

“M-Monty,” Charlie rides hard, rubbing himself on Monty’s knee in complete desperation for friction. He allows his mind to flicker to Nicole, to how she’s probably sat at home in frustration whilst her omega is getting treated like a beautiful toy to be played with and pleasured by a strange alpha in a motel room, an alpha that promises to give him the best fuck of his life.

The thought pushes Charlie to his first orgasm of the night. He’ll be utterly dopey with sexual pleasure once the night is over, allowing the alpha to kiss his slack mouth before covering him up with the blankets and leaving him to sleep in the motel bed. Charlie will wake up with a horrendous hangover and an ache in his lower body that he’s never felt before, with a gift on his right ass cheek left by the handsome alpha; a deep, reddened love bite.

[captainchrisfics]

‘Always’

About: Chris Evans and his girlfriend break up so he comes crawling back to his friend’s door, only they’re a little more. They have been for a long time, although it takes a fight and a nasty phone call from a scorned ex for them to realize it.

Word Count: 3,638

Warning(s): There’s a makeout in this fic. Nothing I would particularly classify as nsfw, but just a heads up.

Requested By: Anonymous! Thanks for sending this in, I’m always happy to write reqs. Another thanks for being patient with me. x

My phone rang. 

I was done for the day, just for the record. My bra was off, my feet were up, my wine was in reach, and my favorite trashy reality t.v. show was on. 

Then my phone flashed, turning that dark grey color it does when there isn’t a contact picture. But instead of an unfamiliar number, there was a contact name. Chris’s Gf. 

Now, I know it was rude not to save her contact with her name. Granted I couldn’t even be bothered to type out ‘girlfriend,’ almost as if she was dispensable or something. But, in my defense, I genuinely couldn’t remember what it was when Chris made a group chat to plan an introduction dinner with all of his friends from back home. You’d think it’s a very significant thing, all the girls he brought to Boston at one point or another did, but anyone who knew Chris also knew he tended to jump the gun. 

She’d managed to stick around for a few months though, so I really should’ve learned her name. Thankfully, when my thumb made contact with the green circle, there wasn’t a need for pleasantries since she was already screaming at me. 

“It’s all your fucking fault, you know,” she spit into the speaker. Her audio was kind of grainy, like she was talking through her car’s bluetooth. Plus, I could barely hear her over the blaring horns and sirens of Boston’s all too familiar traffic. I could imagine her manicured claws wrapping so tight around her steering wheel that her knuckles turned white as she snarled, “Chris doesn’t have any more fucking time for anyone else because he’s too busy fucking you.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” I started, buying time for my brain to catch up to her mouth’s pace. “We never-”

“Oh, don’t fuck with me,” she cut me off, laughing cynically. “I know about you two, he told me months ago. Told me you were only friends now though, so I’m not sure what to believe at this point.”

“But we never did anything since he met you!” I defended, my voice coming out more loud and shrill than I’d intended. I sighed in an attempt to compose myself. “We are friends,” I stressed, calmer now. I started pacing nervously as I pinched between my eyes.

“Oh,” she said dramatically between gritted teeth. “That’s where you’re wrong, with this whole innocent little ‘friends’ thing.”

And, while I’m sure she’d felt like I was finally trapped in the corner, right where she wanted me, that’s exactly where she’d lost me. Because the whole ‘friends’ thing was exactly that to me, innocent. Platonic. Sure, I enjoyed the kind of relationship Chris and I had when we were both single and looking to have a little fun, but we also respected our boundaries and other partners enough to call it quits. Never had either of us crossed that line.

“Whatever you want to call it. It’s not that to Chris at least,” she continued to seethe, “it’s why he can’t have a real relationship. I’m sure it’s true for you too, with your boyfriends. It ended because he’s got one foot in the door and the other out of it. You’re always standing in the way, it’s your fault.”

Leave it to this girl I barely know, in the loosest sense of the term, to read me like an open book, like she knew everything between my covers. Things I hadn’t even written yet.

“I…” I stumbled over explaining myself. “I-it isn’t like that,” my shaky voice stuttered, not even able to convince myself. It isn’t like she knows me or my relationship with Chris. It isn’t like he cheated on her. It isn’t like I’ve ever tried to hold him back in any relationship, let alone theirs. 

But it isn’t like that was what she was accusing us of. It isn’t like my doorbell didn’t ring, a heavy, steady knock reverberating. It isn’t like there wasn’t a deep voice, one as familiar as my heartbeat and scratchy from being strained in a yelling match, asking to come in. It isn’t like I couldn’t imagine the deep blue of his bedroom eyes, twinkling between these sultry dark lashes, like that thought didn’t spark an insatiable fire in my stomach that snatched every bit of air in my chest. It isn’t like either of us were surprised.

“Bet that’s him now,” she hissed, as if she hadn’t struck me already. Hadn’t poisoned my thoughts, making me feel simultaneously sick to my stomach. “You two deserve each other.” She scoffed before hanging up.

“I’m sorry,” I confessed to my home screen, half-hoping she’d hear it anyway. Probably to relieve my own guilt, this terrible feeling completely repressing my lungs. So that was why I couldn’t breathe.

She planted this seed, this terrible, rotten, famine-inducing sort of seed, in the bottom of my stomach. It latched onto me, expanding roots I’d trip over and growing until its branches coiled around my heart and constricted my lungs.

Then Chris rang my doorbell again, calling out my name. Rambling, probably under the impression that he was the only one who could hear anyway. Saying that he’s sorry he didn’t call first, but he was stressed. He had this tension he needed me to relieve, and that made for some of the best nights.

I tried to talk, but it came out as a cough.

“We…” Chris trailed off. I could almost see him, kicking at my stoop with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Hands I wanted tangled in my hair, roaming along every one of my body’s curves. Biting his chapped lips anxiously. Lips I wanted on mine, teeth I wanted leaving marks on my neck for the next few days. 

“We broke up,” he said, no sign of anything other than frustration. Frustration I wanted him to take out on me, so desperately, burying me between my mattress’s springs.

I opened the door, although I wasn’t sure if I was ready to let him in. Still grappling with the shell-shock from his ex’s phone call, I smiled. “I had a feeling,” I told Chris, but I wasn’t sure he took it how I meant it.

Just by the way the corner of his lips turned up in a smirk, he had me. He leaned against my door’s frame as a chuckle reverberated from deep in his chest, right where I felt that glint in his eye tugging at my lust. “She called you?” Chris asked incredulously, thick eyebrows taking off as he stared at the phone in my hand. “Fuck, I knew she was crazy, but…” he trailed off, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. He shrugged and said, “Saves me the breath, I guess.”

And still, Chris took more from me.

His lips were on mine in moments, kissing me with such a force that the two of us stumbled into my living room. Chris kicked the door closed behind him and I pushed him back into it, grabbing his coat’s lapels to slow our velocity. He tore off the layer and his t-shirt so I crash-landed into him anyway.

My fingers crawled up every bump and curve of his torso, inching excruciatingly slowly over the soft, bare skin I’d missed. I relished in every goosebump my scratching nail elicited from his porcelain chest. When my hands finally reached his neck, I wrapped my arms around Chris and pulled him impossibly closer. I wasn’t about to let him go again any time soon. 

Chris groaned with satisfaction against my bottom lip, tugging the sensitive skin between his teeth. His hands found my ass, hesitating on the curve like he was properly appreciating it before slipping down to the bottom of my thighs, encouraging me to wrap my legs around his waist.

I missed this, if I’m honest. The way our chests rose and fell in complete sync with one another, hands roaming familiar territory, every part of each other dancing together as if we’d rehearsed countless times before. By this point, I suppose we had. 

Chris carried me to the couch and sat so I was straddling him. Our hips began digging into one another, frantically trying to find the friction we knew all too well between our clothing. His hands slipped up the hem of my shirt and suddenly I became too aware of how little was separating our bare chests, just this one piece of fabric. One of Chris’s old shirts, in fact. The reality of how close we were to being so close again, only to have hundreds of miles and surely more pointless commitments to other people keeping us apart, it was painful.

He continued to kiss me, hungry and longing as if he’d been deprived, as his cold fingertips teasingly traced underneath my chest. So close, again. But, as much as the passion pooled in the pit of my stomach, there was a horrible, tugging guilt that started to drain me.

“Chris,” I whined, only the word came out more like a breathy moan as I tore my lips from his, like pulling two magnets apart.

“Hmmm,” he hummed, pressing his lips along my jaw and down my neck. Instinctively, I craned so he could have better access and I almost didn’t want to say anything at all as badly as I needed to keep grinding my hips against his. Chris’s hands tightened on my hips, urging me even more.

It would’ve been so much easier to drown myself in Chris. To let his scent, the expensive vanilla cologne and crisp mountain air and something that smelled indistinguishably from what my home, replace all of the air in my lungs. To let the sensations surround me, his beard scratching my collarbone and his calloused fingertips digging into my hip bones, so hard I hoped I’d have bruises of his fingerprints in the morning. 

Like jumping into a frozen lake, he shocked every one of my nerves awake. I gasped, taking in all the air I could as if I’d just broken the water’s surface after a deep dive.

“Chris,” I repeated, sterner this time. He retracted, resting his hands on the small of my back while giving me this awful look. These anticipating, wide puppy-dog eyes with his swollen lips stuck in a pout and his eyebrows hanging low. Chris was the poster boy of concern. I almost wanted to tell him to forget it, that we could keep going, but I had a feeling even he couldn’t satisfy the aching in my chest. I needed something else.

“She was right, Chris,” I admitted so quietly that, if we weren’t close enough for each of our breaths to be borrowed, I think he might not have heard me. My forehead met his shoulder and I watched his chest deflate with a sigh.

“She doesn’t know shit about how I feel,” he growled. His arms tensed around me and I knew I’d brought back the emotions he was trying to leave at my front door. I realized he’d had a similar conversation to the one I did, and he knew it too. In a moment of steely anger, he felt completely foreign to me.

Then Chris’s shoulders sagged as his grip on me softened and he reached for me, resting a heavy hand on my cheek. Chris lifted my head so I’d looked at him. Him and his drooping eyebrows, chiseled frown lines, and those blue eyes, gentle as a lake in the morning and just as glassy. 

“She doesn’t know shit about us,” Chris insisted, still bitter, but with all of the conviction he could muster.

“It doesn’t matter, she’s still right. We can’t keep doing this,” I bit back, matching his sincerity’s strength. “Every other guy I’ve ever been with,” I tried to confess, but then I saw my reflection in his crystal-clear eyes. I realized exactly what I was about to do, the can of worms I’d nearly opened, and I couldn’t.

I turned from Chris, partly so I didn’t have to look at him, but mostly so I didn’t have to watch him looking at me. His hand fell from my cheek and hit his thigh with a defeated thud. My eyes darted to the ceiling, blinking back tears. My chest shook as I tried to suck the words on the tip of my tongue back down with every breath.

“They left you wanting more?” Chris said, sucking on his teeth. “Left you wanting someone else specifically?” he laughed dryly. The corner of his mouth tugged up in a smirk, but there was nothing light about the look in his eye, like someone else was pulling the strings.

I jumped from his lap, like he’d just passed an electric shock through me, and pulled my shirt back down. “No,” I objected. With the way Chris looked at me, leaned back casually and watching me with his eyebrows playfully raised as I paced with crossed arms and a furiously shaking head, I had a feeling I was only trying to convince myself.

“She told me the same thing,” he began tentatively. “That I’m not ‘emotionally committed to her’ as if that makes any sense,” Chris paused to roll his eyes. “And then once she left me, I was driving over. I didn’t even feel sad about the breakup, I just wanted to be with you,” he elaborated.

Chris stood and took a couple of his long strides toward me. He gripped my shoulders, just enough to stop the pacing path of the wind-up toy I’d become before I wore a hole through my carpet. “And then I realized what she meant,” Chris admitted, buying time before he finished with a deep breath. He pulled me close to his chest. “I realized that I was waiting for this, to be with you. I always do.”

“No,” I repeated with more fervor, shaking myself from his embrace.

“No?” Chris echoed incredulously. His eyebrows knitted together as he crossed his arms, taken aback by my objection.

“No!” I shouted, running my anxious hands through my hair as I continued to pace on the opposite side of the coffee table. Out of his arm’s reach. “This isn’t what this is. We’re friends, Chris. This isn’t how friends work,” I spoke in a quick staccato.

“We aren’t just friends. It’s how we can work,” he pleaded his case, trying to emphasize his point with wildly flailing hands. “You said it yourself, she was right.”

“And you said she didn’t know anything,” I shot back in a low tone with narrowed eyes. My steps halted as my eyes pierced daggers into Chris. He was still flushed from earlier, hair disheveled wildly from my hands raking through the dark locks as well as his own nervous ones now, but he still made a decent target. 

“And, if we aren’t friends, what am I to you then, Evans? A booty call, maybe? A rebound? Really, which is it? Because, as much as you’ve ‘always’ wanted to be with me, you always seem to get bored and run back to L.A. to find someone else!”

His whole being, from his eyebrows to his shoulders to his spirit, sank. My words weighed heavy on him and, as good as it felt in the moment to pin all of my anger and confusion onto Chris, it wasn’t worth the way he’d looked at me. Like he was so insulted I would even imagine that he thought so little of me. 

“That isn’t fair. You know that’s not what I meant,” he faltered. His mouth opened and closed, a total fish out of the water. This wasn’t in our element, Chris never came here for a fight. He came for love, or at least the closest thing he could get. Actually, I gave him all the love I had. Always. But that was the problem, that I never seemed to get any in return.

Again, I stopped to scrutinize Chris. I’m not sure what I was hoping to find between his naked chest heaving with ragged breaths and those soul-baring eyes that conveyed nothing less than heartbreak. “You are so much more to me,” he professed, his voice level and imploring me to believe him. “I want us to be so much more.”

I collapsed onto the couch, knees weakened with a declaration of adoration I’d been dreaming about for the longest time and a fraction of my emotional exhaustion taking a physical toll. I wrung my hands in my lap, choosing to watch my fingers slide in and out of my other hand’s gaps instead of looking Chris in the eye.

My couch creaked with a sudden added weight as one massive, calloused hand wrapped itself around both of my own. “Want a drink?” Chris asked in a refreshing change of pace. His eyes darted to my nearly-empty glass of rosé from earlier and the bottle accompanying it.

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of serving me, I pulled my hands from his and refilled my own glass. I passed it to Chris before taking the whole bottle into my lap. We both took long sips, trying to force each other to break the thick silence between us.

“We’re supposed to be friends,” I snapped first, hating how my voice broke. 

Chris choked on his wine as he laughed. “Friends who fuck each other senseless sometimes?” he inquired, raising a thick eyebrow. “We’ve been more than that whether or not you want to realize it.”

“But friends,” I insisted, unwavering. “That’s the only solace I’ve had, seeing you with other girls, knowing that we had boundaries. That we aren’t supposed to have feelings like this so I could ignore them and assume it wasn’t mutual. You aren’t supposed to make me wait for you, over and over again, and then claim to have wanted me this whole time.”

Chris allowed me to ramble without interruption. Instead of waiting to talk, he only listened. With one arm wrapped around my shoulder and the other hand tight around his glass’s stem, he allowed me to get it all out.

“You could’ve just had me, Chris,” I raised my voice, hating how defeated the crack in my voice sounded. It was shrill and as removed from myself I ever felt, like the words were coming out of someone else’s mouth. “So I don’t see why you expect me to believe you ever really wanted me in the first place.” I turned into Chris’s side, burying my face in his shoulder in an attempt to seek some comfort. As much as I hated him in that moment, Chris always seemed to be my soft place to land.

“I know that now,” he said in a breathy sigh. “I’m sorry, darling, I had no clue you felt like that,” Chris said, words laced with a saccharine honesty that begged me to believe him. Then his chest rumbled with a reverberating, cynical laugh as he added, “If it’s any consolation, I had no clue I felt like this either.”

He’d caught my attention. I tipped my chin up to rest on his shoulder, looking at Chris with a new clarity. He was just as confused as I was, drowning and tumbling in an unexpected wave of new emotions.

“Honest, I didn’t… I don’t know if this makes any sense,” Chris stuttered, shaking his head. “But it didn’t click until I was driving over here. I realized I was doing exactly what she accused me of, always running to you. Comparing her to you. Wanting every girl to be you.”

Then he saw right through me with those eyes, as clear as a crystal ball I could nearly see our future in- or, at least, the one Chris envisioned. He’d pinned his heart right onto his sleeve. “You don’t know how fucking stupid I feel,” he said with a gritty laugh, “for wasting so much of the time we could’ve been spending together.”

He reached out and tucked a lock of loose hair behind my ear, palm hovering over my cheek before deciding it was a safe place to rest. His thumb stretched across the soft skin, wiping a tear I hadn’t realized slipped out. “Darling,” he sighed with a new tenderness, “I don’t want to waste any more of it watching you cry. I want to be with you, always, as long as you’ll have me.”

I laughed and it felt good, like it lifted some of the heaviness from my chest. My hand found the crook of his neck. I could just barely feel his pulse beating hard underneath the soft, warm skin. I looked at him through long lashes as I realized the utter beauty of this man sitting before me, inside and out. I thought I knew him before, every corner and crevice, but Chris was bearing a new part of his soul to me. “Me too,” I mumbled. 

So painfully slowly, Chris began to lean in, like he was giving me one last chance to back out. Like I hadn’t given all of myself to him, in every way possible, a long time ago.

When his lips met mine, just like they had so many times before, something was inexplicably new. Different from the desperation usually lacing our love and the bittersweet excitement of knowing it could end at any moment. This was patient, this was Chris telling me he’d wait as long as he had to for another kiss like this. This was him promising himself to me and me alone, pressing the vow from his lips to mine. This was grateful and accepting, giving and vulnerable in a way that we’d never been before. A way I hoped we’d always be.

Tags: @patzammit , @thegetawaywriter , @coffeebooksandfandom , @captainsteveevans , @intrepidandabitcrazy , @super100012 , @spilledinkindumpster , @torntaltos , @amiquette , @peach-acid , @southerngracela , @kelbabyblue , @artisticrogers1972

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[boshaw-manor]

Stay

More John and Harlow because I’m not done riding this gravy train yet.

Skin to skin with John, Harlow shifted slightly beneath the covers. The Baptist’s chest was stuck to her back, arms wound around her waist and forehead pressed to the top of her head. He was not letting go any time soon. She blinked awake wearily as sunlight coated her closed eyelids, forcing her to stop snoozing. Stretching against John’s body, Harlow carefully plucked his arms off of her and slid out of the bed. Time to get going. As she got dressed, she found her eyes repeatedly wandering back to look at John sleeping. His dark hair hung over his forehead whilst his painted arms outstretched across the white linen as though searching for something to grab. Silently, Harlow took her leave and walked out onto the wooden veranda.

Corneas stinging from the bright light, she tilted her head down to the floor and carried on walking along the ranch balcony to get back inside. Plodding down the stairs two at a time, Harlow moved past the stuffed wolf and headed into the neighbouring room. Upon entering the kitchen, she opened the breadbin with a clang and frowned. Nothing. Crouching down, she rummaged through John’s cupboards and eventually found a box of cereal hidden behind a stack of plates. Tossing a handful into a bowl, she opened the fridge and unscrewed the cap that sealed the milk. The white liquid washed against the porcelain as she poured it in. Once satisfied with the amount, she stored it and closed the fridge, collecting a spoon from the drawer and taking the bowl into her hands. As she munched, Harlow moved back into the living room and stared out of the patio doors. It was a quiet morning. They were few and far between nowadays. She enjoyed the gentle sway of the grass as the light breeze outside tugged at the roots. When Hope County was as still and as peaceful as this you kind of started to forget there was a war going on. Shovelling the last of her mushy cereal into her mouth, Harlow dropped the bowl on the table with a clang and made her way to the door.

‘You’re not going to just leave that there are you Deputy?’ John’s scolding tone made her jump, spinning to look at him. His black silk dressing down wrapped up his slender frame and he approached her with soft footsteps. Winding his arms around Harlow’s waist, his lips found their way to her neck and started to pepper against her skin lightly. ‘Messiness is a sin.’

‘Pssh. No it’s not.’ Harlow leaned away from him, pupils darting towards the door. John immediately picked up on it and dug his fingers into her sides. She yelped but he didn’t let up, tickling her until she was a rolling heap of choked laughter on the sofa. ‘Stop... it!’ Harlow squealed like a piglet, letting her strong legs flail as John pinned her down and smirked.

‘What’s the magic word?’ He asked tauntingly, fingers poised to dive into her waist again.

‘Stop it, please.’ She strung the word out, popping the ‘P’ whilst gazing up at him. The way her irises glinted with mischief, it was enough to drive even a sane man crazy. Leaning down John kissed her hungrily, lips intensely brushing her own with a controlled sense of passion. His hands pressed against the tuck of her waist instead of jabbing into it, smoothing against the creases of her black shirt.

‘Stay.’ He mumbled incoherently into her lips, acutely aware that she was trying to leave. Moving from her supple mouth, he pressed a trail of kisses down her neck and sucked gently on her collar bone.

‘I would but I’m supposed to be kicking your ass in approximately,’ She plucked John’s wrist up, narrowing her eyes at the face of his watch. Who knew telling the time upside down was so tricky? ‘One hour.’

‘Plenty of things we could do in an hour. And if you really want to stay relevant to your cause, it can include asses.’ He let his hand calmly wander down the curve of her thigh, fingertips pressing lightly to the hard fabric of her cargo pants. Lips still connecting to the skin around Harlow’s neck, it was cut short as she rolled out from underneath him and stood up.

‘I’ve been off the grid for three days. The Resistance are gonna think I’m dead.’ She turned her back on him and John fell forward onto his hands and knees. As he sunk into the sofa, his bearded chin tilted upward to look at the back of her head. Why was she so damn hard to let go?

‘When will I see you again?’ Clambering to the arm of the sofa, John watched as she picked up her cap from the hat stand and shoved her boots onto her feet messily.

‘I dunno. A week or so maybe.’

‘A week?!’ Dissatisfaction laced John’s tone as he got up, bare feet padding over to her against the pine floorboards. That was so long. Far too long to not feel her by his side in bed or to not share breakfast with her in the morning.

‘I mean if you’re that desperate to see me just capture me. I’m not exactly a match for a well aimed Bliss bullet am I?’ She mimed shooting a fake gun into her chest and stuck her tongue out dramatically but John couldn’t even muster a smirk. He just wanted her to stay with him a little longer. Just so he could pretend the Project didn’t exist and that it was just the two of them together.

‘I don’t want to see you like that.’ He grumbled like a spoilt child, clasping onto her neck with both hands and turning her chin up to look at him. ‘I want to see you and feel you and taste you and be with you like this.’ Dressing gown a little dishevelled, his chest was slightly exposed as the black silk ribbon came loose. Harlow’s eyes flitted down to take him in before she shook her head succinctly and stepped away from his touch.

‘I can’t.’ She stated simply, motioning for the door again.

‘Why not?!’ Rage flitting over John’s expression, he simmered it down as Harlow gave him an unimpressed arched eyebrow. She would absolutely not be taking any of his shit this morning. Letting the small bout of anger subside, John’s tired eyes searched her own desperately. ‘I just want you to stay with me.’

‘You know I have a job to do.’ Her gentle palm attached to his cheek, thumb softly caressing the short hairs of his beard. ‘It’ll fly by.’

‘You always pick them over me.’ John sighed sadly, index finger and thumb attaching to her wrist. He could feel the light thump of her pulse as blood coursed through her body.

‘Please don’t make this about you.’ She wiggled free of his grip and dropped her arm back to her side. ‘It isn’t exactly easy for me to be lying to my closest friends about where I am most of the time.’ Her grasp was on the handle now and John lurched forward gripping her arm tightly, trying to yank her back like he was in a tug-o-war contest.

‘Just one more day! Please!’ God he must look so stupidly desperate right now. But he was pining for her, wanting her, needing her. Why wouldn’t she understand how much she meant to him?

‘Pulling my arm out of its socket will not make me want to stay with you.’ As she spoke, he stopped jostling her around and Harlow took her chance to slip out of his grip and disappear out of the door. As the latch clicked shut, John suddenly felt very alone. He stared at the spot where she’d just been standing, eyebrows knitting together sadly. Pushing a few stray locks of dark hair away from his forehead, he turned to go back upstairs to bed. Reaching the table, he paused at the sight of the used cereal bowl discarded by Harlow mere minutes ago. It needed washing up but... Cold blue eyes staring at the flecks of cereal attached to the sides and the small puddle of milk that her spoon couldn’t quite scoop up, John sighed. He reached over and put his palm against the porcelain exactly where Harlow’s had been. Maybe if he left it there, it’d feel like she was still lingering around the ranch somewhere. That she hadn’t vanished again. She was all he’d never known that he needed but the constant comings and goings were too much. He just wanted her to choose him. He just wanted her to stay.

[imagines-oneshots-blog]

All That Glitters Chapter Ten: Leprechauns, Half-Truths and Lines Drawn in Scorched Earth

“Come on, lassling, we don’t have all day now.”

Sweeney’s voice was almost playful and undeniably hungry as it rasped against the slope of your neck, his fevered tone a perfect match for the frenzied deftness thrumming in his long, agile fingers as they snaked beneath the waistband of your leggings to find the supple skin of your hips, his digits seeking the firm flesh of your ass with ease. Never mind that it was broad daylight in a gas station somewhere along the winding back roads of Kentucky, or that your impatient companions waiting just outside by the car had specifically warned you not to make use of the relatively clean, if not claustrophobic bathroom that the rickety structure sported to indulge in a much needed afternoon quickie. As usual, Sweeney didn't seem to give a single fuck about the opinions of anyone but himself as he pulled you against him, directing your tangled forms through the doorway of that blessed bathroom, all hints of gentleness fled from his touch, the ragged need coursing through his veins spilling into the urgent press of his fingers at your waist, the ragged rasp of his beard at your neck, his wicked curses that burnt like fire as they kissed your skin.

"Here? Now?" you groaned beneath the onslaught of his hungry mouth, unable to keep the smile out of your voice, your fingers burrowing eagerly into his hair despite the reluctance flitting about your tone, grit from rolled down windows and dust coated roads imbedded deep into the silky strands that played within your grasp. However, despite the close quarters and limited opportunities for ablution that he'd had, when you breathed him in and flicked your tongue against the warm skin of his neck all you tasted was musk and sweet fertile earth and something you supposed might be the tang of sunshine catching playfully in the flaming glint of familiar copper. Absently you marveled at that little show of his latent power, poignant awe and something dangerously similar to reverence flitting tellingly in the back of your mind in worshipful response.

“Oh come now, lassling," Sweeney hummed as he slid those deft hands hungrily from the perch of your hips, slipping them beneath your tank top, up the swells of your waist, his digits catching in the dips of your rib cage, his touch restless, like he wanted to feel all of you but for the life of him he just couldn't decide where to start, "I know what you've been keenin' for since we got just one merciful fuckin' night alone in that motel room a few hundred miles back. Let me give you what you're wanting."

It was a tempting offer, really it was, but at the moment, sleep deprived and lust drunk and a bit hungover as you were, you just couldn't get the daggers that glinted in Dead Wife's eyes, ready and waiting to be flung at a stray unsuspecting artery, out of your mind’s eye, no matter how good Sweeney's hands felt as they undid the clasp of your bra to slide eagerly up between your breasts with an impatient familiarity, a poignant comfort that you felt simmering low in your belly, tripping a spark of knowing heat to flare to life deep within you, or how fiercely your heart twisted in your chest at Sweeney's low appreciative growl, the fevered, lost sounds of his pleasure still doing heated, carnal things to you despite all the countless times you'd experienced them by now.

In retrospect, you would admit that it was those small noises of unfettered want, of utter untamable need, that would prove to be your undoing, but in the throbbing heat of the moment your lust fogged mind couldn't think of them as anything other than unbearably sexy, so in response you just sighed against his mouth, wrapped your hands more firmly about the thick coils of muscle knotting in his button down clad shoulders, and arched into his touch, glad to lose yourself, however briefly, in the virile magic of this wild, wanton male kicking the bathroom door closed with one large booted foot and messing impatiently with the lock somewhere near the handle behind him.

"It's been so long," you murmured between kisses, well aware that in any other situation you most likely would have been embarrassed by the whining need sharply edging your voice, though now, in the dimly lit, achingly private bathroom of this no-name gas station it only seemed to spur Sweeney on, to make him work harder to bring out that ragged want tripping hot and aching through your veins, swirling behind your fluttering eyelids.

"Too long," Sweeney growled as he palmed the aching heft of your breasts in each of his scopic hands, thumbs skating over your throbbing nipples, twisting and plucking in that perfect way that he knew would make you melt for him, "Too damned long. I can't go without you. I need you, mo Éinín. I need you like I need air."

Sweeney wasn't usually one to bear his godamned soul to you in the middle of intimacy, so the fragile lilt of his voice and the tentative vulnerability in his words had you pausing, stilling where you had been writhing beneath his touch so that you could sweep a soft palm along the cut edge of his jaw, cup the nape of his strong neck with gentle fingers and make him meet your gaze.

"I'm right here, Sweeney," you whispered, peppering delicate kisses along his bruised cheekbones, across the freckled bridge of his crooked nose, and you swore to Bran that Sweeney fucking shivered at the softness in your voice, the comfort lilting in your sweeping touches, "I'm not going anywhere."

"That's what I'm afraid of, lassling," Sweeney husked cryptically, his tone pleading and broken and fucking scared, and you suspected it was that same icy fear that spurned him to tighten his grip on you, his long fingers biting into the flesh of your ass hard, a snarl ripping from his throat as he clutched you to him protectively, possessively, and backed you up against the nearest surface, which happened to be the chipped porcelain sink propped up on the far wall. His lips were as scorching as a brand as they pressed against yours, his kiss morphing from fearful to needy to consuming in the space of a few heartbeats. Figures that even when being tender, your towering, virile male was still all heat and dominance and intensity, such damned, throbbing, contagious intensity.

Read more! http://archiveofourown.org/works/11306139/chapters/29176851

Tag List!

I’m SO Sorry for this chapter being long overdue, I hope the glorious smut it holds will make up for my absence! Much love!

@raspberrymama 

@kimskew

[adampage]

Birthday Surprise

Pairing: Sami Zayn x OFC, other pairings show up too

Word Count: 6,154 ahaaaaaaa

Warnings: SUPER FLUFF AT FIRST, and then, well…..it just goes downhill from there. Spanking, praise kink, pregnancy kink, Daddy kink bc why not. I love him bye

Tagging: @crowleysqueenofhell / @the-geekgoddes / @llowkeys / @hardcorewwetrash / @helluvawriter / @roman-reigns-princess / @xxmaddhatter39xx / @sexygamommy

Sami would finally be home in Montreal in an hour. It had been nearly two months since they’d last seen each other, and she knew that he would be grinning from ear to ear the moment he saw her, and she could just hear him now: “Babe, I’ve missed you. How have you been? Are you all right? Do you have everything you need? Is there anything you want? Let me get it for you. You look gorgeous today. Absolutely stunning.”

And that was a normal conversation with the man. That was Sami the moment he was in her presence, content to just take care of her and shower her with praise.

She could only imagine what he would say once she told him the good news.

“Stop smiling. He’s going ta know before ya even open yer mouth.”

She’d nearly forgotten that Finn and Bayley were already here. That’s right, she thought, Sami’s flight had been delayed.

“He’s right,” Bayley chimed in from behind her, wrapping an arm around Sofia’s waist, the other arm and hand reaching for Sofia’s inconspicuous bump. “And then he’ll question you for an hour until you give it up.”

Sofia ignored them both, asking, “is Kevin on the way?”

Finn answered calmly, a beer in his hand already. “He’s on tha same plane, love.” He shared a sideways glance with Bayley.

“Right, right.” Sofia took a few deep breaths, wanting everything to be perfect for when Sami and Kevin made it to the loft. It was a double homecoming. Her eyes widened when she realized there was only one person unaccounted for. “Karina!”

“I already called her,” Bayley responded, as calmly as her Irish counterpart. “She was having baby sitter trouble but she found another last minute. There’s no need to worry, babe. Everything will go perfectly.” Bayley kissed her gingerly on the cheek, and Sofia couldn’t help but smile at her.

There was a frantic knock on the door, and Finn made for it nonchalantly, while Bayley and Sofia got the patio table ready for dinner. “I’m comin, I’m comin!” he responded, as the knocks continued.

He opened the door to find Karina, looking disheveled but beautiful, one hand holding her phone to her ear and the other hand held up to her forehead, as if in distress. Her plump red lips moved quickly as she spoke in frantic French.

“D'accord, d'accord. Oui. Oui. Je t'aime,” was all Finn could understand, as Karina hung up the phone. She kissed him in greeting on both cheeks, holding him close to whisper in his ear. “Their plane made good time, they’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”

“Good lord. Lovely ta see ya too, Karina,” Finn said as he embraced her. “But best not tell the pregnant woman. I’ll handle it.” He made his way to the terrace to help Sofia finish up.

Karina gave him a look as Bayley came running into her arms, picking her up in a tight bear hug. “Oh, it’s so good to see you!”

“And you, lovely,” Karina struggled to say, as she was being squeezed to death.

Sofia appeared at the door to the terrace, grinning as she noticed who’d walked through the door. Embracing Karina, she was beaming with delight. They began to speak in unintelligible French, so Bayley took her leave of them when she noticed Finn motioning to her from outside.

“What-?” but he hushed her, not wanting Sofia to glance back in their direction.

“Keep yer voice down or we’ll never hear the end o’ this from Karina. Listen,” he said, “take Sof to her bedroom ta change and take Karina wi’ ya, get her dressed and all sexy because Kev and Sami’ll be here any minute.”

Bayley’s beautiful deep brown eyes widened in response. Finn could have taken her right then, in front of the girls if his good conscience hadn’t gotten in the way. Instead, he kissed her deeply on the lips and sighed, “go, get her ready, love. I’ll make sure tha living room and the terrace are up to Sof’s standards.” She hurried away, but not before he gave her a pat on the ass.

God be praised, he thought.

Sofia was starting to get suspicious. Bayley was in front of her, soft brown eyes kind as she concentrated on powdering Sofia’s face, smoothing out her eye shadow, and delicately administering Sof’s mascara.

“Thank you for doing this,” Sofia said, as Bayley hushed her for opening her mouth. She took a look in the vanity mirror in front of her, and she blushed at what she saw. She hoped that Sami would have the same reaction.

Behind her, Karina was mumbling to herself in French, Sofia’s entire closet splayed out on the bed. “Mon dieu, non…”

As Bayley brushed out Sofia’s luscious locks, Rina shouted, “bah, merde!” halting Bayley mid-stroke, Sofia twisting ‘round to see what the fuss was all about. At Bayley’s questioning look and Sofia’s apparent irritation, Karina responded, “Shoes!” as if they should have known. Sofia pointed towards the foot of the bed, telling Karina to pull the handle that she would feel lay underneath.

Content, Karina surveyed each pair of shoes as if she were a judge on a fashion show. She scanned them, left to right, and when she’d made it to the end of the line, her eyes darted back to the pair she knew would dazzle.

“They’re flats, but they’re just darling,” she said to Sof, slipping them on to her best friend’s feet. “And now I can go back to the dresses and pick the one that fits best.”

Sofia giggled as Bayley brushed her hair a bit more, every hair on her head tingling from the touch of the brush and the feeling of someone’s presence. She looked in the mirror again, and saw how her dark black hair shined.

Karina picked out a bracelet that would match Sofia’s simple but beautiful diamond ring, a silver one, and clipped the clasp around Sof’s wrist.

“Here, take this dress and I’ll put everything away.”

Sofia conceded, and made her way to the connecting bathroom. She would have changed in front of her friends, but she wanted to have a moment alone with the small bump at her middle. She could feel that time was short, though she had no idea why.

She locked the bathroom door with a click, and she leaned one ear to the door to hear her friends’ muffled voices.

So Sami will be here in less than five minutes, she thought. That’s why they were so frantic.

In any other moment, she would have been annoyed to know they kept this from her, but something about being inside that bathroom, with stillness and quiet surrounding her, and the bump on her belly, caused her to be calm. This was it. Sami was going to be a father.

And I’m going to be a mother.

She touched her belly tenderly. She couldn’t feel anything. Not anything physically, at least. Her baby probably wasn’t even partly formed yet. But she could feel something, deep in the pit of her stomach, and deep within her heart and mind, that told her, “there’s a baby there. Or at least it’s trying to be.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” she said softly, in case her friends could hear, “you’re going to have the greatest dad in the world. And hopefully the greatest mom, too.”

With one last touch, she picked up the dress and draped it over herself, smiling as she noticed that she’d never worn it.

Karina has a memory like a super computer.

It was a dark navy cocktail dress, with sparkles all over, glimmering like stars in the sky. Her milky legs contrasted expertly with it, and the silver flats did as well. The dress was strapless, further accentuating the top of her breasts. It’ll do quite nicely, she thought.

Just then, she heard Finn, welcoming someone at the door as loud and as obnoxiously as he could muster so as to let her know they were here.

“Beat ya home, didn’t I, lads?” and she could hear Kev’s booming laugh and Sami’s accompanying chuckles. Her skin prickled at the sound she knew so well.

Bayley knocked on the bathroom door, shyly. “Babe? Sami’s here.”

He’s here. My Sami is home.

Her hand went to below her stomach again, and she chastised herself for doing so, knowing that if she did that often in front of Sami it might clue him in to what was going on. It pained her to be conscious of such things, but she knew she’d have to be careful.

She made her way to the living room.

What was all this? He thought.

First Kev follows me home, now Finn and Bayley? And Karina’s here?

“Happy birthday, Sami!” His arms wrapped around a stunning young Bayley, who hugged him just as strongly as Finn had, if not stronger. Karina was next, with a kiss to the cheek, but she quickly moved to the man she really wanted to kiss, her loving husband, the man who brought out the best in her. But all Sami could think was 'where is the face of the woman I love?’

His thinking was rewarded when he looked past his friends to the living room.

“Babe.”

Her smile was divine. He could see the small dimples it created in her round cheeks, and his mouth couldn’t help but break into a smile as well, for his heart began palpitating rapidly as he looked at her, absorbing the beauty before him like a sponge. Her dark hair, her skin white as porcelain, the dress that ran along the curves of her body, tight in all the right places, lacking in the places he ached to touch.

He hadn’t realized that he’d made his way past his friends until he felt the touch of her warm hand touching his cheek, fingers lightly caressing the short ginger hairs of his beard that he knew she so dearly loved.

“Sofia,” he breathed, her name escaping his lips like he was a dead man being born again, short of breath. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, Sami. Happy birthday, handsome.”

“How are you?”

“I’m great,” she grinned, “now that you’ve come back to me.”

“Do you need anything?”

“No, babe, I’m good.”

“Are you sure? Because I can go get you whatever you need. Don’t hesitate to ask me, that’s what I’m here fo-”

“She said she’s fine, ya ol’ fool.” A clap on the back jolted him into the real world, where more than just Sofia existed. “Now, I’m here ta celebrate yer damned birth so ya best go and get me another beer before yer time on this beautiful earth ends quickly and abruptly.”

“Another?” Sami teased, unwilling to draw his eyes away from his blushing fiancée. When the Irishman continued to complain, albeit jokingly, Sami resigned to holding Sofia’s hand and dragging her to the kitchen, pausing under the doorway to pull her into a romantic kiss. Gosh, how he wanted her.

She placed a hand on his chest to stop him. Her dark eyes chastised him for behaving so forward, motioning to their friends in the living room. “Let’s get Finn his beer, come on,” pulling him farther into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door and grabbing three more beers.

“He only asked for one,” Sami said, stopping in front of her and grabbing the beers from her hands. His face hovered close to hers once more, aching for another kiss. His eyes were wide, like a puppy’s, the shadow of a smile on his lips, and she wanted so badly to give in. But she wouldn’t.

She handed Kevin his beer and Finn his, Finn nearly falling on his knees in gratitude. She laughed, and turned to Bayley. “Drink, babe?”

“I’m good, Sof,” she replied, “but when’s the food gonna be ready?” Finn giggled to hide how turned on he was by her appetite, nuzzling into her on the love seat.

“Nearly. I wasn’t exactly expecting the guys to get here so early,” she said, giving a pointed look to Kevin.

“Hey, don’t look at me. That’s why I don’t fly American.”

He received a few laughs from that one.

“God, this rosemary chicken was amazing, Sof.”

“She’s right, God, it was great.”

“Gonna have ta tell my mum she’s got a rival.”

“Jesus, Finn!”

“Wha-?”

“Oh my God.”

“Thank you, Finn, that’s very sweet.”

And on it went. Sami, on the other hand, was getting more ravenous as the night went on, though he was no longer hungry. Every hand she ran through her hair, every giggle or laugh that came out of her precious mouth like a tinkling bell, every sassy look she flashed in the direction of Kevin’s sarcasm or Finn’s incessant conversing, every time she leaned on his chair, standing while he sat, made him want to run his fingers along her thighs and under the hem of her skirt - which she’d promptly swipe away like a fly - all of it was slowly grinding away at him, he could feel his pants tightening around him. But he continued talking, he continued to laugh, he continued to grin, make small (not so small) anecdotes here and there, hands waving constantly. All in all, a perfect gentleman and man of the house. No one could say he wasn’t hospitable.

But he didn’t know how long it would last.

Finally, someone mentioned presents.

He blushed at the thought. “Guys, you didn’t, you didn’t have to get me anything. Really. I mean, I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday, honestly.” It’ll be better once you guys leave, though.

Sofia was about ready to burst. She had done her best to maintain the look of a good and proper hostess, asking everyone if they’d like something more to drink, something more to eat, anything?? She even stopped Sami from touching her several times throughout the course of dinner, guilt ridden as she was for doing so and molding to his touch. And she’d definitely done her best to not touch her belly, and it was killing her to keep her secret from Sami. But she had to. Until right about now.

“Here, we put all three presents in the same bag,” Karina said, handing him a green birthday bag with blue tissues coming out in all directions.

“I’m telling you, you guys didn’t have to do this,” Sami grinned, looking at each of them in gratitude, pulling out each tissue as slowly as he could, with complaints from his friends.

The first thing he grabbed out of the bag was a small El Generico mask. “Weird, this won’t fit me,” he said, apparently clueless but still smiling, his face hiding the myriad of thoughts he was thinking, all coming to one conclusion that he didn’t want to say aloud until he was absolutely sure, but all the same it was still making his heart beat rather rapidly.

The next thing he grabbed was a small cap like the one he wore every week to the ring. Interesting, he thought, but it was much the same as the other gift. He couldn’t be sure yet. He continued to smile, though it was becoming less and less genuine in the sense that he was now becoming more shocked.

The last gift was a small onesie that read “I Love My Daddy,” and he felt his goddamn heart melt.

As he held the onesie in his hands, it was like the world got a little brighter, and he looked up to the one pair of eyes he knew would have an answer.

Her eyes were glistening, and he caught the briefest movement of her hands to below her belly, and he knew. He knew for sure. This was not a joke.

This was fucking real.

“We’re gonna have a baby?” he whispered. She nodded, too overwhelmed to speak, a knot in her throat. No one else was speaking, and she knew they were doing it for her and Sami, to give them this moment but all she wanted was an end to the silence or for Sami to just move, to just fucking hug her but he was just as overwhelmed he felt that if he stood up his knees would buckle and he’d never be able to stand again. Sofia looked to Karina, and to Bayley, eyes pleading.

“Congratulations, Sami,” Bayley was the first to speak, the first to move. “You’re gonna be a dad!” She wrapped him in a warm hug, the shock still plastered on his face.

Karina moved next, enveloping him in her arms. “How do you feel, hon?” He made no motions to stir, and finally Kevin, sitting to Sami’s left at the table, kicked him right in the shin. “Hey, dickhead, my wife’s talking to you.”

“Looks like ya scared tha talkin’ ri’ out of'im, Sofia,” Finn giggled, waving a hand in front of Sami’s face.

At this point, Sofia began to worry. She sank down to her knees next to him, lightly touching his arm. The touch seemed to break the spell that was cast upon him, for he looked at her and he grinned, and kissed her full on the mouth.

“That’s my boy, Sami!” Kev cheered, patting him on the back as Sami continued to deepen the kiss.

“Babe,” Sami said, as he broke the kiss to gasp for air, “I love you. I love you so much.” He was like a desperate man, needing and wanting so badly to let her know exactly what she meant to him. “I love you so much, you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me and now you’re going to make me a father.”

“I love you too, baby,” was all she could manage, tears staining her cheeks and she thanked Bayley and also God for the waterproof mascara she was wearing. Sami wiped the tears away with his fingers, and he lifted her chin up so he could look into her deep, dark eyes. She gazed at him, feeling his other hand on the side of her face and nuzzling into it. His eyes were the happiest she’d ever seen them, more than the day he asked her to marry him, and she could not look away from them.

Suddenly, his eyes darkened, and it was like all hell itself sprang loose in his eyes. If ever there was a reason to kick his friends out, now was the time, and he was going to take the opportunity.

“Kevin, Karina, forgive me, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” he said, standing, grabbing his fiancée’s hand and making his way back into the loft. Kevin mumbled a soft, “no problem, I was prepared for this” as he pulled out a hotel room key, and Karina eyed him suspiciously. “You told the sitter midnight. It’s nine fifteen,” he responded, and she didn’t hesitate to agree and follow him out the door with a quick wave and a wink to Bayley.

“Finn, Bayley, you too,” Sami said, leading his soon-to-be wife and mother of his child toward their bedroom, picking her up bridal style. Bayley looked at Finn with her owl eyes, and was surprised as well to see that Finn had the same idea as Kevin. “Come on, love,” Finn growled, nibbling her at her ear. “I can hardly wait much longer.” For all it mattered, neither could Bayley, to be perfectly honest. She kissed him tenderly on the cheek and led him out the door.

The lights of Montreal dappled the skyline through their bedroom window, and the moon was brightest of all, so perfectly round, like the breast of a mother ready to suckle her newborn baby.

Sami could’ve said the same about Sofia’s breasts, concealed as they were under a blanket of chiffon night. His love for her was quickly becoming lust, as he gazed upon her skin, the color of cream. How he longed to suck on those perfect tits, as he imagined he’d say, if he wasn’t so used to being the model of a gentleman. Still, he liked to imagine himself in another life as this roguish figure, who sincerely could not give a fuck what anyone thought about anything he ever said, and spent his times doing absolutely terrible and despicable things. He hoped to funnel that energy, that personality, into sex with Sofia, but something was stopping him tonight. He was hesitant, and it took him a moment to remember why.

The baby.

Where only a few moments before the thought of Sofia as mother of his child had fueled him into a ravenous lust for his wife, now his conscience had him hesitant, unable to act on his desires. Sofia noticed his dilemma, and she lay there, mulling it over.

“You know one of the common misconceptions, pardon the pun, is that you’re not supposed to have sex when you’re pregnant or your partner is pregnant.”

She could see this tortured look on his face, and wondered silently if she would be able to persuade him. Truth was, Sofia really needed him to touch her. The desire he felt was reciprocated exponentially.

“Well, it’s not true, babe.” She lifted her head, sat on her knees in front of him, where he was at the foot of the bed, standing. Sofia reached for Sami’s hands, holding them between her own, feeling the callouses on his rough palms. She grazed his knuckles with kisses.

“Are you sure?”

“Sami Zayn, if I wasn’t sure I would be under the covers reading a book.” He didn’t seem convinced, so she tried a different approach.

Letting go of his hands, she placed one of her own on his leg to keep her balance, and the other hand began to slide down to the bulge in his jeans. She heard Sami’s sharp intake of breath, the soft “babe, I-” escape his lips. Her body rose to meet his eyes, continuing to rub at his covered cock, though damned if he can really feel anything, she thought, these jeans sure don’t let me feel anything.

So she began to unzip his jeans, never once breaking eye contact. Sofia’s lips curled up at the edges, just the slightest bit, when she noticed Sami’s eyes begin to darken with each passing second, pupils dilating with desire and lust.

With his jeans partly out of the way she felt his cock in his boxers, stroking it, and soon it was begging to come out of those, too, though Sami’s face continued to show apprehension, though his eyes told a different story, and it was beginning to annoy her. She stopped.

“Sami,” she huffed, “you’re not going to hurt the baby. You’re not going to hurt me. Now for God’s sake, would you just fuck me?”

She’d never said anything like that to him before. And for the record, neither had he. For the most part, it was “make love to me,” “come sleep with me,” or no words at all. Never “fuck me.”

And like the rogue he imagined himself to be in a different universe, he responded.

The next look Sami gave her was unlike any look she had ever seen, apart from the glimpses of it here and there she’d seen during dinner and right after she’d told him she was pregnant. But it was more intense than all of those glimpses combined.

He sank down to her level, a hand grazing the soft skin of her leg, rising slowly below the hem of her dress. The other hand cupped her breast through the fabric, giving it a rough squeeze, and to his surprise Sofia let out a moan, further driving him into a frenzy and he lunged for her throat, sucking on the skin.

Sofia’s nails began to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt, and Sami let go of her throat to devour her mouth, both of them groaning into each other’s mouths now as she unbuttoned his shirt and he reached for the zipper at her back, cursing it mentally as it gave him trouble. Once he felt the fabric fall from her back, he grazed his fingers across it, his cock tightening as he reveled in how soft she was, how small, the feeling of wanting to care for her in all the ways he could.

When Sofia finished with his shirt, he pulled it off his shoulders quickly, all the while never losing eye contact with his beloved. God, she was beautiful.

God, he’s beautiful, Sofia thought. His arms and shoulders were finally free, and she could feel herself getting wet at the sight of his strong biceps, the curves of his muscles arousing her even more with each passing breath. She bent her head down to nip at his shoulders and run her fingers through his chest hair as he gently undressed her, cupping a breast here, grazing his fingers along her hips. At this point it was hard to tell if he had understood what she meant, as he was hardly being rough anymore at all. She rolled her eyes mentally and began to bite at his neck, treating him the way she wanted to be treated. “Babe, when I say I want you to fuck me, it means I want you to fuck me.”

She continued to bite at him, every bite earning her a wince and a groan from Sami, though he’d yet to respond in kind. In fact, he was very quiet, and then after a moment he was still.

“Daddy doesn’t take orders from you,” he said gravely, his voice having dropped several octaves, pushing her back against the mattress.

Fuck, she thought, why is that so hot?

“You want me to be rough?” he growled, pulling her legs apart.

“Yes,” she breathed, unable to speak any louder due to the lump in her throat at the small bit of fear she felt at those words.

“I can’t hear you,” he huffed, squeezing the backs of her thighs, though silently he was hoping he wasn’t hurting her. Sofia, on the other hand, reveled in the pain, and the lump in her throat passed as quickly as it came.

“Yes! Oh, God, yes!” she yelled, pulling at her own hair as Sami put one leg over his shoulder.

“Yes, what?” he reprimanded, reaching under her ass to give it a light spank.

“Yes, daddy!” she shouted, feeling herself getting slicker and slicker, and she was surprised when she felt a finger deep inside her, moving violently. She could feel every movement, and she was slowly losing herself in the precious emotional mix of pain and ecstasy when suddenly it was gone. Her eyes shot up to Sami’s, who had by now, she hoped, lost himself in the character he was playing.

“Yes, baby girl,” Sami responded to her silent question. “Daddy’s here, and he’s here to stay. And he doesn’t like when you come before he’s commanded you to.”

“But,” she pleaded, trying her best not to give in to her instinct to raise her voice a few pitches, like a young girl, “babe…I don’t know if I can stop myself.”

“First of all, it’s daddy,” he said as he pulled her waist up for her meet him in a passionate kiss, his hands then reaching down to scoop up her ass between them and give each cheek a light squeeze before he spanked her, resulting in Sofia yowling in pleasure. “Second of all,” he continued, a chuckle escaping his lips as he ravaged her mouth, “you’re going to have to unless you want to be punished. And no, the spanking is the least of what I’ll do to you if you don’t do as I say,” he said, as he caught her eyeing him as if to say she was already being punished, though she loved every minute of it.

“But daddy,” she protested. He gave her a wolfish grin and stuck his tongue down her throat, silencing her. She winced at the texture of his ginger scruff on her above and below her lips, so she took a chance and bit his bottom lip, hard. Sofia could taste metal on her own.

Sami gasped for breath, fingers touching at his now raw and vulnerable lip. A splotch of red appeared on his fingers, and he pointed them at Sofia, incredulous. “Oh you’re gonna get it now. You’ve been a very bad girl.”

He pulled her up and commanded her to walk to their closet and open it. Completely naked and turned the fuck on, she did as she was told, making sure to sway her hips in the way she only did when she knew he was watching.

The blood rushed to his cock so fast he couldn’t believe it, so he began to stroke himself as she waited to do his bidding.

“Now find the sexiest lingerie you’ve got. Your favorite.”

She knelt down, slowly so he could watch her plump ass fall to the floor. He groaned, pumping his cock a bit faster. Sofia picked out her red and black lace lingerie that she had bought weeks ago. It was the softest and sexiest lingerie she owned, and it was expensive. Small diamond-like stones sparkled across its surface. The bottoms would barely cover her at all, and she knew that the top covered just enough to hide her nipples and no more. If any pair of lingerie ever made her feel like a slut, this was it.

“Put it on,” he growled, groaning to himself, still pumping his cock, slower now so as not to reach climax too quickly. He wanted to enjoy the show before him.

Sofia gave him another full view of her ass as she slowly slid the bottoms across it. She then turned around, gingerly fingering herself through her panties, already wet at the sight of her soon-to-be husband’s pleasures, and she squeezed her own tits, partly for him and partly for herself. She moaned, not because the feeling of her own breasts was a turn on, but because the moan itself was enough to get her going.

Sami was a fucking mess, motioning for her to hurry up. She put on the bra and kneeled down in front of him, her hands all the way up his thighs, loving the feeling of his leg hair underneath her fingers. Because that’s a real fucking man, she thought, getting wetter and wetter between her thighs. God, she longed for the fullness of his cock inside her. It was getting to be more than she could bare.

Sami raked his hands through her hair, dampening his lips with his tongue and feeling at the recent wound. He held her hair up in his fist, and she could feel his nails against the back of her head. He raised her head to look her straight in the eyes, tongue still feeling at the bloody lip. His own eyes were darker than ever, and Sofia could see a fire in burning in them.

“Suck me off, baby.”

She dipped her head and took half his length in her mouth, her tongue tasting the fluids already coming from the tip. She looked up at him, seeing that fierce look in his eyes, and with his hands still in her hair he pushed her further down his length, hitting the gag reflex and pushing just a bit further, before loosening his grip and allowing her to slowly pump his cock into her mouth.

“That’s a good girl,” he gasped through the delight, staring down at her, sweat beading his forehead, curling the ends of hair around his face.

Beaming in the praise, she began to pump faster and faster, hollowing out her cheeks, feeling her beloved writhing underneath her. She raked his legs with her nails.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, mouth hanging open in tortured pleasure. “Mm, Sofia…” he trailed off.

He must have been close to release, because he dropped her hair and pulled her off his length to ravage her mouth with his own again, tasting the mix of saliva and pre-cum on her lips. Sami’s hands pinched at her nipples, and she moaned into his mouth, this second pair of panties now as soaked as the first, and she began to lower him on the bed as she raised herself. Sofia took one of his hands and entwined it with her own; the other she planted firmly on one ass cheek, begging for more punishment. She was justly rewarded with a sharp smack. Her pussy was riding his cock through the lace fabric, and he moaned into her mouth just as she had.

Not being able to take it any longer, he ripped her panties and bra off her, reveling in the sound of the tearing fabric. He rubbed at her clit, enjoying her hoarse breathing in his mouth, then stuck a finger beneath her folds and into her pussy.

“You like that, babe?” he said, his voice so deep that Sofia’s entire body shivered.

“Yes, daddy,” she moaned.

He took his finger out of her and slid his cock inside before she even knew what was happening, the only indication being the fullness of his cock as it expanded her walls, a thrilling sensation that made her want to beg for more. She had a feeling Sami would like that, so she did.

“Daddy, please…give me more.”

“You want more, babe?” He slapped her ass with vigor.

“God, YES.”

“Look at what a bad girl you are,” he huffed, “begging like a slut.” He slapped her ass again, continuing to thrust deep inside her, faster now, rougher, though still conscious of all the right movements it took to get her heated. “Say it,” he commanded. “I’m a slut.”

“I’m a slut for you, daddy.”

“Now tell me you’re a bad girl and you deserve to be punished.”

“I’m a bad girl and I deserve to be punished,” she gasped, as he hit that perfect spot where she could feel she would burst any second.

“Sami - Daddy - fuck,” she squealed, as he spanked her ass again, the pain resonating and becoming heat between her legs. “I can’t hold on much longer!”

He squeezed a plump breast and sucked on her nipple, and she began to moan non-stop and he continued to suck on it, her pussy clenching around his cock as he thrust inside her, faster, rougher.

Within seconds, Sami was coming, and he sucked at the other nipple and spanked her ass as he felt her walls clench and spasm, Sofia unafraid now as they rode out each other’s orgasms, a feeling of ecstasy rushing through both of their bodies simultaneously, until finally Sami collapsed on her, their bodies beaded with sweat.

Silently catching their breath, near one of them said a word. Finally, after about two or three minutes, Sami propped himself up to look at Sofia.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, concerned.

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, a flash of Daddy in his eyes.

“Okay, a little, but nothing I wasn’t prepared for or willing to feel.”

Satisfied, Sami rolled off of her and propped himself on an elbow, his other hand grazing Sofia’s belly with his fingers. She raised a hand to scratch his beard, and he gave her a smile made of sunshine, slowly dipping his head to her tummy. She could feel his shallow breath and beard tickling her skin.

“I can’t wait to meet you,” Sami said, speaking to her middle. “You’re going to have a fantastic mommy, and I’m going to do my best to take care of both of you. You’re not going to want for anything. And you’re going to have too many aunts and uncles to count, all willing to kick someone’s ass for you.” He blew raspberries on her tummy, and Sofia giggled, stroking his hair as he listened to the gurgling sounds of her body.

“Who knew that you would be so into pregnant women?” she asked, amused despite herself.

“Just you wait till your belly’s perfect and round, Sofia. I won’t be able to keep my hands off you,” he said, lust in his eyes once more, and she shivered beneath him.

“Though I think that Daddy will probably wait till the baby’s here to show up again.”

“Pity,” she replied. “I like having Daddy around. It’s a damn shame.”

She could feel a grin on her skin.

“Oh, I think he’ll show up a few times more before you’re big and round, though. In fact,” he spoke, his voice dropping, “I think he might just make another appearance tonight. What do you think?”

She pulled his face up to meet hers. “Oh, Daddy,” she said sexually, “yes, please.”

Author’s Note: Congrats! You made it this far. Thank you so much! Please let me know if you liked it, and reblogs are always welcome (: