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moralesispunk · 1 year ago

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I think you're either team ghost x civilian wife! reader where the rest of the 141 have no idea you exist or team they know and it's a very familial like and I'm the first one

simon who does everything he can to keep you his secret, even more so when your family starts to grow. when he's finished with a mission he will spend the next 48hrs barely sleeping, moving around to make sure no one is on his tail before making it home into your arms.

it's not that he doesn't trust the 141, but you and your family are far too precious to trust anyone with. you've heard the stories of all of the other men, are sure you would need only one look at them to be able to guess which man belongs to the many names he's told you over the years, but you're aware they don't know that you exist.

that on the rare nights simon ventures out to meet them for a sole pint between missions they think he's holed up in some bachelor flat back in manchester, perhaps with a string of women that come and go, but they couldn't be more wrong with his wedding band hidden under his gloves when he's home like now or safely in his drawer at home when he's on missions.

and it's not that he doesn't wish he could shout about you from the rooftops. everyone in your town knows that the big scary man whose face is always conveniently hidden in the shadows has a missus at home who brings your chubby babies to the toddlers and drops your kids off at school.

but the 141 don't know about you, not until enough time has passed since simon retired to consider it safe enough. simon with his aching joints and trembling hands, the ringing in his right ear and back pain that requires at least two, hour long soaks in the bath a week. simon the husband and dad who has butterfly clips in his hair and at least one nail painted from the game of hairdressers his oldest likes to play, a bright pink plaster on his knee to match the youngest, and one hand on your belly at all times with the third (and final in your opinion but simon is working on that) of your brood.

simon who is out for drinks with the 141 three years after retirement and slips and says something about moving house and the hassle, the rest of the men deciding they will help and so simon decides it's finally time. but he doesn't forewarn them about his family before the day, standing in the garden of your packed up house that your family has outgrown while the men stumble out of the van they hired only to stop dead in their tracks when they see you.

you who is waving in the doorway, a toddler on your hip and looking like you're about to pop while another child - maybe six or seven by their guesses - swings from simon's arm, with a dog jumping up paws on his chest. and like the man he is he doesn't explain, just jerks his chin towards the piles of boxes and empty moving van he's started to pack.

"think you can start making a move on that?"

a few hours later and still no explanation from simon, he's in the first van packed with all the furniture and bigger boxes with you and the kids and the guys follow behind, slack jawed and still confused as they stay speechless until they pull up at the new house.

they're still staring at you as you pile out of the first van and you're shaking your head, elbowing simon in the ribs and muttering a "put them out their misery, Si" and they swear they almost drop dead when they see how gently he handles you, an arm around your waist and a kiss to your temple as he guides you and the two gremlins towards the guys while the dog starts sniffing around its new home.

"fellas, this is the missus and kids," he says and you roll your eyes, holding out your hand towards them and introducing yourself by name, adding on the kids who beam up shyly at these strangers.

that seems to shake them out of it. john takes your hand first, shaking and turning to simon with a "you hide her away in case we try to steal her from you?" he winks and you and only grins wider when simon's hand on your hip seems to squeeze tighter. gaz and soap are bending down and coaxing your two girls out of their shyness, complimenting their light up trainers and asking if it makes them run faster before cheering them on as they run to the front door and back.

they set you up on a fold out chair and do all the heavy lifting as you point them and the boxes in their arms to their correct rooms. later, Simon treats them to dinner (a takeaway) and has you sitting on his knee with the girls in bed and for the first time he spends a night with the guys telling you stories of Simon "Ghost" Riley.

"they're lyin' love," he'll mumble in your ear at every story, "don't believe them do ya?" his hand strokes up your back, squeezing your neck.

"yeah, babe, believe you," you say while smiling at the men around your new dining room table, men who have saved your husbands life more times than he can count, and you find yourself curling closer to simon because of that

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon riley x female reader

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kmuradesu · 8 months ago

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.‘ENTITLED’.

husband!gojo x pregnantwife!reader (afab)

» summary: leaving the busy streets of Sendai city back to its outskirts, the two of you got a bus. there aren’t any seats available, and being pregnant meant being able to sit in the priority seats. looks like they’re taken.

» CW: pregnancy, exhaustion, mentions of jizz, bus ride, stubborn civilian, teeny-weeny angst if you squint, protective satoru, threats, all happy, no swears, not proofread!

» a/n: this has been sat incomplete in my drafts for a month, only until now I’ve motivated myself to finish it (lmao). I don’t know what it is, but I love pregnancy fics with jjk.

———————————————————————

After a slow-paced stroll through the bustling streets of Sendai City and a bunch of offers from Gojo telling you he’ll buy whatever you want, the lingering sense of exhaustion finally caught up with you.

You had managed to make it an hour and a half.

The beads of salty sweat were becoming more prominent over your glossed skin, your breath being lost easily but being hard to get back. The overly frequent back aches weren’t helping either, it was like this baby was already overweight inside of you.

You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed as your soft, now clammy, hand weaved with Gojo’s, the wedding bands glinting a perfect chrome against the sun’s humid rays. You didn’t want to become a burden, neither a random woman in the city known for sweating abnormal amounts of sweat. “I think the baby’s had enough, huh sweets?”

Your loose gaze lifted upwards to meet his, immediately feeling the cool radiating from his cerulean eyes. Strangely, through the navy lenses in his shades.

“..yeah, me too.” You breathed.

“Okayyy, let’s get the bus back - save you walking around with that watermelon inside you.” Purposefully, Satoru presented you and your bump a judgy look.

“..thanks.”

Rolling your peepers with sarcasm, you gently swung your hand with his back and forth.

“Hey, that’s what it looks like to me!”

“Well it’s your sperm, blame your own genes on the fact it’s fat!”

“WHAT?! FAT?! I’M NOT FAT. I’M A TALL SKINNY KING! AND SO WILL BE MY BABIES!” The man was very much offended, that open-mouth and crossed brow face he pulled was all you needed to know.

“..oh REALLY? WELLI KNOW FOR A FACT ITS NOT MY GENES CAUSING IT!”

And all the way to the bus station you continued on with your quarrel on who’s genes caused your bump to be so big already.

Both you were just kids in adult bodies.

——

After earning an unusual load of overcritical glances from passers-by, you finally reached the bus station where many people stood.

Looking around with concern, your brows gently furrowed, a little confusion clouding your mind. It was good that Satoru could read you like a book.. sometimes.

“It’s okay, they’ll let us go past.”

The white-haired man muttered into your ear, placing his hands on your clothed shoulders.

“What if they don’t?”

“Oh they will.”

The way he said those words made you feel something, like it was your hormones playing tricks on you.

And so soon enough after waiting for a couple minutes, you had a glimpse of the scheduled bus turning around the corner.

“C’mon then.”

Placing a hand on the flat of your bump you both moved forwards, attempting to shift to the front.

“Satoru, I—”

“Just go baby, they’ll move for a pregnant queen like you.” He reassured, eyeing the men who weren’t moving out the way at first. Like they should, the women knew to make way, all flashing you sweetened smiles as you passed them.

Eventually you had gotten to the front with a man standing in the lead. “See?” Gojo smirked, watching you tilt your head back to see his beautiful face.

“M’kay..”

——

The doors of the vehicle swung open with a but too much vigour it almost took out the poor man standing next to them.

After Gojo, being the most pampering partner ever, paid for the tickets, he ushered you forwards only to discern no available seats. Gojo would be more than happy to stand, but it was you he worried about since you were already breathless and weak to stand.

The priority was stocked up with disabled and the impaired too apart from one space.

However that man who clearly perceived you were carrying a baby, sat in the seat in front of your face - glancing at you as he did so.

How selfish. Is he not embarrassed?

“There’s no seats left Gojo, I can’t stand anymore.”

Subtly you whined, being a little irritated that you couldn’t sit down and would have to uncomfortably stand as his baby rearranged your organs.

“..hm. Let’s see.”

“Wait—”

He shuffled to the man.

“Heello. Excuse me, but my miss is pregnant. Would you mind sparing the seat?” Gojo politely asked, hanging on to the pole situated in the middle of the aisle.

“What? Err no, sorry.”

That man was not sorry at all. It made you cringe.

Gojo’s expression paused, pressing his pastel lips together in irritation. Why wouldn’t this man listen?

“May I ask why are you being so difficult?”

After hearing those words, you knew this was going to veer off sideways. Almost everyone’s eyes were glued to the scene unfolding, all looking up from the windows and screen to see two men ‘bickering’ it out.

“Difficult? What do you mean, I was here first.” It seemed like the man had issues already, as he started to flail his hands around.

“My wife is pregnant, if you didn’t hear the first time. You’re sat in a priority seat, which where she should be sitting. Are you disabled?”

He was getting defensive. It was crystal clear that the man was not disabled, nor pregnant at that matter.

“..um no? But that doesn’t mean anything. I’m not giving up my seat for some cripple.”

A cripple?!

That’s it, Satoru had had enough and was desperate to split this man in half. Not a single person could insult you because he would already be on them like a hawk.

Anyways, the fact that the nasty being had called you a cripple, couldn’t help but make you feel a little too much like a burden, and your gaze saddened.

“You’ve gone too far. No-one. Absolutely no-one, is to offend my wife like that. So, jackass, vanish any place other so she can sit.”

“Or else?—”

“There is no ‘or else’ fool. You’ve already screwed the wrong person, so I suggest you move. Don’t do something stupid.”

The man, looking quite intimated, eventually got up and sulked off past the two of you.

“Thanks.” Satoru fake smiled, stalking him ‘till he had gone else where, far away from you.

All this drama had made you forgot about the achy pain surfacing your body, which immediately flowed back as realisation hit you.

“..oof-” It had subconsciously left your lips, and it made Satoru’s brows cross.

“Here you go my love. Is it hurting?”

He concernedly asked, holding your velvet hands as you lowered your rear on the much-needed seat.

“I’ll be fine, just what I needed.” You smiled back at him, tucking a stray hair behind you ear as you breathed out.

“I’m glad. Some morons just think they are ‘entitled’.”

—————— thank you for reading! this is my original idea and have worked hard on this. so please no translating, copying, posting my work on a different platform, or modifying my work. all rights reserved - kmuradesu

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drabbles-mc · 6 months ago

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Lucky For You

Tyler Owens x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, fluff, mentions of hospitals/injuries, no use of "y/n"

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: earlier tonight i lied to myself and said i wouldn't work on any new oneshots until i finished a wip. but I've been marinating on this idea since last week and i just had to write it down. just a short cute little fluffy somethin'! my first twisters fic. hope you enjoy!

You were shaking your head as you walked back over to the side of the picnic table that Tyler was sitting at. You had a beer bottle in one hand, the other resting on Tyler’s shoulder as you stepped in so you could plop back down beside him at the table.

“I’m still trying to figure out what you guys told Lily to say,” you gestured to Lily then Kate with the bottom of your beer bottle before taking a quick sip, “to get Kate to cave so quickly.” You gave Lily a playful smile. “What’d you say to convince her? Hm? ‘Cause lord knows it wasn’t either of these two,” you said as you nodded to Tyler first, then Boone.

Both men looked at you with dramatic looks of offense. “What?” Tyler asked, grin starting to curl his lips as he spoke. “You don’t think we were charming or convincing enough on our own?”

You rolled your eyes as he draped his arm around you. “No, I don’t.”

It got another wave of laughter. Tyler took the momentary distraction as an opportunity to lean in and kiss your temple. “Seemed to work just fine on you.” He reached across and stole your beer bottle from you, taking a sip before allowing you to snatch it back. “And you said yes to a way more dangerous proposition.”

You shook your head even though you were smiling, even though you could feel your cheeks warming. It was no great secret, or even breaking news at this point after the last few years you’d spent married to the ridiculous man sitting on the picnic table bench next to you. Sometimes, though, you couldn’t help the cheesy grin that crossed your face when you became a little more aware than usual of the wedding band on your hand.

“That’s different,” you said, not that it mattered, not that it helped your case at all as Tyler continued to nettle you good-naturedly.

“How’d you two meet, anyway?” Kate asked.

It was a fair question. You didn’t chase with the rest of them, never had. You’d met and fallen in love with Tyler before he decided to make a career out of it. The journey wasn’t always a smooth or easy one, but you never doubted him, or your relationship, not even for a second. Even in the hard times. A lot can happen over the course of six years, but you still clearly remembered when you first met him.

Tyler had started watching you the second he realized where Kate’s question was going. He watched the little twitches and shifts of your hands and facial expressions as you went rapid-fire back down memory lane. When you ended up with a little smirk on your face, he knew that you were all too happy to tell the story.

You took another drink from your beer bottle before just handing it back to Tyler, rather than trying to make him steal it again. “When I met Tyler, I’d say about, oh, seventy percent? Yeah, seventy. About seventy percent of his face was covered in bruises and bumps. Fractured cheekbone, split lip.” You turned and looked at him even though you were talking to Kate. “He was lookin’ real cute.”

She laughed, but you could see the mild confusion in her eyes as she looked back and forth between the two of you. “You find him after a rough chase, or…?”

You smiled and shook your head. “We met back before he was the infamous Tornado Wrangler.” Leaning forward, you braced your arms flat on the picnic table, Tyler’s hand sliding from your shoulder down to the center of your back, his palm warming you through your tank top. “They brought him to the hospital that I work at after he got stomped out by a bull at the rodeo.” You felt his fingers drumming against your back and your smile stretched a little wider. “I wasn’t even supposed to be checkin’ in on anyone in the wing he was in, but the nurse who was supposed to help discharge him had to leave.”

Tyler had a cocky little smirk on his face. “Lucky for you though.”

You gave him a look that didn’t pack nearly as much of a punch as it should of since you were grinning. “Yeah, real lucky for me that Jay’s kid got in a fight at school so he had to leave and he left you to me.”

Tyler laughed. “He was cute but I gotta say, I think you’re a little cuter.”

You gave him a playful shove, which he responded to by looping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer again. You shook his head at him before looking back at Kate. “Anyway, as I was saying. I go into his room to talk through some of the paperwork with him, and with one eye practically swollen shut still this man right here is tryin’ to get my number.”

“Actually, if I remember right—”

“You were concussed into next Tuesday—I doubt you remember much of anything right.”

“If I remember,” he repeated with a laugh, “I was actually tellin’ you that you should just jot my number down from my patient forms so you could call me sometime.”

You looked at Kate with a feigned nonplussed look. “Told me somethin’ about making a ‘house call’. Real bold for a man who was about half an inch away from some serious brain damage.”

“Probably what gave him the confidence to ask in the first place,” Lily piped up with a laugh.

Everyone was laughing, and listening. Kate might’ve been the only one in present company who hadn’t heard the story before, but it wasn’t as though it was something that the two of you were constantly rehashing all the time. The two of you usually kept the retellings amusing enough anyway, allowing the rest of the crew to throw in their two cents even though they hadn’t been there when it all started. After all, Tyler might’ve been the one you met first, and under some pretty dire conditions, but you’d been around to help out the rest of the team plenty of times since then. Whether you were making sure they were all alright after a rough chase, or meeting up with them in the towns that had been blown through to see who you could help even if you weren’t off the clock. You might not have chased with the rest of them, but you were still part of the team.

“How long did it take for him to wear you down, then?” Kate asked.

The shit-eating grin on Tyler’s face grew tenfold. He lightly bumped his shoulder against yours. “Go ahead. Tell her.”

You dropped your forehead so that it rested on top of your forearms for a moment before looking up and at Kate again. “I gave him my number after I pushed him to the lobby in his wheel chair.”

“Doctor’s orders, by the way,” he interjected with a shake of his head. “I didn’t need it.”

You rolled your eyes but kept going. “He was pretty persistent the whole way down, so I told him if he still remembered my name and number by the time his fractures all healed up, I’d meet him for a cup of coffee or somethin’.”

“Cup of coffee ended up bein’ a split six-pack and a failed bonfire at her cousin’s place, by the way,” he added on with a chuckle.

“Yeah, and your lip still wasn’t fully healed.”

He smirked. “Didn’t stop you though.” You lightly swatted his chest with the back of your hand but you didn’t say anything to refute his statement. “So really, what I’m hearin’, is that you shouldn’t be havin’ any doubts about our charms.”

“Sayin’ yes to a date is nothing like—”

“You also said yes to marryin’ him,” Lily added on, always happy to stir the pot just a little. “Y’know, with the ring that he almost lost in a chase.”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “If I left it at home I was sure she’d find it!”

“Yeah,” Lily laughed as she argued, “and if the chase went wrong somebody on the other end of the county would find it. Then what?”

Tyler laughed and shrugged. “Corner store sells Ring Pops.”

You had no shot at tamping down your smile. “Prob’ly still would’ve said yes, too.”

(divider by @saradika 💞)

Twisters Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added to any of my taglists): @garbinge

#tyler owens #tyler owens fanfiction #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x you #x reader #x reader fic #twisters fanfiction #twisters 2024 fanfiction #twisters #twisters 2024 #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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pennyserenade · 3 months ago

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common people | jim o'mahony (the delinquent season) x reader

summary | old enough to know better, but too exhausted by life to really think about it, you have an affair with a man you met on the bus. rating | (explicit) tags/warnings | explicit smut, questionable morals, age gap (reader is in her mid to late 20s, jim is in his early 40s), pinv, angst, infidelity, unprotected sex word count | 3.6k+ a/n | this is sadder than i intended it to be, and perhaps less sexy because of it because at the end of the day i fear i'm a thought daughter more than a thot daughter. one day we'll find the balance, girls. just not today. love ya

The line that drew you here – sitting on the bed in your shoddy three bedroom flat with your mouth wrapped around Jim’s fingers – is by no means a straight and narrow one.

It had begun with a glance. You had done it because you wanted to feel seen. Jim had sat on the opposite side of the bus, wearing a puffy winter jacket, his black hair peppered compelling with visible grays, and his face had been indifferent as he watched out the window of the bus. With his arms crossed over his chest and his lips pressed into a pout, he struck you as an interesting subject. You had allowed your eyes to roam over the sharp sculpt of his jaw, and to inspect the enticing dust of freckles along the bridge of his nose, which danced out to the hollow of his cheeks. Then you caught his eyes as he turned his head in your direction. The sweet thrill of being noticed itched up your spine, just the way you were used to it doing.

Jim hadn’t let his face of plain indifference shatter in the wake of being watched, but you knew that he was watching you too, and that was enough. That wasn’t to say he was special. There’d been other people - other men - whom you had engaged in this game of sorts with before. Before Jim, it really meant nothing. You did it with people you didn’t even find all that attractive, just to know you could. There was the power in the act of maintaining eye contact with these people, and you liked the ambiguity that resided in the length of your stares–what it could suggest, or what it could lead to, even though it never had. The only thing that separated Jim from all of them was that he looked back for longer, and in his eyes you saw something more potent.

Sometimes you wonder, the way you, as the other woman, are apt to do, about the way he is different for his wife. Does he gather her in his lap? Does she put her mouth around his fingers and does he hum in delight for her, too? Or is this yours, just as that first shared glance was on the bus?

His fingers sit heavy on your tongue now. They taste of nothing. You arch into his body and his lips form into a smirk that makes you bloom inside with an insidious warmth. This man is someone’s husband, and he is spending a Tuesday afternoon in your bedroom. He is the creature of adulthood that lurks in your barely post-graduation adobe, a shape of security who sometimes brings your flatmates bottles of inexpensive ale and dinner to keep them amiable when his wedding band gleams in their direction. To make matters worse, he is older than you – so much so that you wouldn’t like to tell your mother about it, even if he wasn’t married.

Drawing his wet fingers out of your mouth, Jim trails them down your body, bunching up the fabric of your sleep shorts between his fists like a greedy child. You reach between your bodies and pull the leather out of his belt buckle. The clack of it resounding through your stuffy room makes you feel obscene and naughty. He marvels at the way you take initiative, his blue eyes following the diligent movements of your fingers as they work the belt through the hoops in his pants.

He leans back on the bed for you, and with a soft sigh, he accepts the cold tips of your fingers dancing across the skin of his lower stomach. You linger there, tickling over the hair below his belly button, relishing in the warmth his body has trapped beneath his jumper.

Before you pull the sweater up any higher, he takes your eager hands in his palms. “I didn’t even ask you how your day was yet, you know?” he says, voice airy—too light for how earnest you feel about fucking him.

A coil of frustration winds up inside of you. It must be treason, these small intimacies of his. Not only is he a husband but a father, too: an island of his own; a man with a country to abandon, to betray.

You offer him a placid smile. “It was slow. I was waiting for you.” Your fingers escape his grasp and he winces when they race out to his warm skin again.

“Mine was fine too, thanks,” he laughs, his own fingers gripping onto your hips. You ignore him, in no mood for conversation.

Jim allows you to draw his shirt above his arms. He pulls you closer against him after you do, your body flat against his exposed chest. You can smell the tea you made him on his breath, and feel the lustful fascination he has with you poking against your hip. He may be the most interesting thing that has ever happened to you, and you might be his.

You snake your hand down the front of his jeans, measuring the width of his want, the strength of your appeal. “Fuck,” he hums against your mouth. The deep timbre of his voice runs through you, causing slick to gather between your legs.

Jim opens his mouth for you, licking his tongue against yours as his fingers slide down the slope of your stomach to your clothed cunt. When you draw out a surprised breath, Jim inhales, taking your air before pressing his lips harshly upon yours. One hand curls round the back of your neck, holding you there. There’s a primal aspect to this, some need that existed before the both of you being manifested. His other hand cups your cunt, and he watches with invested interest as you grind down into his palm, desperate for release of any kind.

After a few moments of you grinding above him, Jim retracts his hand from you. Smiling, he takes off your shirt as you undo your bra. It’s a dance you’ve practiced so many times together, and it happens without falter or failure this time. You fist a handful of his salt and pepper hair as his warm tongue traces circles around your freshly exposed nipple.

Moaning softly, you rut against his crotch, trying to relieve the ache that grows between your legs as the warmth of his mouth wets your pert nipple. His tongue begins to trail up, wetting the skin of your chest, and he guides you back on to the bed. Nibbing softly at the skin below your ear, Jim’s hands slip off your shorts. You help, raising up your hips.

He smiles down at you, a soft, gentle thing, and you feel like a co-conspirator–a shameful title, but oddly thrilling all the same.

“Oh, Jim,” you say softly, before he has even touched you. Caging your lip between your teeth, you watch him as he stands on his knees before you, making room between your legs. Your head feels full. He doesn’t even bother with taking off his slacks. With the tip of his cock leaking already, he strokes himself, showing you, allowing you to see what you wanted to all those months ago on that bus: how much he wants you, how much you can be wanted. It is an accident– an incredible error–that you throb at him looking at you lovingly as much as wantonly these days.

You’ve read the reddit forums: women, like you, who know better and do wrong anyway. You’ve read entire threads about the reasons why they do it, and how they cope with it, and most of all, you search out the women who have seen themselves all the way through it. It scares you to think of all the paths this could lead to, when it wasn’t ever meant to lead to anywhere. Will you be the jilted lover in the end? One of the women who talk about how liberating it is to be free from something so private and soul crushing? Or will you end up concocting a story with him like the women who marry their men do? The ones who say they met on vacations or in bars months after the divorces have been filed so as not to be treated cruelly by the public? And could you live being either of those things?

“Missed you so goddamn much,” Jim whispers against your mouth, bracketing your head between his hands. You take his bottom lip between your teeth, kissing him hard, pulling him more closely to your body, as if your desire will eradicate that you want more than just lust from him these days.

He lines himself up to your entrance, his intense eyes watching your face twist up as he inches inside of you slowly. Jim is thick, and a little bigger than the other men you’ve been with in the past. It takes a moment for you to adjust around him, but he gives you it, kissing you tenderly until he‘s bottomed out inside of you. “Gotta be quiet,” he whispers against your lips. He swallows harshly then, as if having to digest his own sounds.

You feel the ghost of his breath against your chest when he hangs it down, watching the way you connect together. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you allow him to go deeper, pleading with him inaudibly to stay inside for longer. His hand pushes strands of your hair away from your face. Sweat begins to gather between your bodies, and he moves inside of you with the care of someone who is used to being discreet.

When the bed begins to creak beneath the sway of his hips, something primal unfurls inside of you. It is evidence that this is real. Evidence he allows - that he encourages - his needy fingers moving down, griping the flesh of your thigh as his cock slides back inside of you with ease. He grunts against your shoulder. “Fuck. Fuck, you’re so wet, darling,” he says. “Wanted me badly?”

You nod, turning to your head to capture his lips. You slide your hand underneath the waistband of his slacks, gripping onto his ass, guiding the movements of his hips as they press into your own. You feel an overwhelming desire for him, a thing bigger than you would like. It is warm, and blinding, and makes you stupid. “Wish you could be inside of me all day,” you say, meaning it.

“Fuck,” he whines. “I want—I want that, too. You’re taking me so good.”

You can feel the increasing ease with which he settles deeper and deeper into your body. “You make me feel so good,” you tell him. Your voice feels like it’s coming from some place deep inside of you, another version, who wants everything and can say it.

“Do I?” he manages to say, eyebrows threading together. He’s not really paying attention to what’s coming out of his mouth no more than you are. His eyes drop, looking at you beneath him, and then his head does too. His mouth wraps around your pebbled nipple, tongue swiping against your chest. He hums: the same satisfied song he sang you when you put your mouth around his fingers.

“Do you fuck her like this?” something inside of you speaks, hungry, desperate, needy. “Your wife?”

Too turned on to stop, or perhaps prepared for this inevitable question of yours, Jim gives an abashed, crooked smile, but does not stop.

“I fuck you like this,” he whispers, his voice low and sultry. It is such a non-answer, clever and just right. His hand comes up and gropes at your breast.

For a moment you imagine it, let the whole idea take place. Some woman you do not know, a faceless but important woman, older and wiser. She wears a wedding band on her left ring finger, and is elegant and caring. He has told you that she likes to go to the theater, and that she is a good mother. She is not the type to cheat. In fact, she is hardly the type to have a husband that cheats, either, but then life can be impossibly cruel, and not what you imagined it might be. Jim pulses inside of her, telling her he loves her, meaning it, probably. When she says she loves his cock inside of her, it doesn’t sound needy or submissive but erotic, demanding, and he asks her for another child, maybe. The things you do to save a marriage.

A man can only have so much, and you’ve never been particularly demanding. You won’t win this. Even here, under him: you want to give him everything, to allow him to tell you what to be and when to be it. His hand curls around your mouth, his head burying in the hollow of your neck. There is the warmth of his tongue against your flushed skin, and the idea that he could leave whatever marks he might like on you, despite the fact that you can’t do the same to him. You’d let him, happily. This he knows.

He does not tell you that he loves you, but instead mutters, “I want to make you feel good.”

In some ways, you have more than his wife does. Maybe what he’s given you has more weight, more truth; maybe it will last indefinitely longer than marriage vows that have been said and broken. You grip onto one of his arms as he pushes inside of you. You tell him, “You are.”

His skin has grown damp and warm beneath your fingers. You run your hands down his back, becoming intimate with the muscle and sinew of his frame as it writhes above yours. He grunts as the movement of his hips become more frantic—shorter and steadier thrusts, the creak of the bed too loud as he settles himself deeply inside of you.

It doesn’t make you feel embarrassed. It doesn’t even make you ashamed. An overwhelming flame of desire engulfs your soul, and all you can focus on is the way he feels: hot, warm, the full length of him stretching you and yet still looking to go deeper and deeper still. His mouth finds your shoulder, and you listen as he pants against the flesh there, stalling an inevitable end. He slows down, and you relish the slow push and pull he does with his hips. You’re sure you’ve never been so wet in your life, and he seems to agree, moaning at the sound of your cunt taking him.

“I want to ride you,” you puff out, brushing your lips against his ear. He nods eagerly in agreement, and you assist in pulling down his slacks until they’re hanging around his ankles.

Deftly, he kicks them off into a dark corner of your room, and then looks up at you, light eyes clouded with lust. “I love when you tell me things like that,” he tells you softly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His hand finds your breast, his mouth sliding across the column of your throat. “You’re so fucking hot. You gonna cum on my cock?”

He twitches inside you and you kiss him hard on the mouth. “Yes,” you whisper back.

Jim pulls out of you slowly. He sits in the spot next to you on the bed, lifting himself up onto his elbows in anticipation. You straddle him, gripping onto his shoulder for balance. He offers you a tender smile as his fingers grip onto your hip in encouragement. “Take what you want, then,” he nods.

Your fingers wrap around his cock, slick and hot, and his eyes dart down to watch as you line him up to your entrance. As you slide down onto him, Jim closes his eyes, leaning his head back against his shoulder and moaning softly. He looks so beautiful like that: his jaw clenching just beneath the surface of his taut skin, his hair mussed from your hands running through it, his cheeks glowing red from desire.

You press your chest to his and kiss the middle of his throat. His fingers travel over the swell of your ass, and you begin to move your hips for him. “That’s it,” he hums, opening his eyes. You maintain eye contact as you draw up off of him. It is as if you are the only two people in the world, your hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, the head of his cock sitting at your entrance. He lets out a sigh in relief when you slide back onto him. One of his hands reaches up and splays out across the small of your back, guiding you as you move. Your breathing becomes more shallow, and the hazy sensation of an orgasm begins to grow in your pelvis as you grind down into him.

Sensing this, Jim’s lips twitch up into a smirk. “So tight for me,” he mutters. His lips brush against your warm chest. “Fuck, and you’re wet. Not gonna last much longer like this.”

You tuck your face into his neck, panting softly as your hips roll into his. You listen to the soft grunts that fall involuntarily from his lips, and think about him cumming inside of you. He’s done it once before, and you liked it more than you should—it’s another sign of his desire for you to devour.

The orgasm hits you in waves and you gasp, gripping helplessly at his shoulder for purchase. Every limb in your body seems to give into the sensation, until you are reduced to nothing but that warm glow spreading rapidly through you. He kisses along your shoulder, your collarbone, tucking an arm around your back to support you as you slump down onto him.

You feel him twitch dangerously inside of you, and know that if you go for a little longer, he’ll cum too. Gathering the last of your strength, you lift your hips, watching between your bodies as his cock plunges inside of you. His fingers brush against your stomach, and the air between you becomes little more than a shared moan.

“I’m gonna cum,” he warns. He gives you the choice of what to do. You rest your head against his, your noses brushing against each other as you pick up the pace. He cums inside of you with a strangled gasp, and you smile when the hot spurts of his want fill you. His fingers press into your sides, his body stiff beneath you.

For a moment you sit like that, his cock buried impossibly deep inside of you, your fingers intertwined in his hair. Sweat mats his fringe to his forehead in places, and he swallows harshly, his breathing labored. You can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed that you don’t want to part from him as you brush his hair away from his eyes, smiling.

He smiles back, content. All the lust that once filled his eyes is replaced with an affection you consider infinitely more dangerous. You lay against his shoulder and close your eyes. His heart thuds against the cage of his chest and his fingers stroke your back softly.

“I’m sorry for what I asked,” you murmur. The shame finds its way to you.

“It’s s’alright.” His lips brush against your shoulder. “I haven’t fucked her in a long time. Not like that. I’m not saying that just to make you feel better.”

“It doesn’t make me feel any better.” You lift your head off of him, meeting his eyes. “None of this does.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“You’re still in me, for Christ’s sake,” you laugh. He laughs too, and you know that’ll probably be the end of the conversation. A part of you is happy to let it go. You’re not ready to end this, even though you know you should. You don’t feel like the other woman, after all. She was meant to be more clever than this, wasn’t she? You feel like you’ve fallen into something you can’t get out of, something you’re terrified to even approach for what it might say about you.

“Hey,” he nudges his nose along your jaw. “You alright, then?”

“Sure,” you nod. “Stay a little while longer?”

“Yeah, of course.” He pats the hair on your head down, laying back on the pillow behind him. You rise up off of him, but still straddle his thighs. He holds you close, wrapping his arms around your torso. You can feel his cum trickle out of you.

“I like you a lot, if that’s any consolation. More than I should,” he tells you. “Enough to frighten me, really. I never thought I’d be this guy, you know? The cheater, especially with a younger woman. I don’t—you were the first I’ve ever felt anything for, you know?”

You lay your head on his chest again, and let out an amused laugh — though nothing feels particularly amusing. “Jim?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to convince me of anything.”

“Right.” He kisses your temple, staying there for a moment before pulling back and saying, “I’m just saying. I don’t want you to look back on this and think I thought of this as meaning nothing. It’s a big thing for me, too.”

You let out of a soft sigh, tracing up his freckled arms with your finger. “Jim?”

“Yes?”

“Will you fuck me again? I don’t want to talk about this anymore. ”

He laughs softly, kissing below your ear. “Of course,” he responds, his hot breath cascading across your sensitive neck. “Only this time, tell me what you want, love. I want to hear you say it.”

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #jim x you #jim x reader #jim x y/n #the delinquent season #cillian murphy smut #smut #x reader #jim the delinquent season #jim o'mahony #jim o'mahony x you

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abbyzins · 25 days ago

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microfic inspired by an interaction with me and my bf today

"Feelin' alright, love?" Soaps hands brushed across broad shoulders, squeezing gently as he kissed Ghost's head, patiently waiting for a response.

He could tell Ghost was...off. Quiet and tight and barely managing to nod as his Gran and Aunt Pat went on and on about making the New Years dinner, and how much they appreciated the two of them coming round for the afternoon.

"Fine Johnny, just excited to be home."

Soap leaned away as the women re-entered the room, more confused by Simon's statement than by the sentiment that he didn't want to see his own family for the holidays.

Home??

What home was Ghost even referring too?

Surely he couldn't mean the flat they shared in London? They hadn't spent enough time in to even make it look like life existed there, not a crumb in the pantry or a tea bag in the whole place.

Was he talking about base? With the cool gray wall, and goldilocks beds, and the shower with the too low head that they hated with a passion, together, because there was a shared understanding that they weren't fighting a war so they could to duck to rinse the shampoo from their hair.

He couldn't be talking about Soap's childhood home. There was no way. Even if they'd been staying for Christmas, it was filled with family, and Ghost hated family.

Sure, he had enjoyed the babying from Soap's mum, because she didn't care if he was a soldier, a scraped knee needs a transformer shaped band aid. And maybe he'd enjoyed the small talk from soap's dad over war movies and news, that turned into comfortable silence over cans of guinnese and a shared pack of cold deli ham and cheddar slices. Maybe he hadn't hated playing rugby with soap's plethora of brothers, nephews and cousins, because there's nothing that represents Christmas more than 23 grown (or almost grown) men tackling each other in the back garden while wives and girlfriends cheer them on.

Ghost couldn't possibly be calling Soap's childhood home, the slightly cramped, pieced together hodgepodge that it was, Home? Could he?

But then he smiles when they walk in the door, and takes off his mask, and limps around as soap's little nieces sit on his feet and hold onto his calves and giggle as he carries them to the den. He sits with soap's sisters, going on about how they met their husbands, and tells them the story of how he and Soap started dating.

Ghost stands out on the back stoop, with the other spouses and partners adopted into the family, and holds up a toast as John MacTavish Sr. gives Simon Riley permission to marry his son.

And Soap could almost cry looking at his family and friends, dancing and drinking late one summer night in the back garden of the house where he'd grown up, surrounding his husband, who begged to have their wedding at home.

Because to Simon Riley - no- Simon MacTavish, this place had been his home since the first time he stepped through the front gate, and saw an entire family of people so willing to love him, all waiting just over the threshold.

#soapghost #ghoap #ghostsoap #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #john mactavish

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deadboyfriendd · 2 years ago

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Cochise l: Nellie

Summary: A dark stranger blows into town, bringing Hell with him. Little did he know, Hell was already here, in the form of you. The air here is stale and the residents stagnant. This town was as wild as the west was able, and you are the most wild thing about it.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Outlaw/Doc Holliday!Eddie Munson x Reader, wild west/Tombstone AU!, Sherrif!Steve (he has a mustache), guns and gun violence, death of minor original characters, period-appropriate death, drug use, angst, fluff, save a horse, ride a cowboy, wet dream, smut included, feminine rage embodied and I gave her a gun

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 4.4k

Author's Note: This is for Drac <3 thank you for beta reading!

Find the series masterlist here!

When the dust blew in from the East, Hell came with it.

And Hell hath no fury like a woman’s reproach.

1890. From the ashes of the Civil War rose a phoenix of economic expansion and spurs the great migration west. Farmers, ranchers, prospectors, killers and thieves seek their fortunes. Cattle drovers turned cow towns into armed camps with murder-rates higher than those of modern-day New York or Los Angeles. Silver is discovered in Arizona, and the prospectors dragged their young wives and their Parisian fashions with them. Siphoned together out of greed, hundreds of Texas outlaws banded together to forge a new way forward, resulting in the birth of early organized crime.

Out of this chaos came the great legendary lawmen, and none as mean as you.

The air was stale this time of year, heavy enough to flatten a lizard, when the turn of the season brought the green back to the ironwoods and the snakes back from their hides. When it brought the heat back with a haughty laughter and a heart full of vengeance. The sun cast down a glare that warped the mirage of the desert backdrop of Cochise County, turning from a comforting radiation to a wasp sting when the night turned. The cereus blossom fragrant with rot that filled the stagnant night air and its timely beauty– and ultimate untimely death.

He reaped a certain morosity with him, spurs scraping across the floor like a toll, steps sure as snow in the northern country– as they dragged the dust from his heels eastward. His skin was of alabaster, and his clothes of obsidian. He was not from here, and it drew a shudder from the mesquite doors upon their sun-dried hinges. The dirty faces of prospectors, drunks, and cattle drovers turning to peer at him under sweat-laden brows.

The Whispering Sands was not the ritzy bar, no, that was the bar located in the lobby of the Grand Hotel up the holler. No, Your dealer was as straight as a Christmastime wreath, your doors hung as crooked as your dealer, and if you didn’t carry when you walked through, you had spares. There would be no clean men and women with their Parisian dresses and costly hat pins occupying this place. This was the lowest of the low.

He peers at you from under the brim of a coal-stained, honest-to-God gunslinger wool Stetson, lined with the hammered silver and turquoise-inlaid band. It laid flat across the top and around the brim. You hadn’t seen one like it since your wedding night on the ritzy hardwood grounds of the Grand Hotel herself. He takes a seat in a singular fell swoop, frock coat flaring outwards and casting a soft breeze over your presence. Single-breasted, large notch lapels. Beneath it, his dark pinstripe trousers folded under the weight of his body, the silver brocade vest above the black cravat remaining stiff. From where your eye connected with him, you could see the nickel plating of a Colt 1873 single action revolver, sheathed under the oiled ellipse of the leather-bound shoulder holster. It was apparent he wasn’t here to push cattle.

It was a fleeting gaze, the kind that rattle each of your vertebra and settled in your coccyx. A single golden curl slipped over a broad shoulder and swung heavy in the tension between your two bodies.

There was a resonant patriarchal tenor that buzzed amongst the patrons in this space, tense on the outcome and flat-lining in deliverance. They tried to avert wandering gazes from this new resident— strung together words in staccato, interrupted by morbid curiosity and on-looking eyes. Michael Doten– amicably monickered “Mudsill”, shattered this hum like china. He was a worm of a man, slimy in all of the worst ways, and, on this day in particular, aptly under the impression of laudanum and drink. He shared these sympathies with his own father– a man no more than fifteen years his senior.

He slinked through the door with the demeanor of an old tom-cat, crooked in stride and greasy to the touch— not that you could fathom anyone wanting to touch him at all. He demanded a house whiskey with a slovenly belch– a concoction made from your own sarsaparilla, burnt raw sugar, and chewing tobacco.

“Michael, I’d say you’ve about had enough today.” You chided, firm in your answer. The stranger peered a doting gaze towards you, then turned it toward ‘Ol Mudsill from a downturned hat– wistful in demeanor and daring in residence. He watched as Michael cast a thumb of brown saliva onto your floor, intentionally ignoring the existence of the spitoon a mere few feet from it.

He sneered towards you through leather-laden eyelids, a protuberance straight from the aforementioned spittoon, and filled with piss and vinegar, “Now,” He started, “ – if I wanted an old bitch telling me what I can and can’t drink, I would have considered marrying.” It was a slimy statement with a profound lack of remorse. It dripped from the gaps of his rotting teeth like a tar.

“I wouldn’t marry you, even if I was fixin’ to face death herself.” It wasn’t the first time you had denied him a drink, nor was it the first time he had spoken ill toward you. You doubted it would also be the last. You were a harum-scarum, devil-may-care woman, tough as nails and pretty as a mink stole.

“You don’t listen too good, now do you?” Mudsill spit back, standing now. Your fingers grazed the pearl handles of the Remington Model 1890 tucked away in the fold of your dresses. You hoped to God you didn’t have to use it.

Before ‘Ol Mudsill could think of something to say back, the dark stranger stood, “That’s no way to talk to a lady.”

“Is that a fact?” Mudsill raises a wiry brow towards the man, standing erect in front of him.

“Yeah, that’s a fact.” He said back, quietly. It was a discerning quiet, the kind where you figure trouble might be brewing.

“Well, for a man that don’t go heels, you run your mouth kinda reckless there, don’t ‘ya?” The stranger said, standing a little more erect– like he was fixing for trouble, though, by the context of the rest of the conversation, you’d say trouble had already been brewing. Now, you waited for the pot to boil over, “No need to go heel to get the bulge on a tub like you, huh?”

Mudsill glared toward him though tight lids, a reckless abandon only a drunk could possess, “Is that a fact?”

“That’s a fact.”

“Well, I’m ‘real scared.” Musill replied with a bobbling nod of his head, reaching for the firearm tucked away behind his waistband.

“Damn right, you’re scared. I can see that in your eyes.” The stranger followed the movement of his hand momentarily, eyes settling over the worn wood of the stock before meeting back up with his eyes, “Yeah, go ahead, skin it. Skin that smoke-wagon and see what happens.”

“Listen Mister, I’m gettin’ awful tired of you–” He was cut off, the stranger landing a stinging, open-palmed blow to his face.

“I’m gettin’ tired of your gas, now jerk that pistol and go to work.” Mudsill stared back, stunned. Frozen like a scared lizard. Another blow. “I said throw down, boy.” A third blow landed across his cheek, harder this time. You could see where the blood filled his mouth and covered his teeth. “You gonna do something or just stand there and bleed?”

“No?” The stranger raised an eyebrow, reaching upwards to put a forceful hand on mudsill’s shoulder, “Now, come on, Junior.”

The wire snapped behind ‘Ol Mudsill’s eyes, and with a sleight of hand, he reached for the worn pistol tucked into his overcoat. The dark stranger was fast, but you were faster. The pearl grips cold and smooth against the sweat of your palms. Quickly and in one motion, you stepped out from the bar, hand forced steady only in fear alone.

“You’re bluffing.” Michael sneered towards you, taking a step forward, closer to you with the barrel now in your direction. It was enough for the stranger to bear his arms as well, though, he wouldn’t need them today. The barrel met Michael’s forehead.

“I don’t bluff.” Your thumb met the hammer, pulling it back enough for a deafening swell click, “Now your family may be back to rush me, but that won’t stop me from blowing a canoe through your head first, y’hear?”

His eyes widened, and he pulled the barrel back from you, finger leaving the sheath of the trigger and thumb only staying tucked around the grip enough to keep it held.

“Don’t come back here. Ever.” You ordered, and he nodded slightly.

“Yes’m”

The stranger spoke then, pistol still planted firmly against the back of the offender, “And you’re gonna drop that weapon right here, Michael.” He ordered.

The worn colt clattered against the floor as he tossed it from his waist-height to the ground. The stranger took this as the opportunity to grab Michael by the collar and drag him out the front doors like a calf. You could see the durst stir from outside, but didn’t sense a further commotion. You sat idly in one of your stools, letting free an exasperated sigh as you threw your head down against the bar. You didn’t sign up for this when you found yourself out west.

You felt the stock of a pistol press into the meat of your upper arm, “Here. Keepsake. Hang it over the bar, Nellie.” The stranger spoke back to you, sliding the firearm across the worn mesquite bar top.

You raised a brow at him, more at the moniker, but also at his enthusiasm, “Nellie?”

“I had a horse like you once,” He released a breathy laugh between his words, maybe more nervous at the fact that he was comparing you to a horse, “ —even after she broke she was meaner than hell, but prettier than a mink stole. It’s a pleasure, Mrs–”

He thought it was foolish, comparing you to that mean old mare, but he didn’t have time to dote on it before you stopped him mid-sentence.

“Ms.” You corrected.

He couldn’t help the way his eyes flitted down to the ring on your finger, a single thin gold band that he dwelled on for just long enough for you to notice the cogs attempting to turn in his head.

“Dead.” You clarified, and he felt his heart contract as the word left your lips.

“Sorry to hear that.” He dips his head low, only now taking off the Stetson to greet you properly, “Name’s Munson. Edward Munson.”

You shook your head, forcing that still-bruising ache away to push a smile, “Ain’t no changin’, may God have willed it, Mr. Munson.”

He matched your smile, handsome cheeks creasing deeply around the curvature of his mouth, “Just Edward will do, ma’am.”

You pulled open the humidor, nimble fingers gracing along the stack of cigars beneath its lid. You chose the one with the cleanest-looking wrapping, one that looked sufficient enough as a thank-you, before offering it to him. He took it with a nod of his head, thick fingers wrapping around the base gently before pulling the kerosene vase near him. You watched the smoke roll from between his lips in a vapid crescendo, all too graceful and all too beautiful.

“I take it you're not a prospector?” You questioned him gently, voice sure, yet smaller than his resonating alto.

He laughed softly, the kind that heaves itself from the chest. Hearty, “No ma'am.”

“Then how does someone like you find yourself in a place like this?” You leaned an elbow on the bar, chin resting firmly in the warmth of your palm. You tried to ignore the sweat building between the flesh.

He looked down at the cigar between his fingers, twirling it around and feeling the paper it was rolled in, “Well I find I could ask you the same thing–”

The bell above the door was shrill in the staleness of the air, the resonance of the prior entanglement floating back up in a cloud in an attempt to re-settle over the old furniture like silt. The man that waded through its wake was tall, but not gangly, no, he did not share the demeanor of a scarecrow. He looked like he meant business.

You pulled your attention away from Edward for a brief moment, your eyes tearing from his personage and settling over the familiar face, “Hello, Sheriff.”

“Hello, ma’am.” The sheriff tipped his hat towards you in greeting, peering briefly at the man sat at the bar in front of you, “‘Ol Mudsill seems pretty shaken up, did somethin’ happen again?”

“Nothin that Edward here couldn’t handle.” You watched as his eyes flicked back and forth between you and Edward, like he was trying to piece a puzzle together but there were too many missing pieces, “Sheriff, this is Edward Munson, just unloaded from the train in Tucson.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” He reached a broad hand out to meet with the sheriff’s.

He accepted the offer, hands locked together in a firm grip, “Steve Harrington.”

“Pleasure.” Edward mentioned, politely.

“You have a place to stay, Edward?” He asked, hand still interlocked with his for a brief moment.

“Not as of yet. Know of anyone housing?”

“I’d say the Grand Hotel just across the way.”

The walk to the other side of the road is brief, but the sun beat down against Eddie’s back like a brand– the eyes that followed his movement, the hands that held the iron. The dust kicked up behind him and collected at the bases of his boots seemed to slow his stride as he sunk into its softness. He would have to have them polished tomorrow.

Steve turned to him, boots casting a hollow thud as they stepped up onto the decking of The Grand Hotel, “I am inclined to ask, what exactly happened back there?”

Eddie cleared his throat, righting himself, “Just some drunk. Got all riled up when she wouldn’t serve him and started waving his gun around.”

Steve shook his head, removing his hat to run a finger through the hair beneath it, sand ripplying against his scalp beneath his finger, “Christ, well, thank you for handling that for her. She’s been through too much this year.”

“She dealt with that right on her own, sheriff, the only part I took part in was getting him out.”

Their boots made a clunk against the sun-rotted wood on the staircase of The Grand Hotel, stairs creaking in affliction. There was a moment of silence between the two men, tense and fleeting, like there was still something to be said.

“Her husband died last spring.” Steve finally mentioned, understanding that it wasn’t his place to tell.

“She mentioned it.” Steve felt a relief at him knowing. He didn’t want to be the one to have to bear the shock of the statement.

He sighed before continuing, “Shot and killed on that bar floor. ‘Couple of bandoleros robbing the place.”

“Chist–- She seemed capable.” Eddie mentioned to him, raking his hair back under his hat. He felt the sweat bead around where the band met his skin.

“But still, no woman should ever have to bury her husband.” The sheriff said, reaching up to place nimble hands on his hips, “‘Specially not that young.”

The Grand Hotel is the essence of luxury in the west. Well, as luxurious as they could ship by train. Mahogany covered the expanse of the palace in a grandeur scale, only being broken by the pin-striped wallpaper covering the upper half of the wayne-scotted wall on the second floor. The taxidermied elk that hung above the bartop was shipped from the northern country, as were many of the axis and whitetail deer that hung on other walls.

This seemed to be the only place in this town that a fine layer of dust hadn’t settled over.

The velveteen nature of the drapery that hung over the stage to the left in a heavy abismality had remained nearly untouched by the traces of the desert around it. The gold of the drawstrings that held them back still contained the luster under the light.

He couldn’t help but to search for you in the madness of coiled, unabashedly tentative curls piled on the heads of the women in the large bustles that scraped between tables and each other. You looked like you belonged here, but he knew where you would be.

This night’s show had ended already, the lingering patrons also taking residence within the palace. The backing curtain drawn to a close and the actors retired to their quarters. Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus, overrun, overplayed. Edward thought about it. Of all the things in the world to know, why learn The Devil’s craft? He figured if it was the only thing left to know, he’d probably learn it, too.

There is a man of about five foot, ten inches sat at the bar, elbows rested against the glossy finish of the bartop. He is a burly man, Eddie can see that even from his sitting position. Steve guides Eddie towards him, taking his own seat next to him. Eddie stayed standing.

He looks back behind him, Steve muttering a few words that Eddie couldn't seem to hear over the drabble of lobby patrons, “Milt. County Marshall.”

He sticks a rough hand out, and Eddie takes it in a firm clasp.

“Edward Munson.” He shakes his hand once, Milt was a man of few words.

Steve buys Eddie a drink. A golden bourbon, not watered down like many of the bars out west did for reserve. Real golden bourbon. An import. A thanks.

They settled on a less-occupied corner of the palace, one that lacked faro tables and drunk patrons. On the opposite side of the baby grande that played anything its player knew how.

“Her husband was a good man.” Steve said between sips, sweat dripping down the crystalline glass like glitter, “Too good if you’d ask me. It’s what got him killed in the first place.”

He felt the pang in his chest, a tightening of muscles like tears, “It’s a shame. Pretty woman like that having to run that place by her lonesome.”

Steve chucked a bit in agreement, looking back over his shoulder like you would somehow appear, “That isn’t by our choice. She could have her pick if she wanted it.” He took another sip of his drink, and Eddie knew he was right. You were pretty, sullen skin like satin, hair like ribbon. He’d pay all of the money in his pocket just to touch.

“She doesn’t?” Eddie questioned, looking over to meet Steve’s eyes.

“I’d reckon not.”

He tried not to think about it, instead focusing on the piano. He watched the woman sat on top, the way the lace of her undergowns flowed upwards with the swing of her ankles. He watched the man play with skilled– albeit drunk– fingers.

This place was lively, perhaps a little too lively for the hour. People still yelling obscenities and praises over faro, ice in glasses. He felt the sweat from the glass beneath his fingers, and it matched the band of it building beneath his cap. His collar felt tight, like someone had been pulling it from the back. Shouldn’t it have gotten cooler when the sun went down?

“I’d reckon I’d better turn in for the night.” He said suddenly, placing the glass down on the bar in front of him, about a milliliter of fluid left watered-down and pooling at the bottom.

He ascended the mahogany staircase to his quarters, where he would retire for the night. However, as he stripped himself of his frock coat and underclothes, he couldn’t help to peer towards the luminescent glow coming from The Whispering Sands upper floor across the bend.

The curtains billowed outwards towards the street below, casting a light over the sand beneath it like a halo. White linen backlit by yellow butane lighting. And there you sat, all woman. He’d have half a mind to buy you some night clothes, and the other half a mind to burn them if you even had them.

He watched the way your skin rippled at your lower back as your bare skin pressed against your vanity stool, and the way your skin stretched over your shoulder blades as you pulled your hair to the side, raking through it with the brush in front of you. Your lips fell into a supple pout in concentration, and your lashes kissed your cheeks as you looked down. He could feel the windowsill digging into his palms, it grounded him– kept him from free-floating into the stagnant desert air.

The Grand Hotel is a loud place, and it never sleeps. The faro games did not stop on his account, and he didn’t expect them to. He closes his eyes, a glass breaks. A fight breaks out downstairs in a triad of commotion, shuffling, and yelling. This was the first time he had been in a bed in days, yet, it felt horrendously unceremonious. Sleep would not evade him in the way he willed it.

The flooring creaked, drunk patrons hit the wall outside of his quarters with intense, muffled thuds. Two people in the suit next to him were clearly of relation. He tried to ignore the way the oak headboard creaked and hit the wall in a rhythmic fashion. He tried his hardest not to think of you.

This place did not sleep, and he knew he wouldn’t either. So instead, Edward collected his hat and gun, pulling his trousers back on and lazily doing his shirt back up.

The night air had cooled some, less blistering than when the sun was out, yet it remained stale. He walked a bit, eyes still shimmering with the adjustment of light from the palace to the stark darkness of the desert. Light traveled a lot further here, darkness even further. The hum of the palace dimmed as the distance between them grew, air heavy like a barrier that stopped the noise from traveling.

He settled himself in the soft sand beneath him, back planted firmly against the knotty base of that twisted old ironwood. Someone else still awake at this unholy hour plucked delicately at old piano keys– these ones slightly more out of tune and reverberated off of the walls with a static hum that resonated through the otherwise empty streets. Sleep evaded in a thankless percussion.

And there you were.

He allowed his fingers to trail over the delicate expanse of your shoulder, brushing soft curls over its bridge. Soft presses of his mouth trailed from your year to the valley of your clavicle. He pressed your gowns down your shoulder as he went, the loose garment sliding off with ease.

In your glorious, supple nature. All woman all the time. Your hands, nimble and soft, were forceful against his chest as you pushed him back against plush white linens. Fingers as sure as death and as right as rain. The haze from the butane lamp cast a glow around you, baby hairs illuminating around your head like a halo.

Slowly now, but with an urgency, you right yourself in between his knees, undoing the buttons of his shirt in a way that made him want to beg just to feel a finger brush against his skin. He whined as he watched you with wide eyes.

His buckle made impressions on the inside of your thigh, a welcome breeze blew through the open window, gracing the overlaying flesh in a ritual of human intimacy. Songs of “Oh- Gods” and small giggles creating perfect songs- a gathering drum backing and an underlying hum of the desert around you. You could feel his hands on your back, fingers his fingers unwrapping you from linen bed sheet confines and introducing you to your own bedroom like an heirloom– a home in which you yourself haunted. The palms of your hands feeling the smooth surface of stone beneath the skin, and the dewey droplets from his own flesh dampened them with a waxy residue.

His fingers pressed firmly into the plush of your outer thighs, and your skin was soft. Calves skin, another import. Too soft for this place. Too soft for this sadness.

“So soft.” He whispered, voice a tenor to its usual pitch.

He watched where your bodies connected, the way you slid up and down on him, the way his fingers rippled your skin where they dug in, the gyration of your hips. Your hair is down this time, braid long since combed through, and the ends of it tickle as they brush against him.

“God, Nellie.” He isn’t particularly introspective or anything, but he does know that he’ll never feel something like this again.

Your tender touch a velvety petal trailed down the expanse of his chest where it heaves, nothing left to impede your touch. No overcoats, no holster or gun. Your hands like the claws of the bobcat pawing into the sand where his heart lay in an unmarked grave.

“Edward,” You whispered against the shell of his ear, his hands pressing the center of your back to bring you close against your chest. It was a plea. It read like a prayer. “Take me, please.”

His upward thrust slowed from long, meaningful bass crescendos to harsh uneven staccatos. Your breaths became erratic in nature to match. Your release washed over you like a storm, rolling and violent and all at once. His own followed suit.

Edward realized then that this was how the west would be won. If it wasn’t, he’d wage the war himself.

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things #stranger things s4 #eddie munson smut #eddie x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie x you #Spotify #outlaw!eddie #cowboy!eddie

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chaosgremlinmunson · 1 year ago

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STWG 01/12/2024

Prompt: proposal

Word count: 511

Pairing: Dustin/Suzie

Dustin was rushing Steve around the mall, they had a time limit to find some gifts and a deadline before they had to be to the airport to pick up Suzie and her family. Dustin was a nervous wreck, fiddling with tchoskeys he'd find, and bouncing around.

Eddie pulled Steve back quietly, his hand finding Steve's, “What's up with Henderson babe, he won't tell me anything, beyond that he needs tonight to be perfect.”

Steve smiled up at his husband and squeezed his hand, “He wanted it to be a surprise to everyone else, but he's proposing to Suzie tonight. That's why we have reservations for 30 at Enzo's, luckily enough they let us reserve the entire restaurant for just this party.” Steve was beaming looking over at Dustin who was a flurry of movement in the men's clothing department now picking out an ideal outfit. Steve shook his head and made his way to Dustin talking quickly, and Dustin set the clothes back with a grin on his face before pulling Steve into a tight hug.

An hour later they loaded the 12 bags of gifts into the car and made their way back to the flat Eddie and Steve had purchased earlier that year after their own wedding. Steve took Dustin into the bedroom and thirty minutes later they both emerged with Dustin in a suit jacket, and Steve dressed smartly beside him. Eddie had changed himself now aware of what was happening and made his way with them to the airport following behind in the conversion van they'd purchased which could easily seat all of Suzie's family.

Dustin got out of the car ahead of them at the entrance of the airport just as Suzie came walking out, and he grabbed her hugging her as he twirled her around, her giggles heard for the world.

They made their way to the hotel for the family to get ready as Steve and Eddie went to collect everyone else and get the restaurant set up for Dustin. He'd left Steve with instructions, but no one beyond he and Eddie were allowed to know what was happening, after getting everything organized Dustin and Suzie's family arrived.

Dustin took Suzie's hand once everyone was gathered, all of those he loved, and her people as well, bent to one knee and kissed her hand, “Suzie Bingham, I have loved you from the moment we met at camp. There has never been anyone else for me, I want to spend the rest of this life and the next by your side, taking this world by storm, and loving you until my last breath on this earth. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Suzie gasped, she pulled Dustin up to her, kissing him soundly and saying yes, he placed a silver band with moonstone on her finger, and they embraced as everyone around them celebrated.

Steve had tears flowing down his cheeks, his kids were growing up, and he had been blessed enough to witness the first of many proposals to come.

#stranger things #dustin henderson fic #dustin henderson #suzie bingham #proposal #stwgdailyprompt

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shanecompany · 9 months ago

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Mens Wedding Bands: 6 Essential Tips for Choosing Your Perfect Match

Shopping for a mens wedding band can be just as exciting as picking out an engagement ring — especially when you find a trusted fine jewelry brand that’s dedicated to offering you a personalized experience. While there are many options out there and a lot of factors to consider, finding a band that reflects your style and personality doesn’t have to be difficult. Consider these six essential tips as you reflect on the perfect mens wedding band for you.

Start with a Budget There are rings for men in every price range, so starting with a budget can help narrow down the field. Style, metal, and finish all affect the price of this important investment. There are no rules on how much you have to spend on the ring; it’s whatever you (and potentially your partner) are comfortable with spending on the ring. Select Your Ideal Style There are a few styles to choose from when selecting your wedding band. The classic band is an all-metal band, sometimes with a bit of texture, but oftentimes smooth. You can also choose diamond accents for an extra pop, a single diamond, or a gemstone for some personality and color. Determine Which Shape Is Right for You Next, you need to choose the shape of the ring. This is wholly a personal choice, though some styles may be more comfortable for you to wear than others. ● Rounded inside and out rings are the classic and most common shape. They’re comfortable to wear and have a timeless look. ● Flat wedding bands have a flat exterior and a rounded or flat interior. They’re a contemporary choice, and the style is rising in popularity. ● D-shaped or domed wedding rings have a flat inside and rounded outside, which can help give a closer fit to the finger. ● Beveled rings are between flat and domed rings, with three facets instead of a continuous outer surface. Choose a Metal to Rock Choosing a metal may be the most important part of choosing a ring. Some popular choices include: Precious Metals ● 14k White Gold ● 14k Yellow Gold ● 14k Rose Gold ● Platinum Alternative ● Titanium ● Zirconium ● Cobalt ● Tantalum Some fine jewelry brands may even offer exotic ring material choices such as meteorite, titanium, Damascus steel, or forged carbon fiber. Finish It Off Finally, choose a finish. High polish is common, giving your ring a highly reflective shine. A satin finish gives a similarly smooth surface but isn’t quite as reflective. You can also find other finishes, often textured, such as tree bark or sand. Hammered finishes make the ring look rugged, like it was forged with a hammer. Rock polishes are in the same vein but give more of a rocky appearance, which is less pronounced than a hammered appearance. Customize It to You You can choose a pre-made ring, or you can use all of the information above to create a custom ring that’s right for you. Choose whether you want gemstones or just metal, as well as your preferred style, materials, and more to make it truly unique. Find a trusted fine jewelry brand that can help you figure out what you want and what looks best, helping you get a fully customized ring you’ll love for a lifetime. Some of the best brands may even offer an online custom band builder to help you create a ring unique to you as you select the material, profile, dimension, finish, outside features, sleeves, and engraving. About Shane Co. Family-owned since 1929, Shane Co. makes expertly crafted fine jewelry to help everyone shine their brightest each day. Capture life’s most beautiful moments with jewelry designed in-house and hand-finished by on-site jewelers. You’ll discover truly unique pieces for a one-of-a-kind present, a milestone anniversary gift, a perfect engagement ring, or a beautiful gesture to yourself. Shane Co.’s passion for loose diamonds and colorful gemstones from around the world goes back four generations. The brand responsibly sources and hand-selects stones, cutting each to the highest standards. Their jewelry is not mass-produced and offers many options for customization, ensuring a truly personalized piece meant to last a lifetime. Shane Co. welcomes everyone and is proud to be your friend and jeweler.For jewelry crafted with the greatest care, including mens wedding bands, Shane Co. is your trusted source for fine jewelry. Find the perfect mens wedding band for you or create your own at https://www.shaneco.com/ Original Source: https://bit.ly/4bt4qHK

#men ring

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snowberry-crostata · 2 years ago

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Clothing of Skyrim, Part IV: Jewelry and Accessories

As a culture that takes great pride in its smithing traditions, jewelry is an essential component of Nordic dress. Earrings, necklaces, amulets, belts, and decorative hair combs are worn by all classes, though the quality of the accessories varies with the wealth of the owner.

Most women and some men wear one or more earrings. Women’s earrings are typically crafted in gold or silver, are often a gift from her parents, and can serve as goods for bartering if she falls on hard times. Beaded necklaces are another ubiquitous accessory. The beads are made of painted wood, cut and polished stone, metal, glass, or ceramic. Other materials that might be used include amber, gemstones, carved bone, animal teeth, and coins (particularly foreign ones). The necklaces are colorful and often appear random in nature, with beads having been accrued individually over time. Coastal communities, particularly in The Pale and Hjaalmarch, incorporate shells into their beadwork. While the beads can be chosen purely for aesthetics, oftentimes individual beads have a special meaning or commemorate a specific event in a person’s life. Several necklaces and amulets might be worn simultaneously.

Clasps and brooches are used to secure capes and cloaks, and vary from simple iron loops to elaborately wrought pieces made of precious metals and set with gems. Pairs of brooches, linked together with strings of beads or a decorative chain, are often seen as decoration, particularly for married women. These can also be seen securing fur cloaks across the chest of noblemen and Jarls.

Armbands are a piece of jewelry rarely seen on non-Nords. These metal bands sit on the upper arm and are often elaborately inscribed and decorated, or fashioned in a unique shape (such as an armband in the shape of a serpent). The armbands are not simply a fashion accessory; they are often given as gifts to represent an alliance between clans or as a gift between spouses (sometimes taking the place of a wedding ring).

As they are a devout people, Nords are often seen sporting tokens representing one or more Gods of the Nordic pantheon. These vary from simple talismans carved from wood or bone to elaborately embossed and jeweled amulets. The most popular amulets seen on Nords are those devoted to Kyne, Dibella and, of course, Talos. As the Cult of Mara has spread over the last century, the Imperial tradition of unmarried adults wearing amulets of Mara when seeking a partner has gained popularity.

Hair combs, sticks, and clasps are another essential accessory for both men and women, as many Nords follow the custom of wearing their hair long. Ties, beads, metal accents, and feathers are used to accessorize more elaborate hairstyles.

Belts range from practical to decorative. Flat or braided leather and tablet-woven belts are most commonly seen on everyday clothing. Nobles and Jarls often have belts fashioned of fine leather with embellishments like tassels, coins, and buckles in steel, gold, and silver. Warriors are often seen sporting wide, heavy leather belts, suitable for supporting the weight of weapons and armor. A simple cloth or leather purse is attached to the belt, along with keys, combs, talismans, pouches and bags, drop spindles, knives, and any other day-to-day necessities.

#headcanons #clothing #nords #my stuff #skyrim #clothing of skyrim

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eva-knits12 · 1 year ago

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Domestic Bliss

Trigger warning: chronic illness, soft ransom, wedded bliss, pregnancy, babies, fluff

Summary: You and Ransom enjoy wedded bliss.

This is a part 3 to The Daily Battle

It had been three months since you became Mrs. Hugh Ransom Drysdale. Ransom is sitting in bed next to you, reading his New Yorker magazine, and sipping his coffee while he waits for you to open you're eyes. You had been feeling extra tired and nauseous lately, and it took your doctor to confirm that yes, you were indeed pregnant.

"Ransom, I'm going to throw up. Can you carry me to the bathroom, please?" You said, tiredness still in your voice. Ransom picks you up and carries you bridal style and places you in front of the toilet, and you spill your guts into it.

You and Ransom had discovered that you were pregnant weeks ago. You two were planning on starting a family a year from now, when you were feeling even better, but fate threw you both a curveball. You conceived on your honeymoon, during a night of passion.

Ransom is slowly rubbing soothing circles on your back, and when you're done throwing up, he immediately gets your toothbrush ready. You also wash your face, and then tell Ransom to leave the bathroom, you had to pee really bad. You relieved yourself, and wash your hands, and then throw up again for the second time.

Ransom is in the kitchen, making you some dry toast, and some peppermint tea to help cure your nausea. Ransom had a wide smile on his face, knowing that he hit the jackpot with you, especially with his crazy family and all.

Your aunt wondered why his parents weren't there, and it was after the stunt they pulled at the monthly Sunday dinner at Harlan's two years ago that Ransom had officially disowned them. He felt a sense of peace by going no contact with them, and you slowly started to get better. Two years ago, your MS had progressed which was causing your pain and your fatigue to get worse than it was, but with the new medication, physical therapy, and regular doctor visits you were able to walk down the aisle without the aid of one of your mobility devices. You were determined to walk down the aisle, no matter how long it took. You finally reached your goal this year, and you were also able to dance with your husband.

You wore a simple, white wedding gown with flats underneath because high heels just weren't a part of your life anymore, no matter how much you loved shoes. Ransom wore a simple gray suit with a simple button down shirt that was accessorized by a simple purple tie, with a matching pocket square and gold cufflinks.

Your hair was done in a simple bun that sat low on your head, and framed the back of your head. Your makeup was simple, and you wore a simple strand of pearls with gold beads on it, along with a pair of simple pearl studs and a small pair of diamond studs in your second piercing. Ransom's wedding ring was a simple gold band, while yours had diamonds on it. It was your mother's wedding ring, and Ransom had it resized. You were willed it, because your mother died from breast cancer before the wedding. Ransom thought that getting it resized, and having you wear it, would be a great keepsake for you. If he couldn't get it resized, he was going to put the set on a gold chain, and you could wear her rings as a necklace.

Ransom twirled you on the dancefloor with your dress twirling along with it.

Your wedding day was amazing and beautiful, and the months that followed had brought you both nothing but bliss.

"Good morning, sweetheart. Are you feeling better?" asked a concerned Ransom.

"I'll feel better after I have some toast and some tea," you said. Ransom guided you down to the chair where your breakfast sat.

"Just a few more weeks, and this morning sickness will be behind you," said Ransom.

"I'm sick all day, whoever named it morning sickness must have been a man." you said, getting a laugh out of Ransom.

You and Ransom talk and eat your breakfast. You and Ransom discuss names, and the theme of the nursery. Ransom was going to turn the guest room into a gym so that you could do your yoga and do your physical therapy exercises, but that plan went out the window now that a baby was on the way.

You both decided that theme of the nursery would be a peaceful nature theme, so Ransom and you look at Pinterest and Google and various sites to get ideas for the nursery's nature theme.

You decide on a name. Harlan Albert if it's a boy, Katherine Eve if it's a girl.

Your aunts want to plan you a baby shower, and your not even done with your first trimester yet.

Ransom sits there quiet for minute, a smile on his face.

"Honey, you are my wife. I love you so much. You have given me gifts that are priceless. You are now with child, and that's the most precious of gifts. I never thought I would find love and happiness, and here I am. When you first told me about your illness, that made me fall in love with you even more. You have strength and courage that I admire, and I will never have. We've been through thick and thin, because we had to. I wouldn't have this any other way."

Ransom remembered the very words that were thrown at Harlan's monthly Sunday dinner. Ransom still feels the same way as he looks at you in awe and with love. What he said has not changed at all. Not having to deal with his messed up family anymore was more peaceful, and Ransom never knew peace existed until he cut ties with his toxic parents, and the toxic family members that came with them.

You cry at Ransom's wonderful and loving words. Ransom gets up and clears the table, placing a loving kiss to your forehead.

You had an ob/gym appointment later that morning, where you would be discussing what your plan was for the next six months. Your neurologist would be in via video call, and so would your pain specialist. You couldn't take your medications right now because of the baby.

Ransom drives you to your ob/gyn appointment, and he finds a seat in the waiting room, with his crossword and his mechanical pencil underneath his arm. Ransom settles you in, and pulls out your book, giving you a loving kiss to your cheek.

The nurse calls and Ransom joins you in the exam room. The ultrasound tech looks around, detects something that immediately concerns both her the doctor. The doctor takes one look and detects two heartbeats. The doctor reveals that you're having twins, just like your mother predicted years ago.

"Honey, how are we going to handle two babies? I'm just getting used to this," you said to Ransom. He immediately detects the anxiety in your voice.

"Sweetheart, we'll get through this. We've been through hell and back. This is just small fries compared to the bigger picture. In fact, I always pictured two kids, and we're getting them in one go." Ransom couldn't hide the excitement.

Ransom kisses you on the nose, and that gets a giggle out of you. Ransom immediately springs into action when you two get back home, looking up the safest cribs and car seats while you sleep next to him. If you thought MS wore you out, pregnancy was a rude awakening with it. It seemed that you were more tired now than you were when your MS progressed.

Your ob/gyn had managed to video call your neurologist and your pain specialist. They agreed to discontinue the medication because of the babies, so they suggested to keep the physical therapy regimen, and to help manage your pain and fatigue, it was important to get as much rest as possible, until you able to start the medication regimen again. You made an appointment with your neurologist, with Ransom taking notes in his multiple sclerosis journal in order to help you navigate having a chronic illness while you were pregnant.

The next several months seemed to fly right by. Ransom and you had bought the cribs, hired an interior decorator to design and put the nursery together. You bought the car seats, the changing tables, the diapers, the wipes, and all the other baby basics.

Your aunts threw you a baby shower, and you even placed a photo of your mother and your grandmothers at the shower. You got onesies, bibs, clothes, bottles, pacifiers, etc. You even knitted your babies two blankets and two sweaters, one sweater and blanket was blue, the other blanket and sweater was pink.

You and Ransom were having a boy and a girl. It was just like Ransom had pictured. He just wanted you to be healthy and the babies to be healthy. Ransom wouldn't let you get on your feet, or go anywhere, even to the bathroom without his assistance. If you got really bad, you had to use your mobility devices.

On the day you went into labor, Ransom rushed you to the hospital, his nervousness was showing. He was more anxious than you were, and you were the one who had to push the babies out. You give birth to a healthy, beautiful baby boy that you named Harlan Albert (after his great grandfathers) and a healthy, beautiful baby girl, Katherine Eve (named after her great grandmothers).

Ransom looked at you and the twins, and he couldn't be more prouder. He was a proud father who would do anything for his twins. He was a proud husband and a proud father would do anything to protect his family. Ransom fell in love with you even more that day, and he never thought that falling in love with someone even more was possible.

#ransom drysdale #pregnancy #morning sickness #fluff #chronic illness #multiple sclerosis

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malanijewelers1 · 2 years ago

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Shop stylish Mens Designer Bands at Malani Jewelers to accent a chic of class and elegance in your style

Looking for exceptional designer bands for men online? Check out Malani Jewelers’ exquisite collection of mens designer bands at the best price. Stylish Mens Designer Bands are a popular accessory for men who want to add a touch of sophistication to their wardrobe. These bands are often made from high-quality materials such as gold, silver, or platinum, and are designed to be both fashionable and functional. They come in a variety of styles and designs, making it easy to find the perfect band to suit any occasion or outfit.

One of the most popular styles of Mens Designer Bands is the classic wedding band. These bands are typically made from precious metals such as gold or platinum, and are often embellished with diamonds or other precious stones. Our unique and matchless designs are a timeless choice for any man, and are perfect for both formal and casual occasions. Another popular style of men's designer bands is the matte polished ring. These rings feature a flat surface that can be engraved with a personal or family crest, making them a unique and personal accessory. For those who want a more modern and trendy look, there are also men's designer bands that feature unique and innovative designs. For example, some bands feature intricate patterns or textures, while others may incorporate unusual materials such as wood or carbon fiber. These bands are perfect for men who want to make a bold statement with their accessories.

When shopping for Mens Designer Bands, it is important to consider the size and width of the band., If you need great impact on the overall look and feel of the accessory. In addition to their aesthetic appeal, Mens Designer Bands also have practical uses. For example, a classic wedding band can symbolize a lifelong commitment, while a designer engravable ring can be used to identify a family lineage or affiliation. Whatever the purpose, designer bands are a stylish and sophisticated accessory that can elevate any outfit. Add a touch of luxury and sophistication to their wardrobe. With a wide range of styles and designs to choose from, it is easy to find the perfect band to suit any personal style or preference.

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bukopedia · 1 month ago

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Men's Fashion Accessories Shopping: Elevate Your Style with the Right Add-Ons

In the world of men’s fashion accessories are the finishing touch that can transform a good outfit into a great one. From sleek watches to statement belts, the right accessories not only enhance your style but also showcase your personality. Whether you’re shopping for a formal occasion, a casual outing, or just everyday wear, understanding the key accessories and how to style them is essential.

In this blog, we’ll explore the must-have men’s fashion accessories, where to shop, and tips to elevate your wardrobe effortlessly.

Why Accessories Matter in Men’s Fashion

Accessories are more than just practical items—they are a reflection of your taste and attention to detail. Here’s why they matter:

Complete the Look: Accessories tie an outfit together, adding finesse and character.

Showcase Your Style: From bold and trendy to minimal and classic, accessories let you express your individuality.

Functionality Meets Fashion: Items like bags, sunglasses, and watches combine utility with style.

The right accessories can give you confidence, whether you’re dressing for work, a date, or a special occasion.

Top Must-Have Men’s Fashion Accessories

Watches

A timeless watch is a cornerstone of men’s fashion. From classic leather strap watches to modern smartwatches, there’s a timepiece for every occasion:

Formal Events: Opt for sleek leather or metal strap watches in silver or gold tones.

Casual Wear: Go for sporty chronographs or minimalist designs.

Tech Lovers: Smartwatches combine style and functionality, keeping you connected.

Belts

Belts are both functional and stylish. A good belt complements your outfit and adds structure:

Formal Attire: Stick to leather belts in black, brown, or tan for a sophisticated look.

Casual Outfits: Explore woven or fabric belts in bold colours and patterns for a relaxed vibe.

Sunglasses

Protect your eyes while staying stylish with the right pair of sunglasses:

Classic Aviators: Timeless and perfect for both formal and casual looks.

Wayfarers: A versatile choice for modern outfits.

Round Frames: Trendy and perfect for a retro, fashion-forward style.

Choose frames that suit your face shape to make the most impact.

Bags

A stylish bag not only carries your essentials but also enhances your look:

Leather Briefcases: Perfect for professionals and formal occasions.

Backpacks: Modern, minimalist designs are ideal for casual and work settings.

Crossbody Bags: A practical and trendy option for everyday wear.

Ties and Pocket Squares

When dressing for formal events, ties and pocket squares are essential accessories that show your attention to detail:

Ties: Experiment with silk ties, knitted ties, or bow ties to match your suit.

Pocket Squares: Add a splash of colour or a subtle contrast to elevate your blazer or suit jacket.

Jewellery

Men’s jewellery has evolved beyond watches and wedding bands. Modern accessories include:

Bracelets: Leather, metal, or beaded bracelets add an understated touch.

Rings: Minimalist bands or signet rings can make a bold statement.

Necklaces: Simple chains or pendants complement casual looks.

Hats and Caps

Headwear is perfect for adding style and personality:

Beanies: Great for winter months and street-style looks.

Caps: Baseball caps add a relaxed, sporty vibe.

Fedoras or Flat Caps: Elevate formal and smart casual outfits with a vintage flair.

Shoes and Socks

Shoes are the foundation of any outfit, and the right socks complete the look:

Classic Brogues or Oxfords: Ideal for formal attire.

Loafers or Sneakers: A versatile choice for casual wear.

Patterned Socks: Add personality with fun colours and subtle prints.

Where to Shop for Men’s Fashion Accessories

Online Retailers: Websites like ASOS, Mr Porter, and Amazon offer a vast selection of men’s accessories with the convenience of home delivery.

High-Street Stores: Brands like Zara, H&M, and Topman offer affordable and trendy pieces.

Luxury Brands: If you’re looking to invest, brands like Gucci, Burberry, and Hugo Boss offer timeless and premium accessories.

Specialist Boutiques: Explore local boutiques or men’s accessory stores for unique and handcrafted pieces.

Department Stores: Stores like Selfridges, John Lewis, and Debenhams have curated collections for all budgets and styles.

Tips for Accessorizing Like a Pro

Keep It Balanced: Avoid overloading your outfit—less is often more when it comes to accessories.

Match Your Metals: Coordinate metals (like silver or gold) in your watches, rings, and belt buckles for a cohesive look.

Invest in Quality: High-quality accessories last longer and elevate your overall style.

Complement Your Outfit: Ensure your accessories enhance rather than overpower your clothing.

Experiment with Trends: Don’t be afraid to try new trends, like layered necklaces or bold socks, while staying true to your personal style.

Final Thoughts

Men’s fashion accessories are the ultimate tools to express individuality and elevate your wardrobe. From timeless pieces like watches and belts to trendy hats and jewellery, the right accessories can completely redefine your style. So, whether you’re shopping online or browsing through stores, invest in quality, experiment with trends, and most importantly—wear what makes you feel confident.

#fashion #fashion accessories #mens fashion #mens clothing

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