#I know this has been said before but I feel like every once in a while it needs to be said again

[themultifanshipper]

Hi! I love your fics sm

Please don't feel obliged if this makes you uncomfortable, but I was wondering if you wouldn't mind writing something where reader has vaginismus and the driver is so sweet about it :3

For Max or Oscar (but I don't really mind any of them tbh)

Max was the best boyfriend anyone could ask for. He was incredibly patient and understanding. Frustratingly so. 

Warnings: smut, talk about vaginismus, oral, fingering, improper medical procedures 

Disclaimer: people with vaginismus have different experiences with the condition, this fic is vaguely based on a friend of mine's experience, do NOT do what is described in this fic, if you are seeking treatment then talk to a doctor because this is NOT the proper treatment method IT IS FICTION… that being said, enjoy the filth. 

You'd been scared to tell Max about your condition at first. 

All your other relationships had fizzled out because the guys were either too impatient or annoyed, or disgusted with you. 

Which is why you expected Max to be the same. But you couldn't have been more wrong. 

You sat him down one day, texting him beforehand to warn him that you had something serious to talk to him about. 

He tapped his fingers on the table while you made some coffee. 

Once the steaming mugs were in front of you, you just came out with it. 

“I have a condition, called Vaginismus” 

Max just blinked, which made you smile at his clueless face. 

“Do you know what that is?” you asked. 

“Uhh… no” he scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment. He didn't like not knowing things. 

“That's okay. It's quite rare. It's a condition that makes sex painful, or at least difficult if it’s not treated properly” 

He nodded. 

“And basically it's an involuntary response to penetration. The muscles contract and it can be painful…” 

His brows furrowed. 

“So how do you… do you have sex?” 

You huffed out a laugh. “Well not since we've been together, but yes I have had sex before, but most of the time it didn't work” 

He blushed. “And have you  tried, you know… treatments?” 

You took a sip of coffee before answering. 

“I started. Sometimes it works, but it takes time and effort.” 

 “Okay…” he muttered. “So it's just penetration that is painful?” 

You nodded. 

“So I can eat you out?” 

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. 

“I- yes. Yes, I suppose you can.” 

He got up and walked over to you and held out his hand. 

“What, now?” you asked incredulously. 

He shrugged. 

“Unless you don't want to?” 

You were taken aback by his attitude. 

“That's it? You don't want to know more? You're not… disgusted?” 

He stroked your cheek with his thumb. 

“Why would I be disgusted. It's not like you can control it. As long as you are happy, I am happy. And if you want to try treatments, that's up to you. I'm not going to force you. I have a fully functioning hand, and as long as I can bring you pleasure in other ways, I'm good” 

Tears sprung to your eyes and he melted, getting down on his knees and stroking your thighs. 

“What is it? Did I say something wrong?” 

You shook your head. “You're the first man to not react badly. You really are the one” 

He blushed even darker at that. 

“Well let's see if I can make you come with my mouth, then you can decide” 

It was your turn to blush. He led you to the bedroom and lay you down on the bed, dragging your clothes off and admiring your body. 

“Fucking perfect. Can't wait to devour you” 

You scoffed at his cliché choice of words and he smirked. 

He spread your legs, licking his lips as he gazed at your already glistening cunt. It was all his, and he was going to prove to you he was worth it. 

He licked a stripe up your folds and you shivered. 

His eyes were on yours the whole time, studying your reactions, every twitch of your hips for any indication that he was doing a good job. 

He brought his hand up to thumb at your clit lazily while he took a quick breather. 

“Wait, I can't finger you can I?” 

You blinked at him. 

“Uhh… not at the moment, no” 

He nodded, taking it in his stride. “What about my tongue?” 

You groaned and he smirked up at you, proud that he was getting you this flustered already.

“Yes, your tongue should be fine” 

He dove back in gleefully, happy to have new information. 

You felt his tongue prod at your entrance and you gasped. 

He mistook that for discomfort so he retreated. 

"No” you begged, your hands going to thread in his hair to hold him there. “Keep going, it feels good” 

Max hummed and continued, pushing his tongue further inside you, and his nose bumped your clit every time.

He quickly figured out how to use that to his advantage, and he rubbed it against your clit with purpose every time he pushed his tongue inside you. 

You took an embarrassingly short time to come after that. 

Once Max had figured out the fastest way to make you come, it became a daily ritual. 

And the absolute sweetheart was doing as much research as he could to understand your condition, and how to treat it. 

He didn’t push you though. If you wanted to seek treatment that was your business.  

So he waited, and was perfectly happy to eat you out every day for the rest of his life if that's what was required of him. 

But a few weeks later you sat him down again. This time on the couch, and you were next to him with your legs over his lap as you chatted. 

“So I have some news…” you were looking at him with a shy smile, almost looking guilty about something. 

When you didn't elaborate he tried to diffuse the tension. 

“Well I know for a fact you're not pregnant. Unless you found another way to get my sperm and babytrap me”  

You slapped his chest and giggled. 

“No, Max. Although that is a great idea, thanks for the suggestion.” 

He laughed and leaned his head on the back of the sofa. 

“What I wanted to tell you is that I think I'm ready for the next step.” 

He frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, up until now my condition has been mostly situational. A stress response, and sex has always stressed me out, for obvious reasons.” 

His hand was stroking your leg soothingly, which encouraged you to carry on. 

“I've been working on this since we got together. And I feel very at ease when I'm with you. And when I'm not with you…” you blushed and looked at your hands, suddenly shy. 

“Hey. Tell me. What about when I'm not here?” 

You looked up at him. 

“I've been fingering myself” 

You bit your lip, waiting for his response but he just stared at you. 

“You-" you could tell he was picturing it, although his expression remained mostly blank. “Okay…” 

“So really you're supposed to get these dilators, right? But I figured, fingers do the exact same job, and they're free. So I started out with one. And you're supposed to do it for like 20 minutes a day or something. And it has to be snug but not tight or painful, and when it feels fine you move up a size. So I'm now up to two fingers, which is fine, so I need a size up, but three fingers is way too much so I'd need someone with bigger fingers than me…” 

Max blinked. 

“You see where I'm going with this?” you asked encouragingly. 

“No?” Max was lost. All he could picture was you sticking your fingers up yourself for 20 minutes a day while he was out. 

You sighed. “Your two fingers are bigger than my two fingers, but smaller than three. So… I need you to finger me” 

Max just blinked again. 

It took most of your willpower to not slap him 

“Stop fucking blinking and say something” 

“I… are you sure it's safe? I mean you're supposed to do it with like proper equipment and-” 

“Max I swear to god if you start Maxplaining my own treatment to me I am going to lose it” 

He promptly shut up. 

“So we are going to go into the bedroom, and you are going to stick your fingers in me for twenty minutes. Can you do that?” you batted your eyelashes at him. 

“Yes” he rasped, and you giggled at him before leading him over to the bedroom. 

He lubed up his fingers, sliding one in to test the waters, and see your reaction. 

You nodded at him and he slipped the second one in. 

You immediately felt the difference with your own. 

It was a stretch, but not painful whatsoever.

And Max was already hard in his pants. 

This wasn't about him though, this was a medical procedure to help you out, nothing more. 

He knew what to do. 

He moved his fingers gently in circles, just like he'd read about on all those forums, towards the front, the back and to the sides. 

You looked at him in awe. 

“Max… how do you know what you're supposed to do?” 

He smiled gleefully at you. “I've done a lot of research” 

You melted into the bed, doing your breathing exercises as he continued to stretch you out. 

Your alarm rang when the twenty minutes were up, and you were almost disappointed. 

Despite it not being sexual in nature, you kind of liked being this close to your boyfriend. 

It felt very intimate. 

You did the same thing four days in a row, and it became a routine for Max, because every time it was over, he ate you out, and then you gave him a blowjob. 

Which is why when you told him you were moving up to three of your fingers and didn't need him for the next few days, he honestly felt like you'd put him on a sex ban. 

But when you explained to him that that just meant you didn't need him for the medical part, but he could still put two fingers inside you while he ate you out, his spirits were lifted instantly. 

A week later, it was time for three of his fingers, and that was a real stretch. 

It wasn't painful, but as soon as the third slipped in, you felt full. 

Your breathy gasp alerted Max. 

“All okay?” 

You nodded. 

“More than okay… I feel so… full.” 

Max twitched in his pants. 

“I suppose that's normal… my fingers are pretty big” 

You hummed and Max started the usual exercise. 

Except this time, it felt different. It felt almost… pleasurable. 

As it went on, Max noticed you were getting progressively wetter.  

After about 5 minutes of trying to hold in your noises, you let out the tiniest whimper. 

Max stopped his movements and you let out a soft whine. 

Max raised an eyebrow at you. 

“Did that feel good?” 

You huffed “Too good. I think you're gonna make me come like that if you carry on for much longer.” 

Max bit his lip. “I suppose that's good. It means you're relaxed” 

He continued the slow circles and you let out a shaky exhale.  

“Don't keep your noises in” he piped up. “It will just make you tense up. Let them out” 

You couldn't go on like this, it felt too good to not take advantage of it.

You glanced at your phone. 

12 minutes left. 

“Max, if you can make me come just like this in the next twelve minutes I'll let you come on my tits” 

Well with an offer like that how could he possibly refuse. 

“Can I use my mouth as well?” 

You looked at the time again. 11 minutes 37 seconds… 

“I suppose” 

His tongue ghosted over your clit as his fingers moved in their usual slow circles. 

You moaned and he smirked. 

Some medical procedure this was shaping up to be. 

He crooked his fingers upwards just the slightest bit, and the noise you let out was confirmation that he wouldn't need the full 11 minutes. 

You came with 7 minutes left on the timer. 

And you were so relaxed he swore he could have slipped a fourth finger in, but he didn't. That would be abusing your trust, and he was determined to be patient and see this through to the end. 

After another couple of weeks you deemed yourself finally ready. You'd done 4 of your own fingers, then 4 of his larger fingers. And you came every single time. 

And Max had bought you a small-ish dildo to make properly sure you were ready. 

He was away for a race weekend when you used it, but you sent him plenty of proof that you could take it easily, and he was very grateful. 

When he got back, you had a candle lit dinner, wine and all, before he took you to bed. 

You were eternally grateful to Max for sticking this out with you, it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for you, even if it did just involve sticking fingers inside you. 

When Max finally lined himself up with your entrance, he was so nervous he felt like a virgin again. 

When he pushed in it was like the stars had aligned. Everything just felt right.

You had tears in your eyes (of happiness) and you pulled him down for a passionate kiss. 

He rolled his hips and you moaned into each other's mouths at the incredible feeling of finally being joined like this. 

Max lasted about 3 minutes he was so excited. Bless him. 

But he made up for it in the best way. 

He proposed, that night, while you both sat on the balcony in the warm Monaco air as the lights of the harbour twinkled below you. 

Yeah, he was the one. 

[messenger-of-babel]

Bruce Wayne Who...

Summary: Thoughts about your relationship with Bruce Wayne.

Word Count: 1.6K

Notes: So Sorry for the longgg absence. I won't explain it too much but I've had serious health complications that require me to go to the doctor weekly and I've been struggling with that a lot. Half of the Christmas event unpublished stories are done- but I don't want to upload them half baked. I will be uploading them around my original schedule of normal fics, so I'm so sorry this all happened while I was doing that Christmas Countdown. So if you see unseasonal content- that is why. I will ask to refer to the notes section of some of the fics before this. I will be trying to deliver more- please be patient and thank you for reading! (I'm working on my requests next so you'll seen them soon <333)

Love RiRi <3

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Thinking about a Bruce Wayne who…

had sworn off dating. Being a vigilante was enough work on his plate, and he had already involved too many innocent people. He had already made too many people join him in on his night life, like he was a black hole that sucked in anything around it and slowly suffocated its prey. The playboy image also helped him keep his cover up. After all, who could dare point a finger at Bruce Wayne and claim him to be the Bat, when he was spending the night at the Iceberg Lounge? How could he be the one tracking down criminals from Arkham when he had a supermodel on his arm at the mayor’s winter gala?

Thinking about a Bruce Wayne who…

Has to throw that all out of the window the moment that he catches sight of you. When he meets your eyes for only a moment across the sea of people at the Gotham Museums grand reopening, to which he had donated personal items of his family's. His heart lurches in his chest and adrenaline courses through his veins like he's in a fight. You look away after a moment, but he stays fixed on your form as you disappear to talk to some of the curators. Bruce takes a deep sip of his champagne; mind muddled suddenly and distracted the rest of the evening as Alfred drives him home.

Thinking about a Bruce Wayne who...

Still doesn't think that it's love that has him. He's a stoic man deep down, with the facade of a charming smile and a friendly arm around the shoulders. He doesn't consider it love when he goes out as Bruce Wayne more often, taking impromptu visits to the museum once he discovered that you were an employee there. He doesn't even call it infatuation when Alfred points it out to him. It was merely him making sure that the billionaire image remained intact, and that he was in the public eye.

Thinking about a Bruce Wayne who…

Eventually caves and admits his feelings to himself, head in his hands one night. His skin is a storyboard of scars that criss cross lines across his chest and arms. He had tried to brush it off originally as just his playboy persona finding a good alibi for future reference, but late-night thoughts on rooftops had cleared his head. This was the true him that liked you, the scarred black hole that was undoubtedly going to try to drag you in and suck you of what light you had. He spends the night with an anguished heart, trying so hard to contain the ache that had begun to settle there every time he thought about not approaching you.

Thinking about a Bruce Wayne who...

Practically fawns when he catches you at work, stumbling over his words as he catches you at the end of your shift. He regains his composure and manages to ask you out quietly, giving you an out if you said no. He felt like some teenager, red faced and anxious. He had fought the Joker countless times, stared down Bane and left with his ribs beaten blue. Yet this somehow made his hands shake, hiding in his pockets. The anxiety all but evaporates when you give him a chance, letting him know your address and to pick you up at six that evening. His head felt light, like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. His breath heaves out in a sigh, and he nods, agreeing and promising to send a car around at six. He left the museum that day grinning ear to ear, and this time it wasn't his persona doing the smiling for him.

Thinking about a Bruce Wayne who…

Spoils you as much as he can when you give him the green light. After you've tested the waters and have been dating for a few months, he's enamoured. He bought your apartment for you outright and changed the deed to be in your name, so you never had to worry about rent. Bruce doesn’t want anything in return, he just wants you to be safe and happy. Not that he's really been a man of words, the written mess of symbols and letters clog up his throat when he tries to speak. No, he'd rather explain his affection for you in deep stares and gentle hands on your shoulder of back. He loves that you aren’t deceived by the callouses or the rough texture of his palm. He loves that despite the nicks and scars and occasional bruises on his knuckles that you don’t shy away from the coarseness that emanates from him, your body leans in and relaxes instead. He loves that you make him feel softer than he is.

Thinking about a Bruce Wayne who...

Can't bring himself to tell you that he's Batman but wishes to do so desperately when he sees you lying next to him in bed. You're still fast asleep wrapped in the sheets, arm tucked under the pillow as he gazes down at you. He wonders what you'd do if he shook you awake gently, if your nose would scrunch up as you blinked the sleep out of your eyes. If you would be more irritated or concerned at being roused from sleep. He wants to show you all of him. After all, you're the person that's come closest to seeing the real Bruce he thought he lost years ago. Yet when he thinks too hard on it, he feels sick, like he's leading you on. He can't tell you who he is on nights you aren't tucked in next to him, when he's out on the street. He can't tell you that everyone in this family is in on one big secret, and that there are shared glances and knowing looks traded behind your back. He feels like a liar.

He is one.

He wants to not lie anymore, to involve you into his fold. He had come close once, before Dick pulled him aside and told him it was probably for the best that he didn't. But Dick wasn't here now, was he? He could just reach out and-

His hand hovers as he reaches for you. No, Dick was right. This was for the best.

So, he lies down next to you again and drapes an arm over your middle, convincing himself to sleep it off.

Thinking about a Bruce Wayne who...

Considers keeping you in his life forever once the tabloids start running marriage speculations about you both. You've been dating for a while and recently have been out of the public eye. Of course, you were just sick, but a few weeks off were enough to substantiate rumours of eloping and a honeymoon. He can’t deny that he thought of it when he made public appearances, or when he was out in the shopping district and his eyes lingered on the engagement rings just a tad too long. Yet he is the same Bruce who shoves that feeling down deep inside him so it can't surface again or bother him at the board meeting he has in thirty minutes.

Thinking about a Bruce Wayne who...

Leaves said meeting early to find you at work, taking your lunch break. Who pulls you outside and tells you he has something incredibly important to tell you with a slightly wild look in his eye. You can't help but be taken aback, wondering what's gotten the ineffable billionaire agitated. You think of a million scenarios. He needs to go into witness protection? He got involved with gangs? threats on his life again? he's being blackmailed? Blood money? He leaves as soon as he came, driving himself back once telling you to meet him at the manor that night after work. Immediately after work. He drives back to the manor with his pulse thrumming against the skin of his neck and fingers tapping anxiously on the steering wheel. he was going to tell you. He was going to risk everything on a gamble, and he couldn’t help but feel the pit beneath his feet trying to swallow him whole at the implications of it.

Thinking about a Bruce Wayne who...

Jumps up from the sitting room the moment you step in the door, hands jittery despite the glass of scotch he had been sipping. Whose nerves get the better of him in that one moment despite spending years training away that fear. He was fear now, he was the Batman. But in this moment, he felt more man that he had felt in a long, long time.

Thinking about a Bruce Wayne who...

Feels like he could collapse as you listen to his admission. He's placed all the cards in your hands, enough to extort him forever, expose him and his identity. Make the world crumble around his ears in such a dramatic fashion that the Justice Leage wouldn't even be able to save him from it. He wasn't just gambling with his identity, he played with the lives and identities of everyone he was connected to, every Robin he had raised and trained. So, when you hold those cards he gave you and fold them to your chest, swearing to never tell a soul, the breath leaving his lungs makes him feel boneless.

Thinking about a Bruce Wayne who...

Thinks for the first time, that there was a way to unite the Bat with Bruce Wayne. That when he goes to hug you, he knows that he risked it all on that gamble, but it paid off in ways that he couldn’t have imagined.

and that was enough for him.

[wolvietxt]

𝓯orever and 𝓪lways.

pairing : logan howlett x fem!reader warnings : light angst, crying, fluff, overall chaos, insecurities, hurt / comfort summary : it was finally you and logan’s wedding day, with the pressure mounting and wade’s constant input, you were finding it hard to not let your insecurities get the better of you. wc : 1.3k

it started chaotic, of course. you’d expected nothing less with wade as logan’s best man. he’d been milling around the bridal suite for the past half hour, offering unsolicited advice and increasingly absurd ideas for how to make your grand entrance memorable. currently, he was debating the merits of pyrotechnics versus smoke bombs.

logan must’ve been losing his mind in the groom’s suite, but you hadn’t seen him since the morning. something about tradition, he’d said with a lopsided grin, his hand brushing your cheek. you hadn’t even responded, just kissed him back with the kind of desperation that left your chest aching after he left.

now, though, the reality of what you were about to do started to sink in. a low, rolling wave of panic settled in your stomach, twisting and tightening with every passing second. the dress suddenly felt too tight, the room too warm, and your pulse too fast. you were getting married. to logan. it wasn’t that you didn’t love him - you did, fiercely, wholly - but the weight of forever pressed against your ribs.

“i think i’m gonna be sick,” you muttered, bracing yourself against the vanity. your reflection stared back at you, wide-eyed and pale.

wade, for once, didn’t crack a joke. his brow furrowed as he stepped closer. “oh, no. cold feet? or, like, bad shrimp in the hors d'oeuvres kind of sick? because i warned logan about those caterers - ”

“wade, please not now,” you whined, more harshly than you intended. you took a shaky breath, trying to ground yourself. “i just… what if i’m not enough for him? what if i ruin this?”

he blinked at you, then broke into a wide grin. “not enough? are you kidding me? have you met logan? that guy would crawl through broken glass for you. wait, no, bad example - he’d heal - but you get my point. he’s crazy about you.”

you looked down at your hands, the diamond on your finger catching the light. wade’s words rang true, but your anxiety wasn’t so easily quelled. “what if i can’t live up to everything he deserves?”

“listen,” wade said, surprisingly gentle, “logan’s no saint. he’s rough around the edges, grumpy as hell, and has a tendency to scare small children with his ‘resting murder face.’ but he loves you, and he’s lucky to have you. trust me.”

you swallowed hard, your heart thudding unevenly. “i just… i don’t want to let him down. i’m really scared, wade.”

before wade could respond, there was a sharp knock on the door. it creaked open slightly, and a familiar voice rumbled, “everything okay in there?”

logan.

your heart jumped, but you didn’t answer immediately. wade, ever the opportunist, took the chance to dart to the door, opening it just wide enough to slip through. “hey, bud. she’s fine. just a little pre-wedding jitters. totally normal. nothing to worry about.”

“wade, move.” logan’s voice was firm, and a second later, he pushed past the mercenary. his eyes landed on you instantly, dark with concern. “you alright, darlin’?”

you wanted to lie, to brush it off and plaster on a smile, but the worry etched into his face undid you. “i don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “i just… i feel like i’m going to mess this up.”

logan stepped closer, his hands finding yours. his touch was warm and steady, grounding you in a way nothing else could. “mess what up?”

“everything,” you whispered. “us. you deserve someone who’s… i don’t know. better.”

he frowned, his grip tightening. “don’t say that. you think i’d be standin’ here, about to marry you, if i didn’t know exactly what i was gettin’? i don’t need perfect, sweetheart. i just need you.”

his words hit you like a freight train, and tears pricked at your eyes. “but what if - ”

“no what-ifs,” he interrupted gently. “you’re it for me. always have been, always will be.”

your chest ached with the weight of his sincerity. you reached up, cupping his cheek, and he leaned into your touch, his stubble rough against your palm. “are you sure about this?”

logan huffed a soft laugh, his lips curving into a small, crooked smile. “damn right i am.”

behind him, wade cleared his throat obnoxiously. “as touching as this is, we’re on a schedule, lovebirds. chop-chop.”

logan shot him a glare but didn’t let go of your hands. “you ready?” he asked, his voice low, meant just for you.

you nodded, the last of your nerves dissolving under the warmth of his gaze. “yeah. i’m ready.”

the ceremony went off without a hitch - mostly. wade’s toast was predictably chaotic, filled with inappropriate jokes and just enough genuine sentiment to make you and logan laugh. the vows, though, were what stayed with you. logan’s voice had been steady but rough with emotion, his words simple yet profound. he’d promised to be by your side, to fight for you, to love you with everything he had. you’d barely managed to get through your own vows without crying, your voice trembling as you told him he was your home, your heart, your everything.

later, as the night wound down and the guests filtered out, you found yourselves alone under the soft glow of the string lights. the reception had been beautiful, but this moment - just the two of you - felt perfect.

logan pulled you close, his hands resting on your hips as you swayed together. “you know,” he murmured, his breath warm against your temple, “i was nervous too.”

you looked up at him, surprised. “you were?”

“yeah.” his lips twitched into a faint smile. “not about marryin’ you, though. that was the easy part. just wanted to make sure it was everything you wanted.”

your heart squeezed at his words. “it was perfect, logan. you were perfect.”

he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips. it was slow and sweet, filled with all the love he couldn’t quite put into words. when he pulled back, his eyes were soft, a rare vulnerability shining through.

“i love you,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “more than anything.”

tears welled in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of happiness. “i love you too.”

logan smirked, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between you. “good. ‘cause you know you’re stuck with me now.”

you laughed, resting your head against his chest as the sound of his heartbeat filled your ears. “i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

ᰔ logan howlett : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @rooroen, @tezooks

@lemoanaid, @correnz, @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @ohmystvrk, @y08h

@lovely-liliacs, @california-boys-and-sun, @omen-keke, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd

@superlegend216, @mikaaki, @withasideofmeg, @samfunko, @aaronhotchnerlover

@qxuanii, @m1cky-y-y, @uncertified-doc, @cryingwta, @pvndomi

@marvelescvpe, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @misscrissfemmefatale, @ltristessedureratoujours, @meadow-field

@hazydespair, @stupid-little-birdie, @urlocallocachica, @person-005, @nestavadavat

@christinamadsen, @zaggprincess2, @lokixryss, @mehjustalasshere, @spktrlvr

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

WAITING AIN’T EASY

drew starkey x fem!reader

SUMMARY: after 6 gruelling months of long distance with drew, y/n decides to surprise him on set. listen to ‘waiting ain’t easy’ — Evan Honer!!

based on this ask !! i really hope you enjoy my lovely :) amazing ask as always !! i made a little twist on it though, and added some angsty goodness to make it more emotional <3

WARNINGS: angst to fluff, fighting, crying, mentions of breaking up, long distance relationship, like one (?) curse word, brief mention of cheating rumours (made by the media) and i think that’s it? (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 1.8k

THIRD PERSON +

Y/N stared out at the crashing waves outside her beachfront rental in Australia, the sun dipping low in a painted sky of reds and golds. Normally, she would've snapped a picture to send Drew, knowing how much he loved sunsets. But tonight, her phone sat abandoned on the kitchen counter, vibrating occasionally with notifications she couldn't bring herself to check.

It had been nearly six months since she'd left for Australia to film her new movie, a dream opportunity that she'd accepted with boundless enthusiasm. Drew had been so supportive at first, kissing her forehead and promising her they'd figure it out. "Eight months will fly by," he'd said. "We'll make it work." And for a while, they had.

The first few months had been manageable—late-night FaceTime calls, text messages scattered throughout the day, photos exchanged to make each other smile. But as the weeks turned into months, the strain started to show. The time difference, their conflicting schedules, and the exhaustion from their respective work had turned their once-effortless connection into something fragmented and brittle.

And then there were the rumors.

The first article had popped up about a month ago, with pictures of Y/N and her co-star, Paul Mescal, leaving a restaurant. They'd been with a group of castmates, but the tabloids didn't care about context. The angle made it look intimate, as if the two of them had been alone. Headlines screamed: "New Flame on Set?" and "Trouble in Paradise for Drew Starkey and Y/N?"

Drew hadn't believed the rumors—not really. He knew how tabloids worked. But the seed of doubt had been planted. Their conversations became laced with tension. "Why didn't you tell me you were going out?" Drew had asked one night, his voice tight.

"I didn't think I had to give you a play-by-play of my day," she'd snapped, the exhaustion from a grueling shoot making her sharper than she intended.

"I'm not asking for a play-by-play, Y/N. I just want to know what's going on in your life. Is that too much to ask?"

The fight spiraled from there, unresolved, and left a bitter taste that lingered.

Tonight, their most recent argument had pushed them to a breaking point.

She answered the phone after his third call, her voice strained. "Hey."

"Hey," Drew replied, the weight of unspoken words heavy in the silence that followed.

"I'm sorry I didn't call earlier," she began, trying to preempt his frustration. "I got caught up on set, and—"

"Y/N, you always get caught up on set," Drew interrupted, his tone clipped. "I'm starting to feel like I'm not a priority anymore."

Her heart sank. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it? Because it feels like I'm the only one trying here."

"Trying?" she repeated, her voice rising. "Drew, do you know how hard this has been for me too? I miss you every single day, but I can't just drop everything to cater to your insecurities."

"Insecurities?" he echoed, incredulous. "You're calling me insecure because I want to spend more than five minutes talking to my girlfriend? Because I'm tired of feeling like I'm the last thing on your mind?"

"Don't do this," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Don't twist this into something it's not."

"Then tell me what it is, Y/N," he shot back. "Because right now, it feels like we're falling apart."

Her throat tightened. "Maybe we are," she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Drew exhaled shakily on the other end of the line. "Do you really believe that?"

"I don't know what I believe anymore," she admitted, tears streaming down her face. "This... this isn't what I thought it would be. I didn't think it would hurt this much."

"You think I don't hurt too?" His voice cracked, raw with emotion. "You think I don't lie awake every night wishing you were here? That I don't feel like I'm losing my mind wondering if this is worth it anymore?"

Her chest tightened painfully, but she couldn't find the words to soothe him. To soothe herself. The weight of their love—their pain—pressed down on her like a crushing wave.

"I can't do this right now," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," Drew said bitterly, "of course you can't."

And then the line went dead.

Y/N stared at the screen, her hand trembling as the call ended. She wanted to call him back, to take it all back, but the words hung in the air between them, too heavy to ignore.

Halfway across the world in Charleston, Drew sat in his apartment, his phone clutched in his hand. He stared at the empty screen, the echo of their fight replaying in his mind. The silence in the room was deafening, the loneliness suffocating.

They were both alone, yet they'd never felt further apart.

—

Drew sat on set, legs stretched out as he leaned back in his chair, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. The day had been slow, and while he loved working on Outer Banks, his mind wasn't fully there. It hadn't been for weeks. The weight of his argument with Y/N lingered, the harsh words and silence that followed gnawing at him.

He sighed, locking his phone and tossing it onto the nearby table. The OBX cast was scattered around the set, some chatting, others grabbing snacks. Madelyn, Madison and Carlacia were huddled together near the craft services table, giggling about something. Their sudden burst of laughter caught Drew's attention.

"What's so funny?" he called out, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing!" Madison replied quickly, a little too quickly. She nudged Carlacia, who bit her lip to stifle another laugh.

Suspicious, Drew tilted his head but didn't press further. He wasn't in the mood for their antics today. As much as he loved his friends, all he really wanted was Y/N. Six months apart felt like an eternity, and knowing they still had two more months to go made the ache in his chest worse.

What he didn't know was that Y/N was only minutes away.

Y/N stepped off the plane, her heart pounding as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder. She had managed to keep the wrap of her film a secret from Drew, wanting to surprise him in the best way possible. It hadn't been easy; she'd had to bite her tongue during their rare phone calls and carefully avoid social media posts that might tip him off.

Madelyn, Madison and Carlacia had been the first people she told about her plan, and they had been more than happy to help. When she landed, they were waiting for her, practically vibrating with excitement.

"You ready to blow his mind?" Madelyn asked, grinning as she pulled Y/N into a hug.

"I've never been more ready," Y/N said, her nerves and excitement warring within her.

Carlacia held up her phone, ready to document everything. "Okay, we've got this all planned. He's sitting in the main lounge area. You just walk in, and we'll follow behind you."

Y/N nodded, exhaling shakily. "Let's do this."

Back on set, Drew was oblivious. The girls had disappeared somewhere, but he didn't think much of it. They were always running off to do their own thing. He leaned forward, rubbing his hands over his face as exhaustion crept in.

The sound of footsteps approaching barely registered until he heard a familiar voice, soft and hesitant.

"Hey, Starkey."

Drew's head whipped around so fast that his chair tipped backward, clattering to the floor. He stumbled to his feet, his heart racing as his eyes locked on her.

"Y/N?" His voice cracked, disbelief written all over his face.

Before she could say another word, Drew launched himself toward her, nearly tripping over his fallen chair in his haste. He reached her in seconds, his arms wrapping tightly around her as he lifted her off the ground.

"Y/N," he choked out, his voice breaking as he buried his face in her shoulder.

She clung to him just as tightly, her arms wrapped around his neck as tears spilled down her cheeks. "Hi, baby," she whispered, her voice shaking.

Drew pulled back just enough to look at her, his face streaked with tears. "You're here? How are you here? I thought—"

"My shoot wrapped early," she interrupted, laughing through her tears. "I wanted to surprise you."

Drew didn't hesitate. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss so full of love and longing that it made Y/N's knees weak. Around them, the cast erupted in exaggerated groans and laughter.

"Get a room!" Rudy teased, shielding his eyes dramatically.

"Y'all are gonna make me cry," Carlacia joked, still filming the entire moment.

When Drew finally pulled away, his forehead rested against Y/N's, his tears falling freely now. "God, I missed you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I missed you so fucking much."

"I missed you too," Y/N said, her hands cupping his face as she brushed away his tears. "I'm so sorry, Drew. For everything. For the fight, for the silence. I hated it. I hated being apart from you."

"Me too," Drew admitted, his voice cracking again. "I was so scared, Y/N. Scared I was losing you."

"Never," she said firmly. "I was scared too, but I never stopped loving you. Not for a second."

Drew let out a shaky laugh, his arms tightening around her as if he were afraid she might disappear. "Waiting ain't easy," he said softly, his eyes searching hers, "but it's worth it for you. Always."

Y/N felt fresh tears well up as she kissed him again, pouring every ounce of love and reassurance she had into it. When they finally broke apart, the cast was clapping and cheering, much to Drew's embarrassment.

"Alright, alright, show's over," Drew said, his cheeks flushed as he waved them off. But he couldn't stop smiling, and his hand never left Y/N's.

Carlacia walked up, showing them the video she had taken. "You two are gonna want this later. It's a tearjerker."

Drew chuckled, pulling Y/N closer. "Thanks, Laci."

As the cast gave them some space, Drew turned to Y/N, his eyes still glistening. "You're really here," he said again, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

"I'm here," she confirmed, her smile soft. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Drew's expression softened, his love for her radiating in his gaze. "Good. Because I don't ever want to do this without you again."

They spent the rest of the day glued to each other, catching up, apologising, and soaking in every second of finally being together again.

For the first time in six months, everything felt right.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was such an adorable one to write :’) i love writing hurt/comfort, it’s just my absolute fave genre of ff !! i really hope you enjoy this @xoxosblogsblog <3

[babejinxy]

In love with you - part 6

Pairing: Powder x fem!reader

Warnings: friends to lovers, SMUT, kissing, fluff

Synopsis: Powder had been your best friend for years, the two of you met when she was running from the cops when she and her brothers broke into and blew up an apartment in Piltover and you helped them escape. What you never imagined, is that the love of your life was always right there in front of you…

A/N: This is a fic about Powder from the alternate universe, it has nothing to do with Jinx.

🌟 English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any mistakes.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

💙 @brocoliisscared @bbybubbles @cattjull

Powder was taking her time with you, kissing every part of your body, every little bit of skin, nothing went unnoticed by her lips. “I’ve always wanted you so much babe, sorry if I can’t keep my hands and lips away from you”, she said giving you a peck on the lips. You smiled before saying, “I’m not complaining…”, you lifted your head a little when she went back to kissing your chin and then your neck. “… I’m loving this, but don’t you think it’s your turn now, huh?”, you said still smiling, her breath on your neck tickling your skin.

She let go of your neck just to look at you, “Ok but first, I want to try something,” she said cringing a little, was she getting embarrassed after all?” Alright and what would that thing be?”, you asked, unable to contain your anxiety. Powder brought her face even closer to yours and said, looking into your eyes, “I want to eat you while you ride my face”. For a moment you didn’t know how to react, this was something new for you, as well as for her. You both knew this because of a conversation about sex you once shared and Powder had been thinking about what it would be like to eat you like this ever since, it had driven her crazy for months. Before you could answer anything, she said eagerly, “Please baby, I really want to have you like this… but no pressure, only if you want it too of course.”

Powder was so cute begging you that it was impossible to deny her. Of course you wanted it as much as she did, but the sparkle in her eyes only encouraged you even more. Instead of answering with words, you smiled at her, biting your lower lip and placing your hands on either side of her collarbone and forcing yourself to change positions, getting on top of her. She took your answer as a yes and bit her lower lip. You placed your right leg between hers and pressed your knee into her pussy, still covered by her panties. She bit her lower lip harder and let a soft moan escape her throat.

“I think your panties are ruined, love,” you teased her back to you earlier. But Powder didn’t care and clicked her tongue, “it’s not the first time I’ve wet my panties around you baby, it’s been countless times, I should be ashamed, but you’ve always turned me on… you need to know that when I say I’ve always wanted you badly I’m not kidding… now sit on my face.” Powder’s husky and authoritative voice made you melt like butter, you loved being dominated like this and you couldn’t resist it, your friend knew that and was using it to her advantage, it was a little mean of her, but you loved it.

You bit your lower lip and moved up to her face. Powder, who had her hands on your sides, dragged them down to your bare ass and squeezed a little, making you gasp. You placed your knees on either side of Powder's head and she placed her hands on each of your thighs and spread them, having the perfect view of your swollen pussy right in front of her eyes and that view hit her right in the pussy making it ache with desire. You held the back of the couch with your right hand while resting the other on the arm of the couch, Powder held your waist and adjusted you on top of her, aligning your pussy with her mouth. Her hot breath and breathing hit your bare pussy and made you feel shivers all over your body.

Powder closed her eyes and trailed kisses and bites along the inside of your thighs where her lips reached and kept this up for a few torturous minutes. Your pussy was aching from clenching around nothing and you felt like you were going to go crazy, you needed her mouth on your needy cunt. “You’re warm and soft, do you know that?” she whispered against the skin of your thigh and you shivered and gasped when the tip of her nose brushed against your groin and Powder smiled at your reaction. She pulled you down and you crushed her face beneath you. She pressed a kiss to your wet folds making you squirm a little and you bit your bottom lip.

You moaned loudly as Powder licked your pussy from bottom to top, lingering a little longer on your sensitive clit, sucking it deliciously. “Oh P-Powder,” you moaned, closing your eyes and throwing your head back. Powder tightened her hands on your waist and guided you to ride her face as she ate your pussy with her mouth wide open, her tongue teasing your hole and moving up to lick and suck your clit. The sounds of your moans and sighs mixed with the sounds of her lips sucking on your wet pussy and echoed throughout every corner of Powder's workshop.

Powder licked and swirled her tongue around your bud frantically making you moan even more and roll your eyes back in your head. She swirled her tongue around your clit once more and sucked it between her lips slowly, you looked down and opened your mouth in an “o” shape before throwing your head back again moaning loudly when she did it again. She left your clit only to stick her tongue inside your hole and you choked out a moan at her sudden act.

Now Powder was tongue fucking you as she pulled your hips incredibly closer to her face, her tongue deep in your pussy as she fucked you like this. She stiffened the muscle and pulled it out and thrust it back into you fast and steady and it made you see stars. You started bouncing on her tongue to get more friction and the sounds coming from your pussy were sinful and your moans were uncontrolled. Powder moved her right hand up to your right breast and she groped and squeezed it while still fucking you with her tongue. You gripped the back of the couch tightly and pulled her hair a little from her scalp with your left hand and she moaned a muffled moan between your pussy.

Powder was fucking you so well with her tongue that it was getting hard for you to stay on your knees, you were running out of strength and your body was going soft like jelly, the familiar knot started to tighten in your stomach and you lost your balance, falling forward with a groan, causing your pussy to pull away from Powder's mouth. She immediately grabbed your hips and readjusted you to your previous position, going back to fucking her tongue into your slippery hole. You moaned and grabbed the arm of the couch with both hands, while throwing your head back.

Powder knew you were close to cumming when your walls clamped down on her tongue and it became hard to move it inside your pussy. Your legs began to shake uncontrollably and you began to moan tearful groans as you felt your orgasm coming on strong once again. The blue haired girl grabbed your waist and lifted you up a bit only to bring you back down onto her tongue - which went straight into your sensitive hole - and she guided you like that a few times, “Gosh Powder,” you whimpered in a moan. She held you against her mouth again, holding you firmly at the waist so you wouldn't fall, and fucked her tongue inside your pussy a few more times.

You came hard right into her mouth as you moaned above her. Powder pulled her tongue out of you and drank the cum that dripped from your hole as if she were eating a delicious ice cream - which for her it was. She drank every last drop of your cream and only stopped when you started spasming and whimpering too much from the overstimulation.

“You were so good to me, my sweet girl,” Powder said, kissing the inside of your thigh and helping you get off her face. You fell next to her on the couch, since the space was small you threw your left leg on top of hers and she intertwined it between them. “That was…”, you said with a breathless breath. “Yeah, I know baby,” she replied also breathless. You both stared at the ceiling as you caught your breath, you looked at her to ask, “Have you really never done this before?” She turned her face to look at you, “I’ve never wanted any other girl to ride my face,” she said cringing and a light blush left her cheeks red.

You smiled at her cuteness, lifted your torso, resting your right arm on the arm of the couch, and massaged her belly with your left hand. Your torso was above hers and your breasts were crushed against hers. You took your hand off her belly and wiped the remains of your cum from her mouth and chin with your hand. Powder looked at you as if you were a rare jewel, like a dream that had finally come true. You smiled at each other and you kissed her on the lips. This time the kiss was slow and passionate, Powder didn't fight for dominance and your tongues danced together in perfect harmony. You lowered your left hand to her left breast and massaged it, making her gasp between your lips.

You pulled her lower lip between your teeth and she squeezed your hips in response. You lowered your head to her neck and began to place kisses and bites all over her neck while still groping her breast. “Baby, I’m going to have to make you cum again if you keep this up,” she said between sighs. “None of that, now it’s your turn love,” you said, sucking on the skin below her ear, making her gasp and pull your waist down hard so she could lay you down and reverse your positions, but you didn’t let up this time.

Powder was very restricted with touches, she usually preferred to give rather than receive, but you were the girl who was in her “bed” now and she wanted you in every way possible. You moved your kisses down to her right breast and closed your lips around her nipple, swirling your tongue around it and sucking it between your teeth. Powder bit her lower lip hard and moved her hands from your waist down to your ass where she groped your buttocks and squeezed them and you whimpered into her breast.

“Y/n… I wanna kiss you,” she said softly. You let go of her breast and a string of saliva connected your lips to her nipple, you brought your lips closer to hers and she immediately slammed them against yours pushing her tongue inside your mouth. You were lying on your side next to her on the mattress, your torso was on top of hers and you had your left leg intertwined with hers. You untangled your leg from hers and she spread them on the couch, you placed your left leg - which was previously between hers - over her knee to keep her leg open.

You slid your hand from her breast down the length of her body until you reached the inside of her thigh near her groin and she gasped into your lips, biting your lower lip, making you gasp too. You pushed her panties aside and she sighed deeply when she finally felt free of the sticky fabric. You slipped your fingers into her wet folds and massaged her pussy making her sigh into your lips. You swirled your fingers around her swollen bud slowly and she bit your bottom lip again, this time a little too hard to keep from moaning and you felt the sting and pulled back, letting go of her lips. “S-sorry love,” she said between sighs.

You sped up the movement of your fingers on her clit, rubbing it and tapping it lightly while Powder let out low moans from time to time. Powder raised her torso a little to reach your neck, where she abused your skin a little so she wouldn't moan so much. She bit, kissed and sucked the skin on your neck while you abused her clitoris with your quick fingers and you moaned from time to time when she pulled your skin too hard with her lips and teeth. Unlike her, you were more of a crybaby and the moans that escaped you hit her pussy directly and mixed with the pleasure you were giving her and that only made her hornier.

You kissed her lips and she laid her head back on the pillow as she grabbed your hips. You moved your fingers down from her clit to her hole and slowly inserted your middle finger inside her with ease. You began to slowly move your finger in and out of her hole and she moaned softly. Little by little you inserted a second finger and increased the speed of the movements, rolling them inside her and hitting the right spot, making Powder moan a little louder than she would have liked. You hid your face in her neck and began to leave kisses and light bites on her skin.

Powder moved her hands from your hips to your ass and squeezed your cheeks in response to the movements of your fingers and when you hit the spongy spot inside her again, she arched her hips and bit her bottom lip hard. She slid her hand from your ass and ran her fingers over your swollen, wet pussy and you moaned into her neck increasing the pace of your fingers in her pussy.

You realized that Powder was close to cumming when she started to squeeze your fingers and couldn't help but moan loudly. You had in mind to make her cum on your tongue, just like she did with you. So you pulled your fingers out of her and she whimpered at the lack of them in her pussy. You looked at her and smiled before taking your two fingers in your mouth and licking them, tasting the sweet taste of her. This caused some reaction in Powder by the way her blue eyes sparkled, “ok, that’s enough,” she said pushing your torso down and getting on top of you.

“Hey, I wasn’t done,” you complained and tried to change positions, but Powder held your hips firmly, preventing you from moving. “I know baby, but this isn’t how I want to cum,” she said, letting go of you only to take off her panties. Once again you couldn't help but feel dominated and immediately you felt a burning sensation between your legs and bit your lower lip waiting for Powder's next move. She lay on top of you and caressed both sides of your face with her thumbs, she had a sweet smile on her lips. “I wanna have sex with you love, do you understand?”, she whispered in her husky voice and gave you a peck on the lips.

You smiled, making her smile too, and she kissed the corner of your stretched lip. “What are you waiting for? You have my heart and my consent, forever,” you whispered. Powder's eyes shone even bluer and she smiled before getting off of you and lifting your left leg to her waist, then she adjusted herself between your legs making her pussy rub against yours and you both moaned together. Powder lowered her torso and laid her arms on either side of you on the couch and held your shoulders from behind to gain momentum. You lifted your leg a little higher on her waist and wrapped your arms around her neck.

Before she started moving, she gave you a quick peck on the lips and looked at the red mark of her teeth on your lower lip where she bit too hard earlier, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Powder was anxious and had a habit of brooding over things, you knew that and you didn’t want her to feel bad just because of that. “It’s okay baby,” you interrupted her and sealed your lips on hers. Then Powder made her first move and her pussy spread deliciously over yours. She slid her pussy against yours in a slow and perfect rhythm, making you moan sweetly and softly between the kiss.

Powder put a little more pressure and accelerated the pace of her hips rubbing her pussy against yours and you opened your mouth breathing heavily just like Powder, her lips brushed against yours with her movements pushing you. She alternated between thrusting and rotating her pussy against yours in a fast and precise rhythm, the friction was perfect and made your clitorises kiss, eliciting moans from both of you.

The blue-haired girl brought her hands to either side of your waist and held you firmly beneath her and sped up the movements of her hips once more. She buried her face in the crook of your neck and kissed your skin hard, biting every now and then. You grabbed her shoulders and squeezed them as you moaned. Powder's breathing on your neck was erratic and panting and sometimes she would let out restrained moans and this only drove you further and further over the edge.

Powder lifted her face and looked at you and the two of you exchanged passionate smiles. You brought your right hand to her face and caressed her reddened cheek with your thumb. She lowered her head to kiss you, but it was hard to keep the kiss with her thrusts pushing you and with the panting breaths of both of you. You raised your back a little and held on to the couch with your right hand while you had your other arm around Powder's neck. Your face was close to hers and your panting breaths tickled each other's skin. You tilted your head back and Powder took the opportunity to kiss your chin and jaw. You fell back onto the couch as you groaned, you couldn't hold it in much longer.

Powder took her left hand off your waist and intertwined her fingers with your right hand's fingers and put a little more strength and agility into the friction, making you moan loudly and a noise came out of her throat as she bit her lip.

Your skins stuck together because of the sweat from your bodies and the wet sounds of skin against skin coming from your pussies together were sinful and echoed throughout the workshop, mixing with your moans and her panting breath in your ear. Powder's clit rubbed against yours frantically and you felt the knot in your stomach tighten for the thousandth time that night. “Oh my god… I.. I’m gonna cum”, you whispered with a broken voice. “Me too baby”. Powder squeezed her fingers in yours and this time it was hard to contain the moans so she let them come out and mix with yours like a melody.

Your legs began to tremble beneath Powder and if it weren't for her weight on top of you, you would be writhing right now. Powder's legs also began to give out, but she held her ground and continued to grind her pussy against yours. Three more thrusts of her pussy into yours and you let out a high-pitched moan and everything around you went white, you came for the third time that night and you had never had orgasms this intense. Powder came right after you when her felt your hot cum dripping from your hole and spreading between your pussies. Now your pussies were sticky with your juices mixed with hers and strings of cum connected your pussies when Powder stopped her thrusts and got off of you falling next to you on the couch.

The two of you were silent for a few minutes as you recovered from your orgasm and calmed your breathing, catching your breath. Your fingers were still intertwined with hers and neither of you had any intention of untying them so you remained like that.

“Hey,” Powder was the first to speak. You turned your face to her and she was already looking at you. “Hey,” you smiled an affectionate smile and she lifted your hands that were joined together and kissed the back of your hand. “What are you thinking about?” she asked, worried that she might have done something wrong. “I’m not thinking about anything, I just… I’m just calm…” you said as you played with her fingers on yours, “…I’m calm in this feeling Pow Pow.” Powder smiled and looked at your lips, bringing her head closer to yours and sealing her lips on yours, in a calm and affectionate kiss.

“What are we now?”, Powder asked, massaging your belly with the hand that wasn’t intertwined with yours. You twisted your lips as if you were thinking, “hm… we’re still best friends I guess, but something more than that too”, you answered smiling and laughing a little. Powder smiled and her eyes were shining, “I wouldn’t let you go for anything in this world girl”, then she once again kissed your lips.

You stayed like that for a few more minutes until you started to feel sleepy. Powder pulled a sheet over the two of you and you settled down on the couch. She reached over and turned off the lights in the workshop, leaving only the blue light from the star projector that formed constellations and illuminated the ceiling, one of Powder's inventions. You were looking at the constellations above you when you heard Powder's hoarse voice talking to you, "I'm so happy... I've never felt like this before, I'm exactly where I wanted to be." You turned your face to her and she was looking up, you didn't say anything. You just smiled and laid your head on her chest and fell asleep. Powder closed her arm around your neck and fell asleep in a peaceful and happy sleep.

Guys, this was supposed to be the last part of this series, but I've been thinking about something that would be cool to continue this... I won't give any spoilers, but I'll let you decide.

Do you want me to continue writing for this series or should I stop here?

[solarhysm]

DUST OF US - 06

> synopsis: 7 years ago Y/N broke Jungkook’s heart when she decided to end their relationship without an explanation. When they meet again at a friend's wedding, after almost a decade, Jungkook needs answers to move on.

> pairing: Jungkook x reader

> genre: romance, ex to lovers au

> warnings: explicit languages, violence, smut, cheating, nsfw, angst, +18 minors dni !!

> word count: 4.6k

*french writer, i apologize in advance for my awful english!

If this is a dream, Jungkook doesn’t want to wake up. His eyes never leave your face as you tell him a story about you and your friends. After that kiss, you both decided to take a walk along the shore. Jungkook knows you’ve always liked the feeling of sand under your feet, even in the cold. He carries your boots, happy to do so, while you walk beside him, occasionally digging your toes into the sand.

He thought you would reject him when he kissed you out of nowhere. But you didn’t. Now, all he wants is to kiss you again. He’s dying to. But he doesn’t want to push his luck. If you want to kiss him, you will. He hopes you will. His eyes drop to your hand, brushing against his with every step. His fingers twitch. Not yet. Play it cool.

As if reading his mind, you hand him the bottle of soju you’ve been sharing, giving him something to do with his hands. He takes a sip and nods, silently thanking you.

“And Hwan ended up covered in Hyesun’s last meal,” you laugh, but he hasn’t been paying attention to the story. Jungkook is just smiling at the sound of your laughter. “But she’s a good friend. Even after Hyesun threw up on her, she kept taking care of her.”

“You’re pretty,” Jungkook whispers, and you freeze, eyes widening.

“I—You can’t say stuff like that out of nowhere,” you mumble, looking away to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks.

Jungkook has always said what’s on his mind, whether people liked it or not. And you know that. Once you’re far enough from the nightclubs and prying eyes, the two of you sit on the sand, staring at the shore.

“Alright,” you sigh, pulling a plastic bag between you. “We’ve gotta finish all of this before the sun rises.” You challenge him, and he smirks.

“Easy.”

A soft smile stretches across his lips as he watches you take out two beers and another bottle of soju. You clink your drinks together and take a sip.

“I’m surprised you didn’t make friends in Japan,” you say, breaking the silence.

“I did, actually,” Jungkook replies, burying the bottom of his beer bottle in the sand. He pulls his legs against his chest and takes a deep breath. “Kentaro is visiting me next month. If you behave, I’ll introduce him to you.”

You roll your eyes playfully, licking your lips. His big brown eyes follow the way your tongue traces your lips before he looks away. He knows you want to ask something, and he tilts his head, encouraging you.

“Stop that,” you groan, and he chuckles.

“You want to ask me about girls?”

“I never said that,” you retort, hiding behind your beer.

“You don’t need to. It’s written all over your face,” Jungkook laughs, stretching out. “What about you?”

He likes that he can still read you so easily.

“You didn’t answer,” you say, tilting your head in his direction.

“Hm... I had my fair share of girls, to be honest. But not in the first couple of years.”

“Really?”

“Hm.” He hums again. “Wait, are we talking about serious relationship?”

“All type.” You reply, leaning on your elbows.

“I had… two serious relationships. And a bunch of flings. Mostly flings actually. The heart wasn’t there for more.”

“Two?” You ask like it’s all you keep in mind.

“Yeah. You and a girl named Hina,” Jungkook nods, watching as you draw shapes in the sand. “And you?”

“No one since you. I mean, I had a few flings. And some one-night stands,” you say, and he arches a brow, surprised and amused.

“Look at that. Didn’t you become a bold one?” He jokes. “What a shame, a pretty girl like you, still single.”

“Shut up,” you chuckle, nudging his shoulder. “Maybe that’ll change. I’m sort of in a situationship right now. He wants more.”

“And you?”

“I don’t know. He’s nice.” You shrug, and Jungkook frowns.

“Nabi, don’t force yourself. I mean... who am I to give advice, right?” He laughs awkwardly before turning to look at you. “But I want you to be happy. And if you’re not sure that guy can give you what you want, don’t date him.”

“If I’m being honest...” You pause, and Jungkook gives you his full attention, sitting up straighter. “I’m scared to end up alone. I’m too... complicated. Most of the guys I had after you hated my attitude. But Baekhyun? He just embraces it. He supports me, accepts that I’m not ready to date, and waits for me.”

“That’s not enough. You shouldn’t accept the bare minimum,” Jungkook says, and you shake your head. “You deserve someone who’ll worship you.”

“Easy for you to say. Girls have been chasing you since we were teens.”

“Not the one I want,” he whispers, looking down at his beer as your eyes fall on his side profile. “you’re hard to live with, you’re stubborn with a big mouth and a taste for fights, I won’t deny that.” Jungkook teases and you slap his shoulder "But I also know that once you love, you give everything. If a man can’t get past your tough shell, he doesn’t deserve your love."

"Since when did you become a psychologist?"

"Tonight," he jokes. "Give me one more hour and a few beers, and I’ll be able to read your palm." He grins as you smile. "But I’m serious. Don’t settle for Baekhyun if you think he’s just convenient or your last option. Agreeing with everything you say? That’s not love."

You roll your eyes, making him smile wider.

"Then find me a guy who can handle me," you challenge playfully. Jungkook smirks, gesturing to himself. You laugh, shaking your head. "You should hate me."

"I don’t."

"I said you should." You lift a finger in the air, and he chuckles.

"Who’s Baekhyun, anyway?" Jungkook asks teasingly, his shoulder bumping into yours.

"You’ve met him," you muse, tilting your head to meet his gaze. "My assistant. The other tattoo artist."

"What?" Jungkook gasps playfully. "That kid? How old is he, eighteen?"

"Stop!" You laugh, punching his arm. "He’s twenty-three."

"I always knew you liked them young. I mean, I’m younger—"

"I’m older by a few weeks!"

"Cougar," Jungkook teases, and you roll your eyes. He won’t lie—he’s seen Baekhyun, and something about him seemed off. Or maybe it’s just jealousy because that kid has you and he doesn’t. "Do you change his diapers, too?"

"I’m done with this conversation," you huff, turning your head away while Jungkook bursts into laughter.

"Come on, Nabi, I’m just joking."

And yet, Jungkook is wondering if that Baekhyun knows you as much as he did once upon a time. Does he know that you hate to sleep on the right side of the bed? Or how you have a hard time focusing if there’s too much people around you, how you hate wearing nails polish. Does he know how to make those pretty sounds come out of your mouth when you’re in bed? And mostly, does he know how you love and the look you used to give him? Do you give the same look to that kid?

"Do you remember the last time we were at a beach in Busan?" you ask suddenly.

"Before we left for Seoul," Jungkook says softly, his eyes falling to his hands around his beer.

"We talked about the future," you add, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"I remember." Jungkook nods, his gaze following yours to the shore. "A big house, two kids, a cat, and a dog."

"Hm." You smile, pressing your lips together. His eyes drift back to your face. "Where would we be if… we had stayed together?"

"Married, for sure," Jungkook replies, finishing his beer. "Maybe you’d be pregnant with our first baby."

The thought makes you smile, and Jungkook’s lips curl into a soft smile too. He’s imagined it so many times—how beautiful you’d look with a round belly, glowing with happiness.

"Or maybe we’d be right where we are now," you say, taking a sip of your drink. "Maybe we were meant to be apart."

"I don’t believe that," Jungkook says, almost too quickly. "Our story wasn’t over."

"What makes you so sure?" you ask, arching a brow and Jungkook clenches his jaw, turning his attention to you.

"I didn’t fight for us because you disappeared that day. But I wanted to," he admits, and you chuckle bitterly.

"That’s why I disappeared." You shrug like it’s nothing. "I knew if I saw you again, you’d try to fix things, and I’d give in."

"That’s why you just… left our apartment and changed your number?" he frowns, and you nod, biting the inside of your cheek. He hates how casually you say it, like it didn’t tear him apart.

He hated that place without you in it. He hated that your left side of the bed still smelled like you even after he changed the sheets, how he could still hear you humming in the kitchen like you were cooking for both or how the couch felt cold without you cuddling against him during your movie nights.

"Do you even know… how it felt to come home and find our place half-empty?”  He starts before hardly swallowing. “How I had to sleep in a bed that still smelled like you for weeks before I gave the keys back to the landlord? Fuck, Nabi… Do you have any idea how hard it was to live without you when I was so used to having you around all the time?" Jungkook shakes his head, hiding his face in his hands. "I thought it was the end of the world."

His admission makes you blink a few times as you look down, and Jungkook suddenly feels guilty when he sees you wiping your cheek.

“I’m sorry.” You say with a little voice. “I’m sorry…I – I thought you’d be better off without me."

“Says who?” He frowns, upset, shaking his head. “I was better with you.”

"I didn’t want to leave you," you admit before your emotions overwhelm you, and tears spill from your eyes, making Jungkook freeze. What is he supposed to do now? He didn’t mean to make you cry. He just wanted to have a good evening with you, but now you’re sobbing. What an idiot. "I never wanted to leave you."

"Y/N…"

 “I –“ You swallow a sob. “I did it for you.” You shake your head and he frowns a little while you wipe your cheeks and take a deep breath.

"How… breaking up with me…?" Jungkook whispers, unable to finish his sentence.

He hates seeing you cry, but he knows that if he tries to comfort you, you would just push him away.

“I…I tried to help you.” You pinch your lips together. “That university in Tokyo accepted you. You were going to waste that opportunity just to stay with me."

Jungkook’s frown deepens. He never told you he was going to turn down the offer in Tokyo. And like you read his mind you let out a watery chuckle.

“I heard your conversation with Jimin.” you explain, and Jungkook freezes, a wave of anger rising inside him. “I couldn’t let you refuse that to work as a simple cashier, Kook. I couldn’t let you waste your life for me.”

Jungkook lets out a sour chuckle before getting up, his fists clenched at his sides. All this time, he thought that he did something wrong. All this time he thought that you left him because he said something that hurt you enough to breaking up with him.

“And who are you to decide for me?” He almost spits as you stay sitting on the sand, looking at him. “We were a team, remember? We were supposed to talk about it. Make it work!”

“Jungkook.” You say softly, getting on your knees but he takes a step back.

"All this time…" he mutters, shaking his head as a sob escapes. "Fuck... All this time, I thought it was my fault."

"I’m sorry."

"Sorry won’t fix seven wasted years!" he barks, and you struggle to get up, both of you drunk.

"Kook…"

"No." He shakes his head, wiping his face. "I fucking loved you with everything I had. I wanted to spend my life with you, build a future with you. If you had just talked to me, we could’ve made it work! You were the only one I ever listened to."

“Jungkook.” You repeat as you try to reach his hand but he takes another step back. “How was that supposed to work?” You frown and he rolls his eyes, looking away. “You were about to live new experiences. I would’ve been the girlfriend stuck in your hometown. How long would it have taken before you left me?"

"Don’t twist this into being my fault, Y/N," he warns, jaw clenched. "The distance, the new experiences—that’s bullshit, and you know it."

“I know that you needed your freedom.” You bite back and his teeth close on his tongue to not say something hurtful. “That’s why I didn’t want to reconnect with you. I knew how all of this would end.” You mumble, gathering your stuff and he can clearly see how hurt you are.

“I needed you.” He says more softly, but you don’t listen, tying your hair into a ponytail before catching your witch hat. “Nabi.” He stops you, standing right behind you.

"I get it, Jungkook. I do," you say without looking at him, trying to hold back tears, but he can hear the quiver in your voice. You're close to breaking.

“Nabi.” He repeats as you stand up, your hands full of your things.

"I never asked you to come back into my life," you snap, finally turning to face him, shaking your head. "I never asked you to kiss me earlier. I think it’s time to say goodbye for good."

"No." Jungkook's voice is firm as his fingers close around your arm. Even when you try to pull away, his grip tightens. “I won’t let that happen.”

You let out a dry chuckle, turning to face him, both of you frowning.

"You must be pretty stupid to still want me," you say, trying to swat his hand away, but he pulls you closer instead.

"I know what you’re doing. You’re being mean to protect yourself. It won’t work. We’re going to talk." His voice rises a little. "You always run when things get complicated. Not this time."

"Let me go, Jungkook."

"Not before we figure this out."

"There’s nothing to figure out!" you bark, but he only pulls you closer, his hand firm on your arm.

"Talk to me, Y/N," he says, his voice louder than yours now.

"I did! And you got mad at me!" You groan, feeling your frustration grow. He takes a deep breath, softening his features.

"It’s not too late."

"What?!"

"Us. It’s not too late," Jungkook whispers, and you stare at him, blinking in disbelief. "Yes, I’m upset with you. But that’s because I know... I know we could have made this work."

"How?" you ask, your tone softer now, no longer fighting him off.

"I could have… taken the ferry to see you during my holidays. You could’ve visited me. There’s always a solution, Nabi." He tilts his head, trying to meet your gaze.

"You were free," you reply, and he shakes his head.

"I didn’t want that," Jungkook chuckles sadly, finally letting go of your arm. "If you really want to leave, then go. I won’t stop you anymore, Nabi."

He looks at you as none of you break the eye contact. Will you leave? He doesn’t want to force you to anything. But you don’t move. And he hopes that you’re not playing him.

"Fuck," he laughs humorlessly, running a hand through his hair. "You’re the only woman who can shatter me, and I’ll still come running after you."

"I thought I was helping you," you murmur, biting your tongue, looking down at your feet. "I didn’t want to leave. I..." Your voice breaks, and you begin to sob. "I didn’t want to hurt you."

Jungkook stays silent, his fists clenching at his sides to stop himself from pulling you into his arms. God, he wants to. He needs to comfort you, but he knows you’ll push him away.

"I put my own feelings aside to let you live your dream," you sniff, hiding your face in your hands. Jungkook’s vision blurs as his eyes fill with unshed tears.

"I was going to ask you to marry me," Jungkook whispers, followed by an awkward chuckle. When you lift your tear-filled eyes to meet his, he shrugs. "The day you left me... I was going to ask you to be my wife."

And it’s too much to bear. You break in tears as he looks away, wiping his cheek. He hates seeing you cry. He hates being unable to comfort you like he used to.

“I didn’t plan to see you again when I came back. I was scared to find out you were happily married to someone who wasn’t me.” He continues, eyes fixed on an empty soju bottle half-buried in the sand. “But I saw you at Hyesun’s wedding and… fuck, you were so pretty.”

“Stop.” You shake your head, taking a step back because it’s probably too much to hear but he takes a deep breath and close the distance.

"I knew I had to try, Nabi," he says, cupping your face in his hands. "Because there’s no one else for me but you."

"Jungkook," you protest weakly, trying to push him away half-heartedly.

"Stop fighting it," he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. "Tell me you want this too."

"I…” You start but Jungkook muffles your next words with a kiss.

He isn’t trying to force you, but when you kiss him back, he pulls you closer. The kiss tastes of salt, from your tears and his. Jungkook has kissed many girls after you, but none of them ever made him feel like this. He softly nips at your bottom lip, creating a gap to slide his tongue into your mouth, meeting yours. It’s a passionate kiss, desperate. He wants you to feel how much he needs you. When you relax into him, your fingers threading through his hair and pulling him closer, he smiles against your mouth. But when the need for air becomes overwhelming, he reluctantly pulls back, his nose nuzzling against yours.

"Stay with me tonight. Don’t go home," he murmurs, gently wiping the remnants of your tears from your cheeks.

When you nod, his smile widens, and he pulls you into a tight hug, his nose buried in your hair. He missed your warmth. He missed how right it felt to have you in his arms. He doesn’t know how long you stayed like that, but when the cold started to bite at your skin, he pulled back. Grabbing both of your things, he offered his hand to you, which you shyly took. He couldn’t hide his excitement at the thought of keeping you with him tonight.

"You’re not walking straight," you chuckle as you make your way to his hotel.

"I’m drunk, Nabi. Sue me," he jokes, his fingers intertwined with yours as he playfully bumps his shoulder against yours.

Jungkook didn’t rush you once you were in his room. He handed you a fresh pair of joggers and one of his shirts while he waited, sneaking glances at the bathroom door. He even turned off his phone to make sure nothing interrupted your time together. When you came out of the bathroom, he smirked. He had gotten bigger since the last time you borrowed his clothes, and now you looked like a kid in oversized clothing. He found it adorable.

“What?” you ask looking down at your outfit, straightening your shirt –well, his.

"Nothing," he shrugs, still smirking.

Your nose is still slightly rosy from crying earlier, but somehow, it adds to your charm, Jungkook thinks. He gets up and grabs his clothes from the sofa, heading to the bathroom.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says softly as he walks past you.

Jungkook needs to calm down. He closes the bathroom door and takes a deep breath before jumping in place with excitement. He takes off his shirt and turns to the mirror, grinning at his reflection.

Alright. Breathe. Play it cool. She’s the same, Jungkook.

He pinches his lips together to stop himself from smiling too widely. He feels like he’s seventeen again, on his first date with you. He never thought you’d let him spend more time with you, let alone kiss you like that. He takes another deep breath and looks down at his pants.

“Don’t embarrass me,” he murmurs to himself before turning on the water, excited to join you again, to hold you in his arms.

When he steps out of the bathroom, his damp hair falling over his forehead and neck, he finds you sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling on your phone.

“Are you hungry? We can order something to eat,” Jungkook suggests, closing the distance between you.

“No,” you say, locking your phone and tossing it on the bed. “But if you are, you can—”

“I’m not hungry,” Jungkook cuts in, putting his hands on his hips.

Both of you stare at each other in silence. It’s awkward, and neither of you knows what to say. Jungkook clears his throat nervously, and you giggle when he hums a tune, making him frown slightly and turn to you. Then, out of nowhere, you burst into laughter, falling back onto the bed, your hands on your stomach.

“What’s so funny, huh?” He smiles, amused, as you cover your mouth with your hand, shaking your head.

“Sorry,” you giggle, trying to calm yourself. “It’s just weird. What are we, sixteen? Why are you so nervous?”

Your laughter makes his smile grow as he cages you with his arms, placing both hands on either side of your body.

“You’re mocking me, seriously, Nabi?” he teases with a grin as you sit up, shaking your head.

“Sorry, sorry,” you say, pressing your lips together to stop smiling, then lift your eyes to meet his.

Jungkook’s eyes widen when your puppy-like gaze locks with his. He swallows, leaning closer, dying to kiss you, but he doesn’t want to push it. You smile at his nervousness, and he knows you can read his thoughts—just like you always did. For the first time, you close the distance and press your lips to his.

The only contact is your mouths. His fists grip the sheets on either side of you, trying to resist the urge to touch you more. But your hands trail up his arms to cup his face, pulling him closer. His resolve crumbles the moment your fingers bury themselves in his hair, pulling him down onto the bed with you. He hovers over you, careful not to crush you, one leg between yours as his hands trace the curves of your waist, still over his shirt.

“I’m not made of dust, I won’t crumble and disappear if you touch me.” You laugh against his mouth and he hums shyly.

“I’m not scared of that,” he whispers, trailing kisses along your jaw, his fingers squeezing your hips. “I just... don’t want to get too comfortable and wake up.”

“I’m real,” you reassure him, tilting your head to give him more access to your neck, where he continues to kiss and nip at your skin.

But something feels wrong to him—the way you kiss him hungrily while he kisses you back, passionate yet hesitant. Then it hits him.

“Nabi,” Jungkook murmurs as you continue to kiss his neck and shoulder, your fingers guiding his hand deeper into your joggers. “Y/N.”

“What?” you ask breathlessly, licking your lips as he straightens up, pulling his hand away from your pants.

“I don’t want to have sex with you like a cheap one-night stand,” Jungkook replies, sitting back on his knees and running a hand through his hair.

“What are you talking about?” you frown, leaning on your elbows. “You... don’t want me?”

“Of course I do,” he says, shaking his head. “But you’re acting like I’m just some random guy from a bar.”

You frown, sitting up. He’s afraid he said something wrong.

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” Jungkook sighs. “Fuck... Do you really want me, or are you just horny and I’m the only guy around?”

“Jungkook.” You say, your eyes soften as you cup his face, seeing the hurt on his face. “You’ll never be just convenient for me.”

He takes a deep breath, his tongue poking at his cheek. He wants to believe you. And fuck, if you told him the sky was pink, he’d believe you.

“We can just cuddle and talk if you want,” you suggest, and Jungkook smiles, nodding.

He knew about all the men in your life before you ever told him—Jimin had filled him in. Everyone knows you use physical intimacy to fill the void, and part of him feels responsible. If he had fought harder for you, maybe you wouldn’t have that endless list of guys.

“You’re not them,” you whisper as he pulls you close in bed, your head resting on his arm.

“I know. I was the first,” he teases with a smirk, and you roll your eyes, playfully slapping his chest. He laughs softly, taking your hand and holding it over his heart, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. “Go on a date with me,” Jungkook says, your noses brushing against each other. “A real one. Not this ‘friendly date’ bullshit.”

“You’re such a hopeless romantic,” you chuckle as he smiles and kisses the tip of your nose.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jungkook grins, his fingers softly rubbing the back of your hand. “We’ll grab some food and go to the beach tomorrow.”

“We came to see our families,” you remind him with a raised brow.

“I’ll see them after the date.”

Jungkook doesn’t know how long the two of you stay in bed, talking about everything. The sun starts to rise as you fall asleep, your face resting on his shoulder while he plays with your hair. He didn’t like them short at first, but he’s gotten used to it and actually thinks that it suits you now. But for him, you look pretty anyways. He keeps you close against his body, his arms locked around you to be sure that you won’t slip. Brushing his nose against your hair, he takes the time to enjoy your scent. Your perfume is slightly different from the fruity one you had when you two were together. This one is more feminine, more mature. And he likes it.

And when he wakes up later, he still finds you nestled against him, your back pressed against his chest. For a good minute, he has to pinch himself, convinced this is a dream. It feels too right to be real, having you here with him.

Jungkook carefully disentangles himself from you and sits up. His mouth is dry, and he needs to check his phone. After taking his time in the bathroom, he smiles when he sees you still sleeping, cuddling one of the pillows. He sits on the edge of the bed and turns on his phone, immediately bombarded by notifications.

Ignoring most of them, he opens his conversation with Jimin and sends him a message. Jimin knew about his plan all along and asked him to keep him updated. Jungkook types out everything he remembers from the night before—how you fell asleep in his arms, how happy he is. He smiles like a teenager as he types, and Jimin replies almost instantly, saying he’s happy for him. But then the next message makes Jungkook’s smile drop.

FROM: Jiminie

Did you tell her about Hina?

Jungkook sighs, rubbing his face. His fingers hover over the keyboard before he finally types a reply. He had been so focused on you that he forgot about her.

TO: Jiminie

It’s too soon. I just got her back. Let me enjoy this.

Jimin’s answer comes almost immediately and Jungkook groans, frustrated because he knows that his friend is right. His eyes fall back on your sleeping form. You’re going to hate him. He needs to figure out how to handle this little – big- problem. Jungkook knows where his heart is, and it’s right here, with the woman peacefully sleeping in his bed.

FROM: Jiminie

I understand. But you need to tell her before she hears it from someone else. Nabi has the right to know about your fiancée.

YOU CAN ALREADY READ THE CHAPTER 07 ON KO-FI.

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WATTPAD.

KO-FI. (every chapters/drabbles are posted as soon as i'm done writing them.)

[nyvora]

MARKS, A TALLY

simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

summary: she marks his absences in quiet dread until he appears, like he never left. wc: 1.5k tw: brief mention of smut. all fluff (or as much as can be with ghost) notes: to a special someone who told me i should write this man.

She once began a tally.

It started as one thing and became another. A routine. A single line added to the one before it as the kettle brewed—sometimes, another slid through four beside it, striking five.

Each strike of the marker felt like carving a notch into her ribs—every tally a scarred reminder of the hours, the days, the waiting.

She’d begun it as a countdown.

Her palm wiping them clean from the whiteboard stuck to the fridge. But then, one day, the board had been wiped, and he hadn’t come home. No answer. No call. Nothing. Just silence, silence, silence.

Now, she marks them to know exactly how long he’s been gone.

How many mornings she has woken with her chest tight, wondering if she still has someone who keeps their things in her drawers—or if she’s a widow, even though they’ve never said I do.

Today is day fifty-four.

It’s on a crisp morning she tells him.

The air cool enough to raise goosebumps, curling around the edges of the room like an uninvited guest whenever his leg slips free of the duvet.

Outside, the faint smell of rain lingers, mingling with the earthy scent of autumn leaves crushed underfoot, flowing in through the open window as tyres crunch on wet tarmac.

The bedroom is dark—or as dark as it can be, with a sliver of daylight slipping through the gap above the curtain pole. The curtains thrum in the gentle breeze, faint whispers of autumn threading into the room.

He thinks she’s waited for the moment, chosen it, plucked it as she does the flowers for the dining table.

Flowers he suspects she believes he doesn’t notice, though he always does. It’s a quiet game he likes, spotting the changes she’s made to their home between his absences.

Each room carries her touches—a throw draped carelessly over the sofa, the faint perfume of burnt candles or her diffusers tucked behind photo frames. His boots, lined neatly by the door, contrasted by the lived-in chaos of her side table: an open book with its spine cracked, a forgotten mug of tea with the faint shadow of a lipstick print.

He notes how she didn’t choose to say it when his hips were spreading her thighs, his fingers crooked inside her, or when the wet, obscene sounds of her body drowned out his guttural groans. She didn’t spill it as he pressed her knees to her chest, splitting her open on his cock, her breathless cries ricocheting between them—whining between short puffs of air as he fucked her senseless.

Nor did she murmur it in the lull after, cleaned up and calm, her head on his chest, fingers splayed over his scars as though her touch alone could heal him.

Ghost never tells her he thinks she could. Simon might, one day.

She says it when the clock aligns with her grumbling stomach, just before midday. Four words. Each syllable slices the air, leaving something heavy in its wake, thick and barbed with aching truth.

“I wait for you.”

The syllables sound like they claw their way up her throat, raw and jagged, like glass slicing her voice into fragments of a confession she’d kept buried too long. As though they claw their way past the guilt lodged there, scratching and bruising on their way to the surface.

He doesn’t look at her; there’s no point.

She won’t meet his eyes, anyway. He knows her too well, knows his reason.

The ring on her finger glints as the breeze pulls back the curtain, the fleeting autumn sunlight casting a soft glow over the bed.

Plus, he knows what she means. Hears the implication, feels the pain in her words—the longing she swallows when he slips into the cold side of the bed and warms it with his presence. He feels the heaviness in the air as though grief itself is drawing breath whenever he toes off his shoes and trades his uniform for the quieter rhythm of civilian life.

He suspects she liked it better when there was no when. When his returns were unmarked, unpromised. Now, he imagines her pacing, burning holes in the new flooring—peeling the skin from her lips until copper tinges her tongue, or biting her nails to the quick. She’d been a nail-biter when he first met her. In a laundrette, of all places.

She’d been gnawing at them, staring as the washing tumbled in the machine, soap suds smearing the glass. He wasn’t sure why he spoke to her—or why he kept speaking. Just as he wasn’t sure why he asked her name. You can call me Soap. I already know someone with that name, he’d snorted. Is it fake as well? she’d responded, brow up near her hairline. May as well be. There’d been quiet then, thick, until she said: Call me Suds, then—I’m not giving you my real name. Who washes clothes at three in the morning, anyway? A murderer?

You, he’d quipped.

She tenses against him now, the guilt of admission stiffening her spine. Not that she’ll say more. She’s too practised at burying things deep.

“Good,” he mutters, after a long stretch of silence. “Be fucking shit to come home and find you aren’t.”

Her laugh carries the tiniest fracture, a crack running along its edges—a shard of sunshine breaking through. “Y'know what I mean.”

He does, though the weight of it clings to him, a heavy mantle he’s never been able to shake. Her words settle in his chest, coiling around the parts of him that still believed he was more soldier than man.

He lets his lips twitch, just for himself. “Always gonna come home to you.”

“Hmm.”

She rolls away, sitting up. Her silhouette catches the faintest light as she pulls a shirt over her head. The fabric rustles against her skin as she grabs something from the bedside table—her phone, maybe, or her watch. The bed groans softly as she stands.

“Suds.”

“Simon.”

His smirk deepens as he stretches out, his head propped on one arm. He doesn’t reply, doesn’t need to.

“Your hair’s longer,” she notes from the en-suite doorway.

It’s his turn to hum, sitting up, arms draped over his thighs as he watches her shadowed form. Every curve of her—even her eyes—catch the dim light.

“You want me to—?”

“I want you to come back to bed.”

She goes silent, words swallowed back behind her too-kind smile and soft lips. But she doesn’t move, doesn’t slither back over or pad over or even walk.

“Why?”

It’s barely a whisper, a confession wrapped in a question.

He doesn’t answer at first. Just sighs, his gaze tracing her outline.

“Why do you want me to come back to bed, Simon?”

So I can hold you. It rises in his mind, clear as breath.

He thinks of the lists he makes—promises to himself to keep his blood inside his skin, to stay sharp, to fight another day. The one that keeps him awake when tiredness threatens to steal him and what makes him break bones rather than risk a gun fight.

Another man might have said it. Might have turned it into poetry, wrapped it in honeyed words to soothe her fears.

But he’s not that man. He’s a man forged in violence, shaped by anger.

Still, she makes him better. Not good, not entirely. But better. At some point, he hadn’t been sure he was even a man, more a monster—a thing shaped by trauma and dressed by anger. Now, she’s the reason he sleeps at all, in this bed far too large for them both, cluttered with too many cushions. The same bed where she curls into him, small and fragile, and unwinds the knots in her soul with a nap.

The truth clings to his tongue, ready to spill.

“Because I bloody missed you.”

It comes out wrong, even if it’s right.

She snorts softly, burying her laugh. But then she moves, her shadow nearing until the mattress dips, and his hand finds her wrist. His thumb brushes her pulse—a steady beat, a constant reminder: Alive. Alive. Alive.

“Missed you too.”

“Yeah?”

She nods, her lips brushing his shoulder before she settles against him. “Only a little. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Silence stretches, warm and comfortable, as the house exhales around them. His thumb grazed her wrist, the steady thrum of her heartbeat pounding against his touch—a fragile promise: Alive. Here. Mine.

“I can miss you and still be happy you’re doing something you love, you know?” she murmurs, her hand tightening on his arm.

He presses his lips to her forehead in reply. Two words, five letters, unspoken yet clear: I know.

[bigification]

A Large Pair of Swim Shorts

The weather is beautiful today. It's a hot summer day, only slightly overcast, but that won't stop you and your boys from having a beach day.

"It's so nice to finally get out." John said with a sigh of relief.

"Yeah, boss has been workin us to the bone this week to get that house built. I can't wait to lay down and do jack shit all day." Pete chimed in.

You finally reach the sandy beach and walk over to a nearby picnic table. You slam the beer filled cooler onto the table and start opening up your beach chair for a well deserved rest.

"Hey boys! Look at this shit." John laughs while pointing at something obscured by the table.

You bend over to see around the table, but you don't see anything interesting. Just a blue beach towel someone must have left behind.

"What?" You scoff at him.

John runs over to the towel and holds it up for you like a dog would with a big stick.

"It's a pair of swim shorts you dumbasses!" John exclaims as he turns the shorts to reveal the drawstring.

"How much of a fat ass do you have to be for that thing to fit you?" You laugh at the comically large pair of shorts.

"Does that mean there's some whale swimmin out there naked." Pete erupts into laughter.

"Wait wait, watch this!" You say as an idea pops into your head.

You run over to John and snatch the shorts out of his hands. They look even larger up close, it's hard to imagine anyone actually fitting into this. You slip one leg into each hole of the shorts and pull them up to pretend you're wearing them.

"I bet we could easily fit all three of us in here." You struggle to say through your laughter.

"That's gross man! Who knows what kinda slob wore those before." John joked.

But the happy expression on your face quickly fades when a weird sensation shoots through your body. Your suspicions are confirmed as you look down and realize that your feet are rapidly growing. Within moments your average sized feet grow to size 20, then size 30, growing far past the size of any shoes in existence. They finally settle at about four times their size, making you look like a clown.

"What the fuck is happening to you man!?" John yells out.

"I-I don't know.." you respond.

But before you can get another word out, it continues. First your calves grow, forcing you to spread your legs and nearly doubling your height. Now standing at 11 feet tall, you have to look down at your friends to see them. Next your thighs expand, growing thick muscle and fat as they instantly shred through your old swim shorts and perfectly fill out the new ones. You once again have to spread your legs so they don't rub together. Also it takes a moment for you to catch your balance because the wind is much stronger up at 16 feet.

As if your massive shorts weren't tight enough around your thighs, your flat ass swells into two juicy cheeks that bounce every time you take a step. By this point, the shorts 'that would only fit a fatass' are skin tight, making it all the more obvious when your dick starts to grow. An obvious bulge forms over your crotch, snaking its way up toward your waist. Each surge of growth adds inches in both length and girth, as well as sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your dick finally stops growing at over 2 feet long and 6 inches thick, basically impossible to hide in any normal clothing but it's not like you'll ever fit into normal clothing anyway.

"Holy shit dude! Your dick is massive." Pete comments.

"I know right? It feels... so.... goooood." You moan as a large stain forms in your shorts.

And as if to trigger it, your upper body starts to grow. You can hear your spine reshape as it grows exponentially, leaving you at a staggering 22 feet tall. Your slightly chubby belly is completely replaced by a six pack with a sharp V line on your waist. Your chest and shoulders broaden to over 8 feet wide as your flabby chest is replaced by two perfectly muscular pecs with nipples larger than CDs.

The bones in your arms reshape as they grow nearly 12 feet long. Your biceps swell larger than a tree trunk and your forearms aren't much smaller. Your hands grow and thicken until they're larger than your camping chair. Large enough to pick up one of your friends in one hand. Each finger is larger than a water bottle.

That's not the end, however. Right now you're left with a comically small head compared to your hulking body. That all changes when you start to feel the bones in your head growing and reshaping. Your jaw becomes sharp and square, your nose becomes thicker, and your brow bone creates a shelf over your eyes. Finally leaving you over 24 feet tall and over 8 feet wide.

Once the transformation finally slows down, your new perspective lets you see something interesting buried in the sand. You bend down and lift the picnic table up as if it weighed nothing. You pull out some suspiciously large jewellery from the sand. A chain, a watch, and a pair of sunglasses that all seem to fit you perfectly.

"What the hell just happened. Pete did you spike my drink?" John asks.

"Nope, that just happened for real." Pete stutters.

"God this feels amazing." Your voice booms.

"You look so jacked, too." John points out.

"I know man! Watch this." You say excitedly as you pounce your pecs.

That's when you notice something interesting. Where you found the jewellery, there are what looks like two beach towels buried in the sand. Pulling them out, you realize they're two more giant swim trunks. Though they look significantly larger than yours.

A devious smile takes over your face as you reach to grab both of your friends. You toss them each into one of the massive swim shorts and watch in delight as they grow. A few cracking bones, swelling muscles, and moans later, you are left with two horny giants just like you. Although it seems unlike you, their transformations accentuated their more mature and rounded features.

[lay-z]

🎀 Day 16 – Driving home for Christmas

A continuation of 🍷 Day 8 – Dinner time, which means it’s set in the same universe!

Synopsis: When Christmas comes around again, it’s Kyle this time around who asks his Captain if he can come over for dinner.

Pairing: husband!John Price x wife!Reader x Kyle Gaz Garrick Warnings/Info: NSFW, 18+ | Kyle's POV; curvy!pregnant!Reader (some physical descriptions); dom!Price; hurt/comfort; breeding kink; pregnant sex/pregnancy kink; objectification; threesome; unprotected sex; choking; fluff/aftercare

Word count: 3.2k

↳ back to 🎅🏼 Masterlist ☃️

Kyle feels like he’s having a very vivid déjà-vu. 

When he raises his fist and knocks on the heavy cedar wood door, flashbacks of last year’s Christmas Eve are triggered and playing in front of his inner eye as he glances up at the Christmas lights and decorations adorning Price's large house.  

Flashbacks and memories that leave his face burning despite the biting cold nipping at his skin and, admittedly, his cock stirring hotly in his chic beige pants. 

He hasn’t seen you since the summer, roughly five months ago, when Price had invited the team and Laswell for a barbecue in his backyard. The moment you'd stolen him away for a quick make out session in the laundry room after the Captain, standing by the grill, had given his blessing with a curt nod, was the last time someone else had touched him intimately.  

And now, Kyle still catches himself having a desperate wank to the phantom feeling of your delicate hand wrapped around his throbbing prick and your wonderful lips against  his sensitive neck, whispering sweet praises into his ear like you did way back in the laundry room in your perfect house all while your husband (and his boss) knew what was happening. And every time, Kyle spills his load all over his own calloused knuckles with a pathetic whine, wishing they were yours instead.

Oh, bloody fucking hell, he’s such a goner for you. 

His jaw ticks as he clenches his teeth, swallowing thickly; dark eyes zeroed in on the front door while his other fist tightens around the expensive bottle of red wine he brought for you. 

Kyle checks the time on his Rolex. 17:56 p.m., punctual as always. 

He tugs on his winter coat before adjusting the front of his pants once more; uncomfortable to stand in front of the threshold of another man’s house, obviously bricked up for said man’s wife before he even gets the chance to say his greetings. 

When the door opens eventually, Kyle’s heart is already thudding harshly against his ribcage with a mixture of anticipation and excitement, though it stutters briefly when he is greeted by Captain Price’s mug instead of yours. 

“Garrick,” the older man greets curtly, steel blue eyes flickering to glance past the Sergeant briefly.

And Kyle knows that look too well, knows his Captain is being extra vigilant for some reason, sweeping the perimeter, even though it’s his own estate and if someone else were to be around, his security system would surely pick up on it. Still, due to their jobs and shared experiences, both men know to never get too comfortable.

Eventually, Price opens the front door wider and steps aside in a non-verbal invitation, “Good to see you, Sergeant.” 

“Thank you, sir. Likewise,” Kyle replies, straightening his shoulders as he walks into the entry hallway past his Captain, who immediately closes and locks the front door behind them once more. 

The house smells heavenly, like freshly baked cookies, spices and some kind of roasted meat, mixed with the natural smells of your home. It's a concoction of scents that nearly leaves Kyle feeling both nostalgic and yearning. 

“Bird’s in the living room, lad,” Price says with his usual gruffness yet underlying care as Kyle hangs up his coat on the vintage rack. “I know she’s been looking forward to seeing you again.” 

And Kyle has been looking forward to see you, too. More than he’s comfortable to admit. 

“Here,” Kyle says, offering the bottle of red wine for the other man to take with his chest puffed out proudly, because he remembered that like a good, obedient soldier would. “You told me she prefers red.”  

He watches in confusion as his Captain’s eyes crinkle in the corners, crow’s feet appearing as he looks at the bottle in the Sergeant's hands in what can only be described as amusement before accepting it eventually with a gruff chuckle and a firm clap on the younger man's shoulder. 

“Aye, lad, that’s very thoughtful of ya.” 

Kyle does find you in the living room, wearing a tight black knitted dress, curled up in the loveseat in the corner next to the old bookshelf that looks quite Cold War-esque and the large, classically decorated Christmas tree, with a pale blue hardcover book in your lap and a steaming cuppa on the small side table next to the sofa. 

Even without the fairy lights illuminating you from behind, you look radiant, like you’re glowing from the inside out, and something in his heart aches, deep behind his chest – something dangerous and exhilarating that takes his breath away momentarily. 

Once you notice the familiar, young man standing frozen in place in the open doorway to the living room, your eyes light up, a breath-taking smile spreading on your lips. “Hello, soldier,” you chirp and bookmark the page you’re on before closing the book.  

“Hello, princess.” He replies softly, cheeks heating up even more at the sound of your voice greeting him so happily.

And while Kyle tries and fails to catch the cover and title of the book as you put it aside, he does notice the way you untuck your tight-clad legs from under yourself with a soft groan before heaving yourself up and out of the loveseat with a sudden struggle which he doesn’t quite understand. 

His brows furrow in concern, attentive eyes scanning your body as you adjust your dress around your shoulders. “How have you been?” He asks, taking a few measured steps towards you. 

“Oh,” you giggle softly, eyes twinkling with mirth and that familiar gentleness as you watch Kyle approach, “I’ve been… well.” 

Then, you make a tiny gesture that makes everything click into place for the Sergeant at once. You caress the top of your belly lovingly while supporting it with the other, and suddenly, Kyle notices the prominent bump that was initially concealed by the black fabric of your dress and the veil of his metaphorical rose-coloured glasses. 

His heart nearly stops in his chest, auburn eyes widening comically and he stops dead in his tracks while something strange starts happening in his brain, like its most primal and savage parts are being stimulated for the first time in his life.

“Congratulations,” Kyle manages to say, cracking a smile, though his voice is too rough, too breathless for his own liking. “You look lovely, sweetheart.” Breathtakingly beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. He could go on, but chooses not to.

You’re pregnant. Pregnant. Very, very pregnant, and fertile.  

And it is all Kyle can focus on for the rest of the evening. He’s embarrassingly hard during dinner, while he watches his rough and tough, stoic Captain dote on you like the loving husband he is. Everything makes so much sense now, too; why Price had taken more leave in the past couple of months than he ever has in his whole bloody career, giving up more responsibilities to Ghost, his second-in-command, and being even more secretive and guarded about his personal life. 

The longer he stays and is forced to watch the happy couple, the more envious he becomes.

It’s a mean feeling that takes root in his heart, poisoning it slowly like the black plague; squeezing and mocking all while he can simply blame himself, because he was the one who’d asked to come over this time.

He wasn’t invited which makes him he’s an intruder, and it’s starting to show in the way Price keeps whispering sweet nothing’s into your ear while he sits next to you on the loveseat in the living room, after moving back there once dinner was finished and the table was cleared. Now, Kyle can only watch how his Captain coddles his gorgeous wife; kissing your temple and rubbing his big hand over the swell of your pregnant belly possessively, as if his Sergeant isn’t currently sitting in the armchair right across from you.

Kyle realizes begrudgingly and with a stabbing ache in his heart that the times, when his Captain would let him have a small taste of heaven, of you, are over. It’s too sudden, too soul-crushing, like a band aid ripped away too swiftly and taking bits of hair and scabs with it, though it should have been foreseeable from the beginning.

It wasn’t supposed to last, anyway.

His heart clenches painfully as he makes the rash decision to simply slip away, leave you two be while he will go on his merry way to drown his sorrows and loneliness in some cheap liquor. And when Kyle catches the sound of your soft giggles once more, elicited by Price who nuzzles into your neck affectionately in a way that has Kyle’s cock chuffing even worse, his legs start developing a mind of their own and he stands up from his seat at once.

Of course, it only catches their attention and an awkward silence ensues. 

The Sergeant clears his dry throat, shifting on his feet uncharacteristically insecure. “I should head out,” he announces, glancing down at his expensive watch. It’s barely past 8 p.m. “–while I can still drive.” He adds with a forced chuckle. Kyle made the conscious decision not to drink as much as last year in case you–No, no he really shouldn’t go there. 

However, before Kyle can say his thanks and bid his goodbyes, you and Price share a look that the younger man has seen before, and then the Captain gets out of the loveseat with an old-manly grunt.  

“Nonsense, Garrick,” he objects gruffly, making a dismissive hand gesture as he walks past Kyle over to his vintage liquor cabinet. “We’re having another drink.” 

Then, there is the distinct sound of clinking glasses, the unscrewing of a bottle and the gluck gluck gluck of liquid as said glasses are filled while Kyle furrows his brows, glancing over his shoulder at his Captain’s broad back before his eyes shift back over to you, sitting oh so prettily as you blink up at him with your beautifully bright doe-eyes and another tooth-achingly sweet smile before you shift and go on to push yourself up from your seat. 

And right when Kyle wants to rush to your aid, Price stops him by clasping a hand over his broad shoulder, offering a glass full of strong, amber liquor as he leans in to murmur into Kyle’s ear in a way that makes his skin pebble with goose bumps: “Isn’t she gorgeous, lad?”

Yes, yes, you’re gorgeous. Bloody perfect.

Especially now, sprawled out on your marital bed in the master bedroom while Kyle watches you get eaten out by your husband as if the latter is feasting on his last meal.

Your radiant body arches and stretches on the mattress; all soft lines and feminine curves while your round baby bump keeps drawing his gaze in like the most beautiful sight Kyle has ever been allowed to see. Your breasts are larger; your nipples and areolas a shade darker in contrasts to your glowing skin, and he can’t wait to trail his fingertips along the faint stretch marks along your hips and up your belly. It’s mesmerising. You are mesmerising, absolutely breath-taking.

The whole situation feels much more intimate than the first time last year, too, when the Captain had talked you into fucking the stress and sadness out of his Sergeant’s system, and then the stolen moments of sweet passion that had followed in between whenever he was lucky enough to see you. Always just you and Kyle while Price had given his blessings upfront. Now, though, now the latter is actively participating, and Kyle is trying to figure out his role in this. Less an intruder, but still not wholly part of it all, he figures.

The cries of pleasure which your husband is eliciting from you, eventually pull Kyle out of his stupor and he watches as you shudder and tremble with another intense climax before you mewl and paw at Price’s shoulders with panting breaths, trying to either nudge him away or get him even closer, and the latter pushes himself up on his elbows before sitting back on his haunches, still fully clothed while Kyle was ordered to strip down to his underwear.

“Please–” You whimper and hiccup breathlessly in a way that makes Kyle wince when his cock throbs and twitches painfully in his boxer briefs.

Price chuckles as he licks your arousal from his lips before bringing his hand up to wipe at his mouth. “Use your words, m’love. We’ve already been through this so many times, no?”

You nod eagerly as you swallow thickly, and Kyle can see the gloss of tears in your eyes. He wants to kiss them away, needs to keep overstimulating you all the same to coax more of those saccharine sounds from you, determined to make more memories he can feed on to get him through another year, most likely longer (perhaps forever), of withdrawal from you.

“Garrick,” Price barks and makes a sharp gesture with his hand before scooting away from between your legs, creating more space. “You’re going to fuck my pregnant wife now.”

Kyle’s stomach drops into an open pit for a split second, though the clear order given by his superior does make his heart rate exhilarate and his cock leak even worse in his underwear. His eyes flicker nervously between Price and you, until you reach your hand out to him with half-lidded eyes, a sweet smile and small nod.

And it’s all the encouragement Kyle needs, before he answers with a curt, determined: “Yes, sir.”

However, when Kyle reaches for the condom he’d placed on the nightstand buoyantly, Price clicks his tongue in disdain. “No need for that, lad,” he assures him, “not this time.”

Then, you chime in so sweetly, telling him that it’s okay, that you want to feel him without any barrier, and Kyle’s brain blanks as he positions himself on his knees between your legs; caressing and groping your supple thighs, a full-body shudder wrecking through him at the first touch of your skin after months of being deprived of it.

He grasps his cock at the base, drags his weeping cockhead through your pretty, glistening folds, coating his length in your syrupy slick while gripping your hip with his other hand before guiding his thick tip to your entrance and pushing in slowly, feeling your velvety walls clench and squeeze around him while he sinks his cock deeper, and then, all the air rushes from his lungs with a drawn-out, breathless groan as Kyle finally comes home again.

“That’s it.” Price’s voice coos gruffly, and Kyle can feel the mattress shift behind him before warm, calloused palms trail along his toned sides and settling on his waist with a tight hold, and his dark eyes widen in surprise as he stares down at you, gorgeously spread open and taking his cock like you were made for him, too.

This definitely never happened before, Price joining in like this, but when you continue to mewl for more while nudging the heel of your bare foot into Kyle’s backside urgently, he’s too far gone to think properly; all reason and restraint melting away like candle wax, leaving nothing but pleasure rather than the pain he’d endured for the past year.

“She feels incredible, doesn’t she, Sergeant?”

It’s a rhetorical question, because Kyle is already gritting his teeth, muscles coiling, trying not to cum already as he bottoms out inside your gummy channel. You do feel different. Hotter, slicker, sweeter, utterly intoxicating, and Kyle doesn’t know if it’s the fact he’s not wearing protection or if it’s your pregnancy making your pussy even more addictive.

He nods anyway, holding eye-contact with you. “Yes, s-sir. Fuck–!”

And then, Price pushes Kyle’s hips forward at once, thrusting the younger man’s cock deeper into your fluttering cunt, making you and the Sergeant moan and yelp obscenely in unison while your plump tits jiggle tantalisingly. “Then fuck her properly, Sergeant. She needs it… and so do you.” He growls into Kyle’s ear; rough beard scratching over heated, sensitive skin.

Price tells Kyle to fuck you, but it’s obviously the Captain who’s setting the pace here; guiding and pushing his Sergeant’s hips as the latter fucks you desperately yet carefully while his own clothed and throbbing cock ruts against the younger man’s bare, plump ass.

Kyle can barely hold himself together after months of loneliness and touch-starvation, and the absolute overwhelming feeling of being buried inside you now, hearing you moan and cry out his name while the full weight of his Captain’s powerful body is pressed flush against him; he’s heating up, front to back, sweat trickling down his neck as one of Price’s mammoth hands snakes up his chest, squeezing his pec harshly before curling around Kyle’s throat, putting pressure on his Adam’s apple. 

“Oh, fuck, – Cap–” Kyle gasps and pants, and his head lolls back against Price’s broad shoulder, short-circuiting with new sensations while his dark lashes flutter; hips still grinding deeply and fast-paced into your dripping cunt until your gummy walls convulse and squeeze him rhythmically as your climax seizes you, making you cry out in ecstasy in a way Kyle hasn’t witnessed before while his own pleasure boils over, and he grips you feverishly with both hands, long fingers digging into the fat of your thighs while Price’s hot breath ghosts over his sweat-slicked skin.

“That’s it, Gaz,” he murmurs, squeezing Kyle’s throat tighter and cutting off more of his airflow, “–fill her up, lad. Breed her good.” 

And Kyle does as he’s ordered; eyes rolling back into his skull, crying out despite the pressure around his neck as his cock pulses and shoots several thick ropes of cum into your eager cunt; vision blurring as he comes harder than he has in what feels like forever.

Much to his surprise, once his mind has come off its post-orgasmic high, the aftermath isn’t as strange as Kyle anticipated as soon as Price had gotten involved.

His eyes are closed, his cheek resting above your naked chest, mindful to not put any unnecessary pressure on your sore breasts, while he listens to your steady heartbeat, his warm palm resting on your baby bump, stroking his thumb over your skin absentmindedly.

“Did it kick yet?” Kyle asks curiously, his voice slurred with exhaustion. “The uh… baby, I mean.”

“Yes,” you answer, laughing softly as you continue to scratch your fingernails along the curve of Kyle’s shoulder blades, feeling his skin pebble with gooseflesh. “I think he’s sleeping now after all the commotion,” you giggle, “– just like his daddy.”

As if on cue, Price’s snore cuts through the tranquillity, curled around you on your other side protectively. Kyle snorts softly before letting out a soft sigh, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He's always dreamed of having a boy.

[multific]

From Strangers to Soulmates

Isaac x Reader

Summary: You were new in town, and barely even had time to get used to your new home when your parents told you that you would marry one of the boys in the village. 

The news came to you one evening, an arrangement sealed without your consent but with your future in mind. 

It was a shock, to say the least.

Isaac, they said, was the son of a nice man in town, a hard worker with a reputation for kindness. 

Your family spoke highly of Isaac, though you had never met, you doubted your parents met him for more than a couple minutes. 

You barely knew anybody, so, you knew better than to argue or say no.

When the day of the wedding arrived, you stood across from him in the church.

Isaac's warm smile eased your nerves. He was handsome and he looked kind.

Thank God.

“I know this is sudden,” he whispered softly as the priest recited his words, “but I promise to be a good husband to you.”

His sincerity surprised you, and you found yourself nodding with a smile across your face.

Married life with Isaac was nothing like the tales of hardship you had heard from others. 

Each morning, he woke early to tend to the small farm behind your home.

When you woke, he had already prepared breakfast as he greeted you, along with his cheerful humming.

One morning, as the rooster crowed, you stumbled into the kitchen to find Isaac already dressed, kneading dough with flour on his hands.

He glanced up and grinned. 

“Good morning, Love. Sleep well?”

“I wanted to prepare breakfast this morning,” you replied, leaning against the doorway. "But you were faster than me."

He chuckled, wiping his hands on a cloth before he placed a kiss against your temple. 

“Breakfast is almost ready. Go sit, I’ll bring it to you.”

He always insisted on taking care of you, though you often protested. When you brought him water or helped with chores, he thanked you with such genuine appreciation that your heart swelled.

Isaac was easy to love.

His kindness and sincerity made you feel at ease as you slowly began to fall in love.

In the evenings, after supper, the two of you often sat by the fire. 

Isaac would carve small wooden figures, birds, deer, and even a rabbit he once said was meant to be a cat.

“You’re teasing me,” you said, laughing as he handed it to you.

"What? It has... character.”

Despite your joy, you kept the carving on the mantle, just above the fireplace, treasuring every gift he gave because you knew he gave it from his heart.

On rainy nights, with the symphony of raindrops outside, he would read to you from the old Bible his mother had given him. 

His voice was steady and soothing, and though you weren’t particularly interested in his book, you loved the way his words filled the room.

As the weeks turned into months, the initial awkwardness between you faded. 

One evening, as you watched Isaac working by lantern light, you realized how much your feelings had grown.

“I never expected this,” you said softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

He looked up from his task, brow furrowed. 

“What do you mean?”

“To feel this way about you. To find happiness... love.”

Setting his tools aside, Isaac crossed the room and knelt before you, taking your hands in his. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier,” he admitted, his voice low and sincere. “You’ve made my life brighter than I ever imagined.”

You kissed him.

He took you to bed.

It was the first time you two had made love.

You finally became one.

That night, as you lay together beneath the blankets, he wrapped his arms around you. 

“I’ll spend every day making sure you’re happy. I love you.”

"I love you too."

And he did. 

From the quiet mornings to the laughter-filled evenings, Isaac’s love was constant, steady and unwavering.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[sosa2imagines]

Hey can I please request a Lloyd x reader where she is his ex-wife but he wants her back? Maybe they have a child together (they're the only people who he is really sweet and soft with, he lights up when he sees them) and idk maybe their child wants them together too? He's trying to find excuses to see her or kiss her and he has their child as a support?

Idk whatever you find interesting or have inspo for ❤️

Thank you for this amazing ask. I hope you like it. Warning- Little angst and fluff.

Your hands tremble slightly as you pack your son's backpack for his weekend with Lloyd. It’s a routine exchange, one you've done countless times since the divorce, but the familiar ache always lingers. 

Sharing custody of Victor is always a bittersweet affair. Every time you see him, the resemblance to his father becomes more and more apparent. His bright eyes and mischievous smile are like a living reminder of what you once had together. Yet, despite the pang in your heart, you push your feelings aside, knowing that this arrangement is for the best.

The doorbell rings, and you exhale deeply before opening it.

Lloyd stands before you, immaculate in his polo shirt and with that same cocky smirk you've come to know all too well. Despite your best efforts, your pulse quickens at the sight of him, a reaction you've tried to suppress but have never been able to completely control.

Damn that moustache! Always been your weakness.

You fix your expression, forcing a neutral smile as you step aside to let him in. You're used to this routine by now, but the sight of him still dredges up a mix of emotions you'd rather keep bottled up.

“Ready for our little guy?” he asks, his voice annoyingly smooth, like melted chocolate. Victor bolts past you, yelling, “Daddy!” as Lloyd scoops him up effortlessly, peppering his son's face with exaggerated kisses that make the boy squeal with laughter.  

When your son was born, Lloyd had named him Victor, saying he's his biggest victory in life.

You force a polite smile, ignoring the way Lloyd's eyes flick to yours, softening. He always looks at you like that, like you're still the most important thing in his world, even after everything.  

After Sierra Six.  

The memory burns like acid. Sierra Six had been your breaking point. Lloyd's obsession with catching the rogue operative consumed him, pulling him deeper into his dangerous world and further away from you. You had begged him to walk away, to prioritize his family, but he couldn’t let it go.  

“You don't understand, Sugar!” he'd said during one of your final arguments, his voice sharp but his eyes pleading. “This isn't just a mission. It's personal.”  

It became personal for you too, when Six's retaliation nearly cost you and Victor your lives. A car bomb meant for Lloyd had detonated outside your home, leaving shards of glass and smoke as a grim reminder of the risk you couldn’t live with anymore. You’d left that night, taking Victor with you, and filed for divorce shortly after.  

“Thanks for packing his stuff…” Lloyd says now, breaking you out of your thoughts. He hesitates, then adds, “You could come with us, you know? We're just going to the park.”  

“That’s your time with him…” you reply, keeping your tone neutral.  

Victor tugs at your sleeve. “But, Mommy, you should come! Daddy says he misses you.”  

Your breath catches, and Lloyd clears his throat, awkwardly running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “Victor, buddy, why don't you go grab your soccer ball from the car?”  

Once Victor bounds away, Lloyd steps closer. “He’s not wrong…” he says softly, his gaze holding yours.  

“Lloyd…” You start to protest, but he cuts you off.  

“I know I screwed up. I know I didn’t protect you the way I should have, but I’m trying, Sugar. I’m trying to fix things. For you. For Victor. For us.”  

You cross your arms, a shield against the vulnerability in his voice. “You can’t just say these things and expect everything to magically go back to how it was.”  

“Then let me show you...” he says, taking another step closer. His hand brushes yours, testing waters. “Let me prove it to you.”  

Before you can respond, Victor runs back, his soccer ball in hand. “I got it! Mommy, are you coming with us?”  

Lloyd kneels down, pulling Victor into a side hug. “Tell you what, buddy. Why don’t we see if we can convince Mommy to join us next time, huh?”  

Victor pouts dramatically, his big eyes, the same shade of blue as his father’s turns on you, “Please, Mommy? Daddy says families should stick together.”  

Your heart squeezes at the sight of them, your two boys. Lloyd stands, his eyes never leaving yours, and he leans down just slightly, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath.  

“Think about it…” he murmurs, before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. It lingers, a promise in its tenderness, and leaves you standing there, your resolve crumbling ever so slightly.  

As they walk away, Victor waves enthusiastically, and Lloyd throws you a smile over his shoulder. It’s cocky and hopeful all at once, like he knows the kiss wasn’t just for show.  

Maybe, just maybe, he’ll find a way to win you back.  

The weekend passes slowly without Victor. You spend the quiet hours tidying up, trying to distract yourself from the lingering thoughts of Lloyd’s kiss and the words he left unspoken. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop replaying his plea, “Let me prove it to you.”  

On Sunday evening, Lloyd drops Victor off as planned. Your son runs inside, chattering about their adventures at the park, the ice cream truck they chased down, and how Daddy let him drive his tiny remote-controlled car.  

Lloyd lingers at the door.  

“Can I come in for a minute?” he asks. His tone is careful, cautious, as though he’s testing the waters.  

You hesitate, but something about the vulnerability in his expression makes you step aside. “Just for a minute…” you say.  

Victor is already in the living room, playing with his toys, oblivious to the quiet tension between you and his father.  

Lloyd takes a deep breath, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day. About things not magically going back to how they were.” He pauses, his gaze locking onto yours. “You’re right. They won’t. And they shouldn’t. Because I want things to be better than they were before.”  

You swallow hard, your heart beating faster, “Lloyd, I…”  

“Let me finish, Sugar.” His voice softens, and he steps closer, closing the distance between you. “I’m not asking you to forgive me overnight. I’m not asking you to forget what I did or the pain I caused. I just… I’m asking for a chance to show you that I’ve changed. That I’m trying to be the man you and Victor deserve.”  

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you hold them back. “You think one kiss and a few sweet words will fix everything?”  

“No!” he says firmly. “But I think being here, every day, showing you how much I care… that might. I’m not giving up on us, Sugar. Not now, not ever.”  

Before you can respond, Victor runs up to the two of you, holding a drawing in his little hands. “Look! I made this at Daddy’s house!”  

The picture is messy but a clear stick-figure family of three, all holding hands. Above it, in Victor’s uneven handwriting, are the words, “My family.”

Your chest tightens, and you glance at Lloyd, whose eyes are filled with unshed tears. He kneels down to Victor’s level, gently ruffling his hair. “That’s a beautiful drawing, buddy.”  

Victor grins and turns to you. “Mommy, don’t you think we should be a family again? Daddy’s been so sad without you.”  

You look down at your son, then at Lloyd, who is watching you with a mixture of hope and fear.  

“I don’t know, Victor,” you say softly. “It’s… complicated.”  

“But you love Daddy, right?” Victor asks innocently, his big blue eyes staring up at you.  

You hesitate, the truth sitting heavy on your tongue. “Yes…” you finally admit. “I do.”  

Lloyd stands, his expression unreadable. “Sugar, I know I’ve made mistakes. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for them if you’ll let me.”  

Victor tugs on your hand, his face lighting up with excitement. “Please, Mommy? Let Daddy stay.”  

The weight of the moment presses down on you. Slowly, you nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay. Let’s see where this goes.”  

Lloyd’s eyes widen in surprise, and then a rare, genuine smile spreads across his face. “You mean it?”  

“Yes,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But you’re on thin ice, Hansen.”  

He chuckles, his confidence returning. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Sugar.”  

Victor cheers, throwing his arms around both of you, and for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of hope.  

Maybe, just maybe, you can be a family again.  

The days that follow are a whirlwind of emotions. Lloyd takes your cautious ‘okay’ as a challenge to prove himself, and he doesn’t waste any time.  

He starts small, picking Victor up from school, helping him with homework, and showing up at your door with dinner. Each time he’s around, you find yourself torn between wanting to push him away and feeling your walls crumble a little more.  

One evening, as you’re washing dishes, Lloyd appears beside you, drying a plate you hadn’t asked him to touch. “You know,” he says, his voice low and teasing, “we make a pretty good team.”  

“Lloyd, I don’t need your help.” you say, trying to focus on the sink.  

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “You might not need it, but I like being here. With you.”  

Your face heats up, and you elbow him gently. “Back off, Hansen.”  

But instead of retreating, he grins and presses a kiss to your temple, quick and soft. You whirl on him, glaring. “What do you think you’re doing?”  

“Testing my limits,” he replies smugly, holding up his hands as if in surrender. “You’re adorable when you’re mad.”  

You roll your eyes, but the blush on your cheeks betrays you. He notices, of course, and his grin only grows wider.  

Lloyd’s efforts intensifies over the period.

Over the next few weeks, Lloyd becomes a constant presence in your life. He shows up unannounced with groceries, fixes the broken cabinet in your kitchen, and even surprises Victor with a mini soccer goal for the backyard.  

One afternoon, while Victor is napping, you find yourself sitting on the porch with Lloyd. He’s unusually quiet, his gaze fixed on the horizon.  

“Why are you doing all this?” you ask, breaking the silence.  

He looks at you, his expression sincere. “Because I lost you once, Sugar. And I’m not making that mistake again. You and Victor… you’re everything to me.”  

The raw honesty in his voice leaves you speechless. Before you can think of a response, he leans in, brushing his lips against yours. It’s soft, tentative, as if he’s giving you a chance to pull away. But you don’t.  

When he deepens the kiss, his hand rests gently on your cheek, you lose yourself for a moment, the familiar warmth of him overwhelming your senses.  

When you finally pull back, your heart is racing. “You’re impossible…” you mutter, your cheeks burning.  

“And you’re beautiful,” he replies, his lips quirking into a lopsided smile. 

Despite your reluctance to admit it, Lloyd’s persistence begins to wear down your defenses. He’s patient with Victor, kind to you, and relentless in his mission to win you back.  

One night, as you’re tucking Victor into bed, he grabs your hand. “Mommy, do you still love Daddy?”  

Caught off guard, you glance at Lloyd, who’s standing in the doorway, watching you with an unreadable expression.  

“I…” you start, unsure of how to answer.  

“I know you do,” Victor says confidently. “Because you smile more when he’s here.”  

Lloyd chuckles softly, stepping into the room. “Our kid is a great observer, you can’t hide anything from him.” he teases.  

“Go to sleep, Victor…” you say quickly, pressing a kiss to your son’s forehead before retreating to the living room.  

Lloyd follows you, closing the door behind him. “He’s not wrong, you know,” he says quietly.  

You sigh, turning to face him. “Lloyd, this isn’t easy for me. You broke my trust…”  

“And I’ll spend the rest of my life earning it back!” he interrupts, stepping closer. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved, and I’ll fight for you every day if that’s what it takes.”  

Tears well up in your eyes as you finally let the weight of his words sink in. “I’m scared…” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.   

“I know,” he whispers, cupping your face in his hands. “But I’m here, Sugar. I’m not going anywhere.”  

The next morning, you wake up to the smell of pancakes. Victor’s laughter echoes from the kitchen, and when you walk in, you see Lloyd standing at the stove, flipping pancakes like he’s been doing it for years.  

“Morning, Sugar,” he says, flashing you a boyish grin. “Thought I’d make breakfast for my family.”  

You shake your head, but there’s no hiding the smile on your face.  

Later that day, as the three of you play soccer in the backyard, Victor pauses and looks up at you. “Does this mean Daddy’s staying forever?”  

You glance at Lloyd, who’s watching you with hopeful eyes. Slowly, you nod. “Yeah, buddy... I think it does.”  

Victor cheers, throwing his arms around both of you. Lloyd pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your hair.  

“I love you…” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.  

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you could have your happy ending after all. 

 

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[cryptid-killjoy]

Willem was always going to be a guy down for a HTH break in. It was just the sort of adventure Wild Will was in toespecially if it ended in chilli dogs.

Willem also wasn't sure he ever thought of himself as a father figure to any of the dolls yet. Caretaker? Yes. Father, somehow, he didn't see himself as that even of his own creations even if that might have been somewhat true. Thoughts for another, perhaps. Emotions that hadn't quite matured or been labeled, perhaps.

"A mother? Hmm. I guess I can see that. I'll think about that."

He left it at that for more pondering later. What he knew for sure and did not have to think any longer on was Figaro looked cool as fucking get out with a firearm like that. It straight up suited them. Willem decided it was hot and gave it a double glance, maybe two.

"You look like a video game... in a cool way."

The compliment felt needed.

But moving along into the Livvy's home. Willem wouldn't know Figaro would have expected, but he knew what to expect with how many times he'd made these excursions to check the dolls. He navigated the home with ease.

Figaro wasn't wrong for thinking it was sad. Willem knew it was. It was why they didn't mind when Figaro first chose to stay at the ball. Sad things like this were often easier done in private. Modesty for humility. Smalls said no judgement and Will felt safe enough he wasn't unaware of how it would come off.

They laughed about the shrine and even turned red to some extent.

"I'm pretty sure she's my number one hater wherever she is now and has a voodoo doll of me and with its nuts in a vice on a Battleship board and keeps tossing it overboard. I have a theory they had something to do with Pan's flood making the blizzard melt day randomly a double hard moment for us because only she would hate me enough right now to want to make every moment of my life as hard as it could possibly be."

Even saying his theory out loud made him laugh.

"I'd have deserved it though. From her mind. We broke up after sailing on a ship across the water. Trying to drown me just makes sense to me. Poetic Justice. Whatever better form of justice is there?"

Despite it being oddly morbid he said it playful with humoral candor.

Then Figaro agreed to head on out and search for Livvy's uncle's closet.

"Okay, that's good. You come find me then."

He was going to go looking for Smalls, but Smalls said they'd come back when they were done, so they changed their mind and would wait for Smalls to come back to them.

When Figaro headed out Willem went along with his routine of tinkering with each shelf. He'd careful take ever figurine and doll off one shelf at a time and neatly lay them on the bed while he dusted the shelf and then cleaned the figures themselves before standing each one back one at a time. As he did this, he'd make sure any soft ones were fluffed and their dresses were tidied, shoelaces or bows flounced, and hats properly straightened. If Livvy had told him anything particular about the doll, he'd go through that memory in his mind to pay it homage to what sentimental value it held in the secrets of their faces. To the one he had no information he sent the same appreciation because there's sentiment in the bond of a knick knack, a memento, a toy, that's far stronger than just a memory.

He once considered memories like pages in a book of who a person is. They can be turned and re-turned again. He could read the same chapter more than once as many times as he liked for fun, but never truly relive it. A souvenir or memento of a memory is simply that, a small token. It could be thrown away or lost, but the memory still exists. The chapter can still be filed through in one's recollection. A doll however, a toy with a face, for some reason feels different to Willem than some token. Even silent it looks back. It gives the feeling it experienced all your eyes saw in that same memory. It experienced what you did. A shared experience becomes a friend not a souvenir. One can look into those non-moving eyes and think they were there. Maybe it was nuts? However, if you were a person who could also take those same dolls and bring them to life if he wanted the idea might not seem so farfetched. Lifeless dolls might seem more important than just some old attachment that needed to be let go of.

To Willem's credit he hadn't gone as far as bringing any of Livvy's dolls to life, but it had entered his mind. He was under no delusion he'd ever see Livvy again and he didn't want his old girlfriend's living dolls being a drain on relationships. He was bright enough to realize that could be a deal breaker moving forward. He just hadn't gotten to the fully moved forward part yet.

Okay, so he'd done a little messing around. Zero existed. Even Piper existed, more new, Nutmeg. These were not people who were ever going to be in Willem's life in a permanent way. They were when the mood hit kind of friends. These were complicated friends, not actual relationships.

All that said, none of it was on its mind now. Just the dolls were. When he finished with the cleaning, he'd pick up that mermaid again and sit down on the bed. It had a tendency to get the most favor and longest time being held. It had the vast majority of memories attached for Will. He laid back with it. He sat it on his chest and admired its face as he relaxed. He'd glance over at the shelf and give it a smile. Then he'd smooth over the mermaid's glossy hair. Motions like had a way triggering other past memories like turning Livvy into a doll at Barbie and Ken's party. He remembered the texture of her hair and the sand. He recalled the paints. He could relive every brush stroke of the artwork like muscle memory as porcelain slid under his his fingertips.

He sang one of the lines to the song he wrote Livvy just above a whisper. "If you don't feel that this is real then I'll just walk away. Way deep down I know I found the that proof that love can save. So take some time to figure out what this thing is all about. I hope some day you feel it too. I promise that I'll try to love the best I can. You make me a better man. Whatever this is leading to. For the first time I'm gonna listen to my heart."

Then he took a big breath and sat up. He kissed the little figurine. "I guess it all led me to you pretty lady. I saved you from the boxes. I can live with that."

Then he shined up her face one more time before placing her back in her proper place knowing full well his heart would always be with the dolls. It would be a big enough win for him.

"Thanks for being a part of that." He added as he tapped one finger tip on the glass after closing the shelving unit back up.

It left a smudge.

"Woops."

So, he went to Windex the last spot before he was completely done with the room. He cleaned it spotless enough for a bird to smash into. He was pleased with his work. He joked to the dolls, "Lucky this thing isn't a patio door."

“Now that would be entertaining to see. Especially if you two do the awkward dance of trying to pass each other but stepping in each other’s way,” Figaro said. Bright sides, sunny sides, you had to have the light to be able to have the dark too. Figaro tried to keep the balance.

Chili Dogs. Now that sounded good. Just the thought of it was enough to get the hunger going, the saliva flowing, despite being in this stink of a place. “Fuck it, we’re sneaking into Halloweentown one of these days. Once you try one of their Chili Cheese Dogs, your life isn’t going to be the same.”

Hansel as a handsome guy though? “It’s weird,” They said. “I feel somewhat … almost maternal over him? Guess I kind of am a parent now.”

What an odd thing to think about. What an odd thing to realize. In Funkytown, the dynamic hadn’t really changed. Figaro was in charge but hardly ever acted on it. It felt - wrong, somehow, to try to take control, having watched Gepetto give them their own autonomy, their own thoughts, their own actions. So Mr Punch kept being uncontrollable. Hansel kept living in the walls and being a bit of a pervert, his human body still having human feelings, thrusting against a wall while watching through a peephole.

“Yup, keeping this on me,” They agreed. It was not a good smell. Eventually all of the flesh and organs would rot away and then it would just be bones, which didn’t have as bad of a smell, but right now, it was pretty rank. The place needed some sort of Fabreeze cleansing. Or maybe Frank and Delta spent so much time up in their castle, they didn’t even know that it smelt so bad down here. They needed some sort of comment box, in Figaro’s opinion.

All of their information about guns came from movies and videogames. They knew at the very least to turn on the safety for now, until they would need it. “All I need are some green plants, and we’ve gone totally Resident Evil in this bitch.”

Great minds think alike. Figaro was also all about upgrading their setup at home. Getting a bigger TV, though the vintage one had been moved into their room, because they weren’t going to get rid of Gepetto’s things, other than giving some to Willem, of course. But it felt like he was one of Gep’s kids too. The stuff was THEIRS. Not just inherited by Fig. Better sound system, more gizmos and gadgets.

Figaro let Willem take the lead since they didn’t know their way around the apartment block. They had the gun in hand, waiting for a chance to use it. To ‘blast them’ as Thomas would say. Their knowledge of annoying curses and animal speak wasn’t the most useful for a zombie situation, except to get birds and other animals to let them know where the zombies themselves were. They had to bring out the big guns.

They didn’t say anything about Willem having the key. It just made sense, given that he came to visit the dolls. Others might have found it a bit romantic, perhaps, that he kept visiting his ex’s apartment, taking care of her things. But Figaro just found it practical.

The two of them went through the building, checking around corners, making sure that there wasn’t something waiting on just the other side. But it looked as if the building had mostly been cleaned out. Any life that was here that would have drew the zombies in, disappeared a long time ago. Still, once inside of the apartment, Figaro turned the lock on the door to feel a touch safer.

Though they were anxious to get at that Hawaiian shirt collection that hopefully had not been eaten away from bugs or faded by light coming in through the windows, they were curious about Livvy’s room, and would follow Willem inside. It wasn’t exactly what they had expected.

The shelves were new, and taken care of, that much was clear. It wasn’t covered in dust and cobwebs like everything else. The dolls seemed to be in a place of prevalence. They stood out, like they were an important item in a video game or something, rendered more predominantly.

“I’m a little surprised,” They admitted, hands on their hips, looking at the girliness of the room, the teal color that was on everything, the bit of a mess of clothes from when Livvy was deciding what to pack all that time ago for the big boat trip. “I was expecting a huge shrine to you,” They said, looking to Willem. “Or did you get embarrassed and take that down?”

They weren’t trying to be funny or teasing, that’s genuinely what Figaro thought that they would walk into when it came to Livvy’s space. A whole wall plastered with pictures of Willem, maybe some with Fig but with Fig’s face cut out or something like that. Pieces of his hair, his toenail clippings, on a shelf. This was a voodoo town after all, it wouldn’t be hard for some white girl to get their hands on some sort of love potion or DIY-Voodoo-Doll set. But it was actually pretty … relaxed in here.

They were watching Willem more than the dolls after that, making sure that he was going to be alright while doing this. But maybe it was something that he just needed to do, the way that some people just needed a big cry. Something about it being cathartic.

‘Miss her if she comes back.’ ‘Don’t get too lonely.’

It was … kind of sad.

“Yes, I’ll leave you guys to talk and gossip and … do whatever it is that y’all do in here, no judgment,” They said, putting their hands up and backed out of the room slowly. “I’ll come find ya once I finish raiding that closet.”

[hkthatgffan]

What's actually your opinion on Stanford Pines?

Oh, that's an interesting question. Short answer; I like Ford and think he's a great, flawed but lovable character who has endured a lot and come out of it a better man than he was before. Now, if you want my long answer...keep reading beyond this for why I feel that way.

Back when I first saw Gravity Falls, I thought Ford was okay. He wasn't so much a favourite of mine (that title then and still belongs to Dipper and Mabel for me), nor was I as interested in him. I did love reading up everything in Journal 3 about him and all his antics.

During the Mabel hate era in 2018, I did somewhat sour in my opinion on Ford as I felt fans were being too harsh on Mabel and not realizing some of the negatives about him and how Dipper and Mabel were drifting into the same direction Ford and Stan had become. I felt angry that fans were hating on Mabel and calling out her mistakes but downplaying other characters', Ford included.

But then, if you were around in 2018 and remember the Mabel debates that raged on then...you know how messy it was no matter what side you were on, lmao. Be it anti or pro Mabel or Ford, people really debated long and hard during that time and it's an era I'm glad we're more or less past.

In the years since and having heard more takes from fans who like Ford and get him in ways I didn't, I do find myself appreciating and liking Ford a lot more than I did back then. I'm still always gonna be defensive of Mabel and firm on my stance that Dipper staying behind in Gravity Falls with Ford was the worst outcome that could've happened in that scenario, but I see Ford in a lens less of hatred and more realization that...the whole situation was a learning experience for everyone in that situation. Ford learned something from it, Mabel did, Dipper did...all of them did.

To me, Ford is a character that is good at heart. Like every member of the Pines family, he's flawed and has made mistakes that he's overcome and improved from. And as we see again in The Book of Bill...there is one major new thing we really see that makes him all the better in my eyes now than he used to be!

I've spoken about this before when someone asked what my stance on Billford is, but I think as someone who has survived being in toxic situations with people who made my life worse the same way Bill was a toxic person to Ford, I understand him more so now than I used to.

What we see is Ford and Bill having a partnership (or friendship or relationship depending on how you see it) that was toxic. Bill was manipulative, took Ford and tried to mold him into what he wanted him to be. And Ford eventually realized that but Bill made his life hell for trying to escape. Ford eventually being able to and learn to find happiness in his family and friends was an incredible thing to see and that single thing, having been through such shit myself as others probably can relate too, changed Ford in a huge way for me for the better.

Ford to me is a guy who managed to overcome the worst thrown at him and be able to let go of that whole situation and escape it to become better. And we all deserve that. We all deserve to escape the Bill Ciphers in our life, find our Pines family and grow and become better and happier from that.

That is what I think of Stanford Pines. He's a character who is flawed. He's a character who has his ups and downs. But at his core, he is a guy who overcame adversities thrown at him and found a way to live a better and more fulfilling life with those who appreciate and love him for who he is. For a character I once felt no real connection or understanding for and more so hatred...he sure has come a long way for the better and I couldn't be more proud of him.

I know for others this may not be how they see Ford or you may even look at what I said and think I missed the whole point. But that's okay. Because these characters are for us as fans to relate and find aspects in them we can understand. Headcanons exist for a reason. To me, that's how I see Ford. To you, he may be something else.

That's the beauty of this show. Headcanon these character the way you please, without fear or worry of being told you're wrong. Alex has said no headcanon to him will ever be confirmed or denied...so headcanon and perceive these characters the way you feel. Because we all are Gravity Falls fans...and love them the way we do.

But FR, we need more Mabel and Ford bonding. That's all I want from this show now...these two just having fun and being awesome, lol!!

[magnificentmiraclenacho]

The sister of the winner

Gi hun x sister reader

Summary: When gi hun wants to take down the games he faces a lot of problems. But one problem he also has is his relationship with his sister minji ( reader ). Gi hun dosent want to tell her about the games do to her innocent. But what happends when the salesman lores her into the games, and the siblings finds them self fighting for their lifes.

Part 1 = Not so sweet home

It wasn’t unusual for your brother, Gin Hun, to keep things from you. You had grown up knowing that he preferred to hide his struggles rather than burden anyone else. But ever since he showed up at your door after weeks with clean clothes, a new haircut, and enough money to settle the debts that had been hanging over him like a noose, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

“Where did you get this money?” you’d asked him that day, holding the thick wad of cash he handed you.

“Does it matter?” he replied, brushing past you to collapse on the couch. “Just take it. Pay off your bills, buy yourself something nice. Start over.”

You stared at him, waiting for a real answer, but none came. He just stared blankly at the ceiling, a haunted look in his eyes.

---

The months that followed weren’t what you expected. You thought Gin Hun’s sudden wealth would change things for the better—that he’d smile more, take you out to eat like he used to when you were younger, or even just be around more.

Instead, he became distant. He stopped answering your calls as often, and when he did, his voice was hollow, like he was somewhere far away. He would be out late at night with so called frieds. You knew that was not true, and that those were not his friends, but you didin't say enything.

“Are you okay?” you asked him once when he finally showed up for dinner after weeks of silence.

“I’m fine,” he said, but his forced smile told you otherwise.

“Where’s the money from, Oppa?” you pressed again. “Did you win the lottery or something?”

He froze, his chopsticks halfway to his mouth, before shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. Just know I’ve got your back now, okay?”

That answer didn’t sit right with you, but you let it go. For now.

---

What Gin Hun didn’t know was that you had been struggling too. The money he gave you that first time had been enough to help you for a little while, but it wasn’t a permanent fix. Your job barely covered your living expenses, and the debt collectors were growing more aggressive with every missed payment.

You thought about asking Gin Hun for help again, but something stopped you. He seemed so fragile these days, so weighed down by something he wouldn’t talk about. And even if you did ask, you weren’t sure you’d like the answer.

From author:

Instead, you tried to figure it out on your own. You picked up extra shifts, cut back on meals, and ignored the threatening calls as best you could. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t enough.

Guys this first chapter is quite short and lowkey boring but i promise you  it gets better.😭🙏

Masterlist=

[lizziesloopy]

NSFW ALPHABET W DARYL DIXON

A - Aftercare: I don’t care what anyone else says, Daryl is the master of aftercare. He’s always worried about you, so he always insists u rest and take a minute after u two do anything, and gets a warm washcloth or tissue to clean you up, and or water. If you’re the type to get tired after sex, he sleeps with you, lets u sleep on his chest while playing with your hair.

B - Body Part: He likes all of you equally, but he’s a sucker for your breasts and hips. I will DIE on this hill. Daryl has a thing for hips, holding them while he’s fucking you, keeping them down while he’s eating you out, brushing his thumb along them while kissing you.

C - Cum: Daryl has a breeding kink. He’s already generally protective of the people he cares about, especially you, and that doesn’t change in the bedroom. The idea of filling you up, cumming inside you, thats what does it for him.

D - Dirty Secret: Daryl is a pretty reserved guy, so I don’t think he’d ever admit to any kind of dirty secret unless you asked first. But, he secretly really likes the idea of you riding his face, and really likes the scent of you.

E - Expirience: The only expirience Daryl has is from before the apocalypse, and even then it was never all that good. He was usually intoxicated when he had the occasional one night stand, most of his sexual knowledge coming from Merle. But once he’s with you, he’s very eager to please you, whether he knows what he’s doing, he WILL make it his mission to learn.

F - Favorite Position: Contrary to popular belief, I think Daryl is a pretty vanilla guy. He mostly enjoys missionary, he likes to be able to see your face, and hold you close. He also likes spooning, it feels much more intimate, and it’s usually a go to for sleepy sex. He also never complains when you want to ride him because god does he love it. But I don’t think he’d like to bend you over something or do doggy style, he feels it’s too degrading or disrespectful.

G - Goofy: Things stay pretty passionate and serious between you too when being intamite. But, when something is akward and happens to be funny, a little laugh here and there isn’t unusual, especially in the beginning.

H - Hair: I mean, it’s an apocalypse, I don’t think people are all too focused on how well groomed thier bits are. Despite that, he doesn’t let it get crazy, keeps it tame, very clean. He doesn’t like the feeling of being unkempt down there, it’s uncomfortable. As for you, who could give two shits bush or bald, as long as he can get in there, he’s a happy man. And if he’s being honest, he’s likes when you have a little more hair because he likes the scent of you.

I - Intimacy: Daryl is extremely intimate nobody is changing my mind. I don’t understand how yall think this man would fuck you like an animal against a tree, absolutely not. He’s very private about your sex life and plans to keep it that way. He’s quiet overall, but that doesn’t stop him from absolutely ravishing you. He likes being as humanly close to you as possible, whether that be spooning you, reverse cowgirl, pulling you impossibly close to him in missionary, anything.

J - Jack Off: Daryl isn’t much of a masturbater. Never has been. He doesn’t have the highest sex drive, and when he does, he has you. He’d rather have you than his hand, always.

K - Kink: Like I said, he’s pretty vanilla, but not to say he doesn’t enjoy a thing or two. He 100% has an oral fixation, going down on you or you going down on him, obsessed with it. He also likes pulling your hair every now and then, but never too hard.

L - Location: Only the bed. Yall are crazy for sayin ‘over a table’ ‘in the middle of the woods’ like what the FUCK are you on 😭. He’s a very private man, who prioritizes your comfort over anything else, therefore, the bed.

M - Motivation: I mentioned how he wouldn’t have a very high sex drive, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get turned on by you. If you’re in the mood, that’s his motivation. But also, seeing you all sweaty or working hard, or when he’s teaching you how to use his crossbow, seeing you use it, that turns him on hella.

N - NO: There’s a lot of no’s for Daryl when it comes to intimacy for you. He would never hurt you in any way shape or form, that consists of spanking, slapping, hitting, restraining, choking, etc. IF you asked him to choke you he’d be ok with doing it very lightly, but still worried. He’s not ok with risky/public sex, degrading you, and certain kinks like mommy/daddy. I hate when ppl say he’d have that, he’d hate it.

O - Oral: ORAL FIXATIONNNNNNNNNNN!!! This man is a certified MUNCH. Bro feasts like it’s his last meal alive. He love love loves that he can make you feel that good, because he’s exceptionally good with using his tongue, and has learned all the ways you like it. He likes watching the way you loose control of yourself, your face and your body. He also loooves when you go down on him, but he never says that. He actually has an extremely hard time containing himself when you suck him off. He usually doesn’t last long. Seeing you on your knees, looking at him through your eyelashes with his cock in your mouth, it’s his wet dream.

P - Pace: Depends. Depends on the mood, how you wanted, how you both are feeling, if he’s stressed, if he’s relaxed. I mentioned earlier he likes being intimate, therefore I’d say most of the time he’s not too fast or hard, maybe when he’s getting close or knows you’re getting close though. But times when he’s stressed, or he can tell you are, he’s a bit more fast paced with it.

Q - Quickie: Nope. 100% absolutely not. He despises the idea of rushing sex. He needs to feel comfortable in a safe environment where he knows he has time and there is no danger.

R - Risk: No risks. He doesn’t take risks with places, kinkiness, or new stuff. Unless you specifically say you want to try something and he’s ok with it, or he thinks it something, than nah. The only thing I could think of is he loves cumming in you, so there would be the risk of pregnancy if you are fertile.

S - Stamina: Depends again. He can go for long if you can, but when he’s tired, one round is enough to put him on his ass. But, just solely pleasuring you alone, he could do that all day.

T - Toy: He is definetly not opposed to anything that makes you feel good. If he were to ever stumble upon something on a run, or some other way, he’d definetly grab it. Using something like a vibrator or a dildo on you is definitely something he’s very open too, but when it comes to him, he’d rather not use anything.

U - Unfair: There is lots of teasing in your relationship in general, but when it comes to sexual teasing yes, but very subtle, never things other people would notice. But when it comes down to actual sex, neither of you like to be kept waiting.

V - Volume: He’s mostly quiet like usual. Grunts mostly, especially when he’s cumming, he usually burries his face in your shoulder to muffle himself. He loves to hear how vocal you are though. I think he could be a bit of a whimperer when you give him head too.

W - Wild Card: He doesn’t mind when you’re on your period, he’s just extra cautious with the mess. Puts a towel down or does it in the shower.

X - X Ray: He’s pretty big, not too big, but above average. It’s mostly the girth, cuz damn. Your first time with him had to be slow and steady because YOWCH.

Y - Yearning: Well, I already said this before but he had a medium sex drive, not awfully high. But if you do, especially if you’re younger than him, he’s more than happy to get you off. Eating you out, fingering you, letting you ride his thigh, whatever you want.

Z - zzzz: He gets pretty eepy 😴 He doesn’t like quickies because he likes to have his time with you, specifically time to cuddle you and sleep afterwards. Which is why he mostly prefer sex before bed/at night.

Hope you guys liked it!! My first time writing something like this, lmk how you like it and if I should do a SFW one.

[cantgetworsethanthistbh]

a little ficlet on my little ford au because im officially extremely obsessed w it rn and i neeeeed you guys to see just how much angst potential this has

@shmisky because you asked to see the dialogue hope you enjoy it ebdhrdudh <3

~~

Ford shifts in his make shift shelter. The gusts of salt water air blowing on his face is predictably stronger with the size he is now, but it's far more tolerable than when he was on deck. Right here, he can hear Stan's steady heartbeat behind him. Slow. Rhythmic.

Serene.

Then Stan sighs, and Ford feels his chest rise and fall against his back, the expansion and deflation. Ford looks up curiously, eyes landing on the unhappy downward twitch of Stan's lips.

"Stanley?" He calls out, hoping his voice reaches his brother's ears. Of course when indoors, Stan can hear him clearly, but with the rippling waves, the occassional creaks of the old boat and the few squaking seagulls that fly ahead freely, who knows if Stan could hear him now? He raises his voice to call out again. "Stanley, what's wrong?"

He's greeted with a long beat of silence, so much so he almost concluded that Stan hasn't heard him. He cups his hands over his mouth, ready to speak again when Stan finally clicks his tongue.

"Guess I'm responsible for you again, huh?" Stan remarks, bitterness in every word. "The portal, then with you livin' in the shack before that whole weird-ma-somethin', now this."

He gestures to his breast pocket, where Ford is currently tucked away in. The said small man feels his face heat, an anchor dropping from his chest and lodging deep to the depths of his stomach. Ford swallows, his tongue in his throat, because, well, ouch.

"I suppose you could say I'm your little problem, eh?" He croaks out weakly with a nervous smile, looking up at his brother. Stan is looking ahead at the waves, attention nowhere near Ford, and Ford feels even smaller to be talked to without having Stan's eyes on him. But knowing if Stan looks down, he'd feel as microscopic as the germs that stick to the soles of Stan's feet.

"I guess," Stan says, not refuting or denying anything, and the pit grows deeper. "Sure as hell isn't fun, you know?"

"I... I know," Stanford says, sighing too. He tucks himself in the pocket even deeper.

"Stanley... are you, upset with me? For doing this?"

"Pfft, no." Stan responds quickly and Ford almost breaks his neck with how quick he whips his head to look up at him.

"Wait, you're not?"

"No, I'm not, Sixer."

"Then, um," Ford scratches the back of his neck, feeling the drying air on his skin. "What exactly is wrong...?"

Stan's arm moves, and he leans onto the railing, precariously leaning just a little so that Ford wouldn't threaten to fall into the deep, inky blue depths of the rippling sea. Trying to appear casual, despite his precision and carefulness. He's always been like that with Ford, and once upon a time even Stanford himself mistook that careless facade to be something more than just a faux cover up of his brother's big heart. The one that always bled too much for Ford.

"I'm not pissed you wanted to tag along, Ford," Stan says, finally looking down at Ford and Ford feels his heart jump. Stan's own heartbeat quickens a bit with rising frustration that Ford is almost tempted to call his bluff out. But he keeps his mouth shut, because assuming too much about Stan's intentions is how he got himself here in the first place. From Thirty years ago. Forty years ago.

"I'm pissed you did this after I told you I wanted to experience stuff for myself for once."

"I just—"

"I thought about coming back for you, you know? And really give it a chance, and you—" Stan sighs, clutching the railing with a hard grip. "Of course you just gotta take me wanting to ask you myself away from me, huh?"

The argument Ford was about to hastily spit out to defend himself dies, and he sinks lower in Stan's breast pocket. His heartbeats sound a little less serene now. More like an all encompassing timebomb of when all of this will eventually blow up in Ford's face, the only one Ford can't defuse.

"I'm sorry, Stanley."

"Yeah, well," Stan straightens up, looks out on sea again. "Little too late for that, huh?"