#all day i sit around and look at pictures of my beloved wife on my phone

[hearseisananimal]

pondering my orb (staring at pictures of my wife on my cellular device)

[hailuchiha]

Hey! Your blog is right up my alley and I love your writing? I saw something similar on a different blog, and I really wanted to see your take on it. Feel free to ignore if you don't want to write it 😿💔

Req: Itachi has a younger sister close to his age. When she's of age, Fugaku wants to teach Itachi his place and duty as Uchiha heir and has him breed his sister.

!! 18+ NSFW!!

!!MINORS DNI!!

!!ALL characters involved are 18+ NO MINOR CHARACTERS!!

incest; betrayal?; expectations; breeding; sibling incest; old customs; lineage; loss of virginity; first time; misogynistic behavior; impartial treatment; noncon; taboo

Know Your Place

While Fugaku was far less intense than some of the older generation clan heads, be it Uchiha or from other clans, he still had to uphold some practices, especially since all eyes were always on the Uchihas.

His beloved wife was loathe to put her precious children through that ritual, begging him to use his position as clan head to vote his children out of it. However, Fugaku was nothing if not dutiful. He would not show any bias towards his family. Ancient Konoha customs were especially sacred to the Uchiha and Senju, since they were the founder's blood.

After many fights and arguments, Mikoto had unhappily relented, seeing that she couldn't change her husband's mind. His heart ached for his wife as he could imagine where she was coming from. So, to spare her somewhat, he suggested she should go visit her friend the fated day and to even have a sleepover if possible.

While she had still not been happy about his decision and what would befall their children, she had thanked him for the suggestion, ever courteous, and went to sleep with her back turned towards him.

The fateful day finally came. Mikoto, despite being upset with her husband, had taken his suggestion and planned a date with Kushina to spend the whole day together and end it in a sleepover. She had already told Sasuke to come straight to Naruto's home with him after their training ended. If there was one silver lining in the situation, she figured it was that her baby would be spared the fates of his elder siblings.

Their daughter had come of age around a week ago. Fugaku knew what had to be done. And it had to be done today, with his wife safely out of the picture so as not to have to witness what needed to happen.

Sometime before noon, Fugaku came into the living room and called for both his eldest children in a booming voice. Itachi came first, coming in from where he'd been in the back garden, looking mildly curious. Fugaku gestured for him to wait, to which he obliged, knowing he'd find out whatever his father wanted once his sister came down.

His second born, and only daughter, tiptoed down the stairs, poking her head around the door to gauge the situation. She flinched upon seeing his intense expression and straightened up, quickly slinking into the room and sitting opposite him, beside Itachi.

"You're both old enough now," he got straight to business. "Itachi, you're my heir. You need to stake your claim. As for you," he fixed his daughter with a cold gaze. "You must ensure and strengthen his position. Your place is beside him."

She bit the inside of her cheek, looking towards Itachi for clarity, but he was staring in confusion at their father.

"I don't understand father," she said, trying to lower the intensity radiating off of both the men. "It's understood I'll make sure his position is strong... Why are you saying it like this?"

Fugaku breathed out through his nose, praying for patience to get through this. He kept his demeanor and tone harsh, knowing that was the most efficient way to get through this.

He barked at her to undress, that she was to do as she was told. That was her position. He ignored the angry, hurt tears welling in her eyes and kept his gaze focused on his son, whose fists were balled tightly on his lap.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his daughter looking to Itachi for help, but eventually realizing her older brother wouldn't take her side here. If the situation weren't so dire, he would have smiled in pride at his son's sense of loyalty. Fugaku knew how much Itachi adored his younger siblings, but to see that he would do whatever it takes for his clan and village made him proud.

His daughter slowly undressed, fighting back tears and looking forlorn. When she was completely bare, she folded her arms over her chest, trying futilely for some semblance of modesty. He could see the slight tremours in Itachi's arms as he fought for restraint.

Fugaku took a quick inspection of her folds, having her hold her cunt open, feet spread far apart. He nodded with satisfaction upon finding her virginity in tact. Now to move on to the next part.

Next, he had her lay on the low table in front of Itachi, barking at her to spread her legs and keep them open when she would start to close them, shaking from the absurdity of the situation.

Itachi hadn't moved an inch from his spot, still kneeling at his seat. He didn't meet Fugaku's eyes when the clan head turned towards him.

"Itachi," he called out sternly, although his voice was considerably free of the harshness he had used on his daughter. "You are to be the future leader of this clan. You must take her, and make sure to spill inside. She'll bear many children for you."

For a long moment, Fugaku feared his eldest won't obey. That this was where he'd draw the line and Fugaku would have to use stricter means. He fixed his son with a cold look, barely paying attention to his vulnerable daughter, who had hidden her face behind her hands. He let her hide for now.

Then, slowly, Itachi shifted, reaching out to grab the only item Fugaku had prepared for this occasion. He took the jar and opened it, dipping his fingers into the thick lubricant. Wordlessly, he brought the fingers to his sister's pink folds that were splayed uncomfortably in front of him. He didn't waste time in teasing or arousing pleasure, and simply got to work using his slick fingers to lubricate and open her up with quick motions as if sensing Fugaku's rising impatience.

The man pulled his daughter's trembling hands away from her face, revealing her teary eyes and conflicted expression. He wanted to give her a kind smile and comfort her, but he remembered his duty as a father and clan head were most important right now.

"Look at him," he said instead, words as stern as his eyes. "Don't bring your hands up again!"

Pleased with his work when her hands dropped to her sides on the tabletop, clenched into tight fists, Fugaku went behind Itachi who was lining up his manhood to his sister's prepared cunt. With a hand on his son's shoulder, Fugaku watched as his thick, engorged head breached his daughter's virgin entrance, telling him to keep pushing as she began to squirm.

He didn't comment when Itachi's hands went to her waist, holding her down as he spoke gentle words to calm his sister down and reassuring her that the pain would subside.

“Easy, love. Just a bit more… It’ll get better,” Itachi murmured against the skin of her neck before pressing a gentle kiss there.

With a few more thrusts, he was buried inside her, having successfully breached her cunt. Fugaku winced, having caught sight of the thin streaks of blood from her hymen coating the length of Itachi's fat cock as he pulled out to thrust back in, the red now pinkish from mixing with the white lubrication Itachi had used generously while preparing her. The clanhead patted his son on the back as he finally started to fuck his sister properly, seemingly having gotten over the inhibitions from earlier. Content in knowing that his work was done, Fugaku quietly exited the living room and retreated to his study.

As he leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar, he wished Mikoto would return home tonight instead of sleeping over at her friend's house after all. He was only human, and the past couple hours had aroused his need for his wife.

He blew out a ring of smoke, letting his eyes fall shut as the muffled sounds of his son breeding his daughter filtered through the thin walls to his office.

NOTE: edits and corrections may come along as i have time and notice them

[ayyyy-le-simp]

Hey pookieesss 🤭

Happy Final Bad Batch Eve. I’m totally not crying.

All day I’ve seen final goodbyes and sad edits. And so to help ease the nerves and anxiety, I come here with some hopefully funny shenanigans. Featuring my beloved Mami again.

My mother has very little knowledge on Star Wars (which relatable, im still learning). And so I’ve asked for her to give me her thoughts on The Bad Batch characters!! I call this ✨ pre-game comfort ✨. Writing this two hours before midnight (it’s 10pm where I live).

Enjoy <33 and everyone thank my beloved mother!! (Spanish lines will be translated, blue print is me)

“I already told you, Rambo.”

“Was he ever shirtless?”

“Unfortunately no.”

“Damn.”

“He’s a 7/10 though.”

“That’s the one who died, right?”

“Pobrecito.” (Poor thing.)

“Cómo se llama?” (Whats his name?)

“Tech.”

“Ahh okay. He died the same way Bucky Barnes died.”

“Bucky Barnes didn’t die though. He came back as the winter soldier.”

“Exactly. And who’s that mystery clone guy?”

“I think that mystery clone is Tech.”

(Guys she supports our delusions.)

I’m typing this on my phone at the moment, and for some reason, tumblr isn’t letting me type under pictures and it’s literally annoying me and I’m too lazy to made separate posts, but stay tuned. But I might make another version on my tiktok 🤭

ANYWAYS

Moving onto Crosshair

“He reminds me of your dad. Bald and tall.”

(I showed my mom the scene of Crosshair sitting by himself in the cafeteria)

“Ay pobrecito.”

Moving onto Wrecker

“He reminds me of Drax. From guardians of the galaxy.”

“I think he would like Pitbull.”

“MR WORLDWIDE!”

“I literally love him.”

“Quién? Wrecker or Pitbull?” (Quién means who)

“Wrecker.”🤭

“Estas loca.” (You’re crazy.)

Moving onto Echo

“What happened to him?! Why does he look gray?”

“He needs to eat some red meat. Get some blood in that skin. That’s some low iron.”

“Yo le daría carne asada.”(I’d give him carne asada.) [steak]

“Echo? Like the movie Earth To Echo. I like that movie.”

Moving onto Omega (my literal daughter)

“She looks like her name would be Estella. Or Estrella.” (Estrella means Star in Spanish)

“I like Omega. It’s a cute name.”

Moving onto Phee

“I like her, she’s voiced by Wanda Sykes. I like Wanda Sykes, she’s funny as hell.”

“She really liked Tech.”

“She and Tech deserved better.”

“In my mind, Tech is not dead, he’s happily married to Phee.”

“You’re delusional.”

“I know.”

“Pobrecita, she didn’t see him around.”

Moving onto Cid

“Isn’t that the puta that snitched them out?”

(Puta means bitch)

“Yeah.”

“Hm. She’s a witch for that.”

BONUS:

CAPTAIN REX✨✨

“…”

“…”

“Que guapo.” (How handsome.)

“…”

“RIGHTT.”

“But he’s a captain?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh no. I can’t go cheating on my Captain America. America’s ass. He’s the only Captain in my life.”

“He can be your space Captain. Space’s ass.”

“Space’s ass.”

“Space’s ass.”

OKAY THANK YOU FOR READING THIS 🙏🏽🙏🏽PRAYERS FOR THE FINAL EPISODE IM SCARED GUYS WE NEED A HAPPY ENDING 😭 😭 🙏🏽 I NEED THEM ALL TO BE WELL AND OKAY AND SAFE OR ELSE I’LL BE A MILITARY WIFE IN MOURNING

[graceisinthelibrary]

It had started with a single pink rose on her little desk in the kitchen on Valentine’s Day in 1939. There had been no card, no message, no clue of the giver whatsoever. It had been mysterious and cute and she had felt herself blushing, and admittedly she had basked in the attention.

It had been ages since someone had thought of her as their Valentine. It hadn’t mattered who the mysterious giver was, although she had her suspicions. 

Audrey had suspected that the identity of her secret admirer was no other than Tris and the mere thought had made her smile. She had put the rose in a vase and had taken in joy in the fact that someone was thinking of her. She had never questioned him about it and had rather spent the whole day with a wide smile on her face. 

On Valentine’s Day in 1940, six weeks after Tristan’s departure she had found another pink rose on her desk and this time she had been certain that Tristan couldn’t have been the one to deliver it. When she had asked Gerald about the rose a day later she had been met with red ears and an awkward silence that was enough of an answer. In fact the conversation following  had been so cringeworthy that she decided to forget to inquire any further. 

When Helen had made a cheeky remark about Gerald being the gifter Audrey had just smiled and for one second when her eyes had met Siegfried’s over the kitchen table, she had wondered if it had been his present, but she had quickly discarded the idea, because every year on the 14th of February he visited the cemetery to place a small bouquet of her favourite flowers, lilies, on the grave of his beloved wife. She couldn’t picture him sneaking a single flower on her desk as a romantic gesture. The rose stood on her desk until its scent had faded and it had started to wither. 

When Audrey entered the kitchen on the morning of Valentine’s day in 1941 she found another pink rose on her desk. This time she found a card right next to it. The card, coloured in a tender rosé and with a robin on its cover, was too delicate for words. With a slight tremble in her hands, she picked it up and opened it. 

She knew the hand like her own and recognised the slight evidence of the writer’s own insecurity as he had written down the words. 

Lord Byron said, “Friendship is love without wings.” But my wings, my dearest, have been tamed for too long and they long to fly. For you. With you. And for all eternity. 

Here I am, wishing for you to be my everything. 

My companion, my lover, and my wife. 

With all my love, 

Siegfried.

Hot tears were swimming in her eyes as she kept reading the lines over and over again, fearing they could vanish. Fearing it was all a dream that could fade away, came morning. Once she dared to look up, her vision blurry, her head dizzy, she met a couple of dark eyes that lay attentively on her. There were no words, no staggering admission that could express the happiness she felt inside. With two long steps she was standing right in front of him and had her arms thrown around his neck. With her head buried in the crook of his neck, she inhaled his scent and basked in his nearness. 

She felt his lips on her head, her eyes, on the tip of her pointed nose, and then on her lips.

“My everything,” he whispered softly and then she cried from wholesome, utter happiness. 

She had never been anyone’s everything before. She had lost Robert to the war, before they had truly begun. When her son had been born she had to share him first with Robert, before she had lost him to his criminal antics. 

Being Siegfried’s everything, to fly with him, was everything she had ever dreamt of. 

“Let’s fly together then,” she whispered and sealed her intention with a soft kiss. 

From this day on a single pink rose graced her desk every day of the year and a robin was sitting in the trees by the cemetery near the church. It sang for the bypassers and guarded those who had left. 

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: Sun in eyes

BONUS COMIC REVIEW: 

Issue 17 mini comic: Marc Spector - The Worship of False Idols

You guys. You guys have no idea. This is it. This is the reason I fell utterly in love with Moon Knight. I'm so excited.

When I found Moon Knight (I'll get to that discovery in a later review) I just had to know who he was. I stayed up all night downloading and reading everything. 

When I got to this piece it must have been 3am and this is what made me obsessed. 

What's hilarious is that this mini comic comes at the end of a really dramatic Marc Spector heavy issue in which he's dark and angsty and violent. 

And then...You get this. This delightful idiot man that's just doing his best. 

Let's get into it! 

I wonder if this image of Marc might be what inspired Doctor Grant from the show. 

We open with Marc holding a machete and making his way through a jungle in South America. 

Narration: Long before there was a Moon Knight, there was Marc Spector. Though he wore but a single name, he operated under many guises... Soldier of fortune, treasure seeker, courier, mercenary, were a few of those guises. 

He was a man whom Moon Knight can now look back on with only slender pride - A strong man, yes, and thoroughly determined, but often a ruthless man, one who braved danger only for money. This is one of his stories." 

Such lovely narration. Painting a picture of a gruff killer for hire out for a buck and not afraid to get dirty for it. 

We see him hacking his way through a jungle and complaining the whole time. 

"Must've hacked my way through thirty miles of this green hell..." 

He had previously met with a drunken archeologist (probably at a bar) who told him about a beautiful ugly idol made of solid gold. 

He finds a clearing and there sits the idol 

He doesn't find this suspicious at all. 

There's going to be a lot of screenshots in this review. 

(flat in the dirt again.) 

The dog apparently belongs to an archeologist nearby. His wife comes out of the tent, remarking that he's probably out drinking again. (Marc's info source). 

She looks around and notices the Idol is missing. She shrugs and goes back to the tent. 

She has a busy day tomorrow if she's to keep looking for a big discovery that she thinks is very near. 

Marc wakes in a dark underground cavern. 

Now we get to watch this poor man try to think this through. 

"But I can't carry any more than I've already got.

Maybe I should substitute-take something else-something better...

No-The archaeologist in the bar said this idol is the choice one--the one that'll command the highest price from collectors and museums--worth far more than its weight in gold.

But if I leave now, I'll never find this place again. Not before those archaeologists do--and by then they'll have armed guards swarming this place... 

Got to decide now-cuz I won't be able to change my mind later..." 

Marc decides to keep the one he already has. 

He follows a draft and finds himself in a bat cave with Guano up to his calves. 

Oh Marc…Oh no…

Oh no.

Oh no

Marc no…

Marc no…stop…

Buddy…pal….Beloved hero of my heart…

I mean…He saves them. Marc isn’t as heartless as he thinks he is. Just cause he’s having a bad day doesn’t mean they have to have one too. 

And now… I give you my hero. The light of my life. My obsession. My sweet cheese. My good time boy.

Damn Marc, that’s a nice leg. 

Marc makes it back to the town. 

He staggers towards where he's staying, looking forwards to a week in bed and then cashing in his idol for the sweet sweet dough (get that bread Marc). 

Suddenly, his thoughts of rest are interrupted by someone shouting "Three Dollars American!" 

He looks over to see the archeologist and his wife talking. 

She admonishes him for taking so long to get back to the newly discovered temple....then asks him why he keeps guying the cheap plaster idols. 

Marc looks over to a stand with a man selling "Genuine Inca idols straight from the temple of the sun!"

This is Marc Spector everyone. Mercenary dark and tormented and angry and violent killing machine Marc Spector. 

The man that can’t forgive himself and that no one loves easily. A man that is hated and feared. 

I don’t read Moon Knight for the dark action. I read Moon Knight for moments like this. 

This is what made me fall in love. Not the white cape, the mental health, the DID, the religiously tortured soul, the hero that needs saving…

This man that is having the worst time and still he stumbles into the sunset because DAMN IT he worked hard to get there and he’s going to get something out of it… But at the end of the day, he’s no further along than the rest of us. 

He probably had a drink and went to bed after this. Maybe laughing to himself. Maybe laughing about all the close calls. Maybe crying a little. 

But he didn’t go back to rob the excavation site. He said “Not today. Not this time.” and went on with his life. 

And he told no one of this, because he’s Marc fucking Spector and he has a reputation. 

So I leave you with this. The best image of Marc Spector I’ve ever seen. The true meaning and mood of Moon Knight I’ve ever seen. 

This pretty much just sums up his life: 

(And somewhere, Khonshu looked at this mess and said “That’s the one. That’s the one for me. My son!”)

[peachymilkandcream]

Levi roughly fucks her mouth because she was talking back too much.

Levi x Evelyn -> Shut your Mouth

A/N: Sorry for not getting to this sooner! I was absolutely swamped this weekend, thanks for the prompt! ^^

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, violence, mind breaking, misogyny, etc.

============================================

Levi was already behind on work, usually he enjoyed the meticulous nature of paperwork but being this far behind made him loathe it. In reality he only had himself to blame for getting behind but he could never admit that, it was always someone else's fault, he could never be in the wrong.

Since Evelyn always seemed to try and escape while he was at work, this time he brought her with him to ensure her security. Plus it also put people's minds at ease that she was doing well since to the younger Scouts she was a beloved veteran. Never did he regret it more when all she was doing was riding his ass over trivial things like consent.

"I can't believe I'm stuck here all day with you. Stuck in this confined room with a rapist. If anyone knew what you really were that shiny career of yours? Gone, poof. Into thin air."

"Can you shut the fuck up?" He buried his fingers into his temples.

"And why should I? Can't handle the truth? Can't handle hearing about the shit you really do to me? Trying to block it out like it never happened?"

"For fuck's sake woman I'm trying to get some work done and I'd appreciate if you shut your damn mouth so I don't have to hear your noise! If you think that because of where we are I'll not punish you you're horribly mistaken." He stayed staring daggers into her eyes for a moment before dropping them down again to his desk.

Evelyn went silent for a good long moment, Levi figured she must have gotten the picture and resigned herself to being a silent wife. However after a few moments she opened her mouth again with a mocking laugh.

"What? You thought I'd sit here like a prim princess content with being in the same room as my amazing and loving husband? You must be more stupid than I thought."

"That's it." Levi slammed his hands on the desk as he stood, crossing around to her quickly, now she was scared. She started to back up, her eyes wide as she looks up at him.

"Wait Levi- I'm-"

"Don't even think about it. You don't get to spew your shit and then expect me to forgive you with a simple I'm sorry you don't mean. If you're going to say something own up to it and take the consequences." He grabbed a fistful of her hair as she tried to slide away. "Now I think you only use your mouth to be an insufferable bitch, how about we find a better use for it." With his free hand he fumbles with his belt.

Now she struggles, crying, pleading saying she didn't mean it. The act was almost amusing, it was all tough talk until she was punished for it.

As her mouth is open while she cries he uses the opportunity to slide his whole length down her throat all at once. She gags, bringing more tears to her eyes as she tries to calm down before throwing up.

"That's right, suck on the dick of the man you hate, don't you eat that shit up in those novels you used to be so obsessed with?" He laughs, tightening his grip on her hair before rocking his hips towards her face.

Tears flow down her face, she wills herself to relax so that his dick slides in and out with a bit more ease. Drool drips down her chin from his thickness, it's in times like these she looks the most beautiful to him. Sitting and taking whatever he has to give like a good little wife.

"Good girl, just take it. Take it all." He moves his hips faster, making her close her eyes to focus on making her throat loose enough for him. He had to be impressed with her efforts at least.

Levi had fantasies and dreams of taking her in every place that had once held happy memories of their days before marriage. He knew all she had to cling onto were the good memories of times before, he wanted to stain anyplace with a good memory into a memory of her submitting to him.

The fact that this place, the one where they shared so many good memories of staying up late and talking, listening to her laugh over something funny she heard, hiding erections whenever she cleaned, read from one of those novels, or breathed. This place would now remind her of this moment, of him fucking her mouth good and hard, it made him twitch in her mouth.

"I'm going to cum, and you're going to take it all."

Evelyn cries, as if begging him not to, he barely bites back a grin. "I thought you'd have no objections."

He pushes himself all the way in before climaxing, hot cum dripping down her throat.

He stays like this for a moment, coming down from his high and making sure not a drop was wasted. When he pulled out he saw Evelyn was ready to spit the rest out so he shut her mouth and pinched her nose, closing off air.

"Swallow." His tone was commanding, when she refused he pinched harder. "Fucking swallow, I'm not going to let you breathe until you do."

He eventually won when he saw the bob in her throat as she swallowed, finally letting go of her so she could sputter and gasp for air.

"Good girl." He left her there on the floor, going back to his desk and sitting down, thankfully now he could work with a clear head.

[johaerys-writes]

Achilles/Patroclus | T | Ch. 4: Cinnamon

Read on AO3 | Read from the beginning

Patroclus doesn't celebrate his birthday anymore.

It was around the time his mother got sick that things changed. She'd started spending most of her time in bed, sleeping off the worst of the pain or the effects of the drugs, so throwing parties was out of the question. Inviting a few friends over was out of the question too, with his father scowling at everyone and everything, including the furniture and the TV, when he was at home. Besides, it wasn't like Patroclus had many friends to speak of. He had never been popular at school, and his cousins were all far older, or far younger than he was.

But Patroclus didn't mind overly much. Every year, on his birthday, his mother would forgo her heavier painkillers in favour of being somewhat lucid. She would sit up on the bed, or even drag herself all the way to the kitchen table, and send Patroclus to the bakery for a piece of walnut cake with thick white frosting —their favourite— and a candle. She would sing him the birthday song, her voice still sweet though frail and hoarse most days. 

"Come here, my darling, my birdlet, my sparrow, my precious one," she'd coo and fuss over him, drawing him in her lap and giving him kiss after kiss on both cheeks despite his laughing protests. "You'll grow so tall and strong one day, like an oak tree; I won't be able to hold you like this anymore. You'll be the one picking me up then." 

After, Patroclus would blow out the candle —don't forget your wish! she would remind him— and they'd split the piece of cake in half and eat it, careful not to leave a crumb. Neither of them could risk Menoetius finding out about their transgression.

It was on his tenth birthday that Patroclus woke up to a cold, empty, silent house. Philomela wasn't in her room anymore; she'd been moved to an intensive care facility the previous week, when her condition had worsened abruptly. Patroclus had gone there to see her three days before. He'd sat at the edge of her bed, waiting for her to open her eyes while his father's figure darkened the doorway. There were no sounds other than the machines' steady beeps and her laboured breathing. It had taken her a minute to recognise him through her haze.

"You'll come again, won't you, my little sparrow?" she'd whispered. "It's your birthday soon. Don't forget your candle, my darling, your wish." Her skin had smelled of antiseptic and the sour, sharp scent of sickness when she'd reached out to hold his hand.

His father was sitting by the kitchen table when Patroclus walked in, still in his pyjamas, still hazy with sleep. A cup of black coffee sat by his elbow, cold by the looks of it, the smoke from his cigarette curling towards the ceiling. 

"Your mother is dying."

Was his heart meant to shatter in that moment? There were many ways Patroclus had pictured this; he had expected his knees to buckle, his eyes to overflow, his breath to be knocked out by the words. He'd expected his whole life to change in an instant, his world to tilt on its axis, the grief to rise like a terrifying black wave and swallow him whole.

Patroclus simply stood there, by the kitchen door, and felt nothing but the cold, empty, silent space where his mom used to be. 

"Okay," he'd said. 

Philomela Menoitiades, aged 37, beloved wife of Menoitius and mother to Patroclus, died on a frosty late February morning. The funeral service was held at St. John the Baptist's church at 12 noon, amidst a small number of friends and close relatives; she was buried at the northwestern side of the cemetery, beneath the shade of the yew trees.

~

The light of morning is pale grey and bleak through the window blinds when Patroclus wakes up. The room is cold and his limbs feel stiff. Patroclus rubs his eyes and pulls back the covers, searching for his slippers in the half dark. He barely got any sleep last night, tossing and turning and being woken by dark dreams.

There is a tight ball of unease in the pit of his stomach, a vague feeling of dread. It always comes on his birthday, like there's something breathing down his neck, the anticipation of something awful that's just waiting to happen.

Read the rest on AO3!

[hiswordsarekisses]

Blessed is the fact that Christians can rejoice even in the deepest distress; although trouble may surround them, they still sing; and like many birds, they sing best in their cages. The waves may roll over them, but their souls soon rise to the surface and see the light of God’s countenance; they have a buoyancy about them that keeps their head always above the water and helps them to sing amid the tempest, “God is with me still.”

…Trouble does not necessarily bring consolation with it to the believer, but the presence of the Son of God with him in the fiery furnace fills his heart with joy. He is sick and suffering, but Jesus visits him and makes his bed for him. He is dying, and the cold, chilly waters of Jordan are gathering about him up to the neck, but Jesus puts His arms around him and cries, “Fear not, beloved; to die is to be blessed; the waters of death have their fountainhead in heaven; they are not bitter-they are sweet as honey, for they flow from the throne of God.”

Jesus says, “Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”2 Thus strengthened and consoled, the believer is not afraid to die; no, he is even willing to depart, for since he has seen Jesus as the morning star, he longs to gaze upon Him as the sun in his strength. Truly, the presence of Jesus is all the heaven we desire.

(Charles Spurgeon)

I have not always understood His ways - but I do know this for sure: He is good.

He is trustworthy. He knows what He is doing. And when something tragic (to my heart) happens, I absolutely know that it was the right thing somehow, and that some how He was protecting them by taking them early. (Isaiah 57:1) He would not have allowed it unless it was part of His loving and strategic plan.

Our joy is not about this earth, or affected by circumstances, and this is why we have hope even in loss.

We are here, so VERY temporarily, but we are on our way home for forever. The people we lose who love Him are not in our past - they are in our future.

Everything He does is perfectly and beautifully arranged and no matter how bad or horrible it may look - I promise I know that it is not.

Here on earth we see as if through a glass ~ darkly. This means that it is like looking into a foggy mirror. Our perception is distorted and incomplete. God sees the complete picture, and we don’t. But we can trust His eyes as much as we can trust His heart.

Our understanding on this side of heaven is limited, and what we do see isn’t always an accurate reflection. We have to remind ourselves often.

But we do not have to stumble in dark anxiety. Instead we have to fix our eyes on the unseen things, and on God’s Word, and God Himself. This is how we begin to focus in such a way that we have an eternal perspective.

Cause sometimes life gets crazy.

A year ago my husband was laid off from his job. Although he received a nice severance check, it was unexpected and heavy.

At that same time we lost my dad’s wife to Breast cancer. While that was happening I was diagnosed with breast cancer, myself.

Then a few months after she died, her brother died completely unexpectedly.

My dad, at 81 years of age, and grieving, came down with Covid, and that took him months to get over. Then he went into depression because of both of their deaths.

I ended up having to have a double mastectomy and a little over a month of radiation treatments.

Then on this past Memorial Day we lost my brother - also very unexpectedly. I think we are all still in shock over it all.

My brother had escaped death more times than I can count during his lifetime and 3 times he did actually die and was brought back.

The night before he died he had hit rock bottom and was very distraught. He expressed to my mom how tired he was of this world and his struggles, and he told my mom he wanted Jesus to come and get us.

In the wee hours of the morning Jesus took my brother, quietly, as he fell asleep sitting in a chair on the porch, and he went home.

One month later, this past weekend, my cousin unexpectedly passed away of a massive heart attack in her sleep, and she went peacefully home as well.

In my walk with Jesus all these years I have been through a lot, but this past year has been unbelievable. But God has always been faithful through it all.

God is at work behind the scenes, in spite of how things appear. Through the hard things our hearts are softened and we are transformed into His image.

May God give us eyes to see beyond what is in front of us.

[silverselfshippingchaos]

👀 for Dotachin!

Dotachin!!!!! My beloved husband! I have a lot of pictures of him to sort through LMAO

He's my husband and he's very special to me! And therefore I'm gonna gush about multiple pictures of him!

I think this picture is sooooo cute! I really love his relationship with the van gang and his love for his friends is one of the things that made me fall for him in the first place. He just has such a soft smile on his face when he's with them and even when he's acting all annoyed with him, he still loves them dearly. Seeing all of his friends crowding around him and my husband looking so happy is such a welcome sight!

Ash is a member of the van gang too! She often likes to sit back and watch the others having fun together, but they quickly invite her to come and join them! It's not the whole group if she's not there with them cracking her silly jokes and nerding out with Erika and Walker. Kyohei honestly has no idea what his wife is on about sometimes, but he listens intently with hearts in his eyes anyway.

Here's that one scene where Kyohei goes into the bookstore with Erika and Walker!

Not only is it cool to see him there since although he doesn't read the same stuff his friends do, he still likes reading! Him and Ash bond over that and he starts reading more of, uh.... The stuff her and Erika read because of it. What can I say? You do dumb shit when you're down bad LMAO

But also, the scene where I had my Oh. I'm in love with him. moment is when I saw him reading a book.

Back to the bookstore! The first time he met Ash was actually in a bookstore. If she's anything like me (which is kind of the point BAHAHA!), she's not very tall. So their first meeting is Kyohei helping her reach a book on a high shelf. He gives it to her and he recognizes the cover of the book as something he's seen his friends read before.

(He also thinks this stranger is very beautiful but ahem)

And so, Kyohei introduces her to Walker, Erika, and Saburo. Then the rest is history! Never did he think that the girl he helped get a book for that one day would end up becoming his wife, but he's not complaining.

[elisabeth515]

Brussels Time!

(Part 1)

(Part 2)

(Part 3)

Unless specified, mentions of Albert will be referring to Albert I, King of the Belgians.

This is the very last part of this series, and I would like to post it today, on the anniversary of the death of our beloved Albert.

Visiting the royal crypt is the very reason why I decided to make my trip to Belgium at the start of 2023, and it was opening on 8th January (check other dates here). This place only opens once a month, and I was so lucky that I had the opportunity to pay a visit to the final resting place of one of my favourite historical figures.

Laeken is a very peaceful neighbourhood, which is well-connected to the city centre with the railway and tram. Getting off at the station closest to the cathedral, you can just walk straight to Atomium (the World Expo area) across Parc de Laeken.

It’s already late afternoon by the time I was there, but at least I have around an hour and half to go around the cathedral, as well as the crypt.

Near the entrance of the crypt there is the family tree for the Belgian Royal Family, displayed; those who were interred in the royal crypt are marked. As you see, besides all the past monarchs who have passed away, some of the Belgian princes and princesses are buried there as well, notably Albert’s parents and Charlotte (Carlotta), wife of Archduke Maximilian (Emperor Maximiliano) and Empress of Mexico and the sister in-law to Empress Sisi, the godmother and namesake to Elisabeth, Albert’s wife.

Entrance to the Royal Crypt; Albert’s tomb is right at the entrance as pictured.

I went in from the other door (partially shown in the picture above) because I want to save Albert’s tomb the last and I just had a nice time chilling around. In the centre was the tomb of Leopold I, the first King of the Belgians and ancestor to all the monarchs of Belgium. The doors behind goes to Laeken cemetery.

Aaaaaaaand look at ✨them✨ (Albert you’re handsome as ever😭😭😭😭)

The crypt is simple and bright, yet solemn. There were not much people by the time I was there, so I have time to just look at Albert’s grave and collect my thoughts. After that, I walked back up to the ground level and sit at one of the chairs at the nave and enjoy some peace, before I started my way back to the hotel and pack for the morning flight back to the UK on the next day.

—

Bonus: actually I was in Atomium just before the royal crypt

And here’s Parc de Laeken from the top. You can see a small bit of Château de Laeken (private residence of the King) in the picture.

—

Anyways, that’s a wrap and have a waffle🧇 (it was perhaps the best waffle I’ve ever had as I was thinking about Albert when I was enjoying this)

Thanks for reading this entire series of me messing around Brussels🙈 I hope you enjoyed the series and stay tuned for more original content 🥺✨

[thedeadgameblog]

(via RRBC 30-DAY BLOGGING CHALLENGE - DAY 8)

I am dedicating today’s article to Tony Vaccaro, the famous photographer. The first picture is Tony in 1945, holding his beloved camera.

This week, I learned that the famous photographer Tony Vaccaro died at 100. A sad day for the world. He had photographed my brother in 1981, the year of my brother’s car accident, and two years before my brother passed.

Tony took photos of Presidents Kennedy, Obama, and Nixon. Famous stars like Sophia Lauren. Artists like Picasso and Georgia O’Keefe. And my brother, Neil Leist. Neil had just become the CEO and President of American Bakeries. He made his fortune in the commodities markets and was on his way to the top. The accident ended his dreams and mine.

“Michelantonio Celestino Onofrio Vaccaro was an American photographer who is best known for his photos taken in Europe during 1944 and 1945, and in Germany immediately following World War II. He subsequently became a fashion and lifestyle photographer for American magazines.” Wikipedia

Born: 1922, Greensburg, PA

Died: December 28, 2022

Parents: Giuseppe Antonio Vaccaro

Awards: World Press Photo Award for Arts and Entertainment

The day I met Tony Vacarro, and his family was one of the best days my husband and I spent together. How did I get to meet this extraordinary person? My blog on WordPress opened this door for me. A few years ago, I wrote an article about my brother and how he was my hero and the one I cherished most, and Tony Vaccaro’s daughter-in-law found it online. Maria Vaccaro emailed me and offered me the chance to meet her father-in-law and see the pictures he had taken of my brother. Tony Vaccaro had opened his archives for the first time to the public. His family sorted through the photos and contacted people if they wanted to purchase their images. I cannot describe how excited I was to meet someone who knew my brother and had also photographed him.

On a Sunday, we drove to Long Island City, where Tony lived with his son Frank, his wife, Maria, and their two young children. We walked up the steps to Tony’s apartment, where his massive archive of photographs was stored in the front room. Maria introduced us to Tony, a small, skinny man who appeared frail. But what I noticed first about him was the intelligence in his eyes. He was excited to meet us and showed us his famous framed photographs hanging on the walls. Tony spoke about his life and the famous people he photographed.

Maria found my brother’s black and white pictures, and I felt the room spinning. Neil was smiling in each image. The photos brought back memories. I told Tony that my brother was in a car accident a few months after he had taken his picture. Tony didn’t know my brother had died and began to cry. I was overcome that this great man wept for my brother that I hugged him. I’m not one to show emotions in front of others, but I felt closer to this stranger than many people I’ve known my whole life.

I wanted all the pictures, but Maria explained we could purchase enlarged ones since we were looking at the negatives. I had to pick one. This wasn’t an easy task. When I finally narrowed it down to two pictures, I asked Tony which one he liked best. He pointed to one, and that was the one I chose. Tony had photographed my brother sitting behind his desk. That day, Tony was hired to take photos at a company, and my brother was one of the people chosen for this honor.

After we purchased the picture, Tony led us to his small bedroom, showing mementos from his life, including his favorite cameras. Then he offered to take us to a restaurant where his famous photographs were displayed. I was excited; I didn’t want the day to end. Tony hung an old camera around his neck, saying it was a camera he’d used in combat in WWII. This camera made him famous when he took candid pictures of the war, where he revealed the reality of war and its horrors.

Tony and Maria joined us as we walked a few blocks to a quaint Italian restaurant. Once inside, we were welcomed by the owner and made to feel at home. Tony led us around the two rooms, showing us the framed pictures on the walls. There were black and white photos, but many were colorful. My favorite was the one he took of Georgia O’Keefe. Afterward, we sat at a table near the fireplace and were soon joined by Tony’s son, Frank, and their two children. They were going to have dinner, and we were invited. Since the restaurant wasn’t Kosher, and we couldn’t eat anything cooked there, we had coffee while they ate. Tony had the sweetest family; the children were friendly. Frank and Maria told us endless stories of people they met through Tony. Tony told us tales of Sophia Loren, one of his favorite stars. He hoped to invite her to his 100 birthday party a few years away. I’m happy Tony reached 100, but I don’t know if he had his birthday party since he died a few days later.

I will never forget the day I spent with Tony Vaccaro and his family. He was someone not soon to be forgotten.

[fatecantstopme]

I Was Thinking Maybe, Eight?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x wife!reader

Summary: You ask Bucky for something you’ve been desperate for and you’re terrified he’ll say no. Turns out, he wants the same thing.

Warnings: so much smut. Oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), Breeding kink. Swearing. Use of pet names. Bit of angst.

You came home from work to find your husband busy cooking dinner in the kitchen. It always made you smile to see him acting all domestic, especially given his history. For him to finally have a real home after 80 years of hell, never failed to warm your heart.

“Hey babe,” you said as you entered the kitchen, dropping your purse on the counter, kicking off your heels, and pulling yourself up on the island counter behind him.

“Hey, doll. How was work?” He asked without turning around.

“Nothing exciting to report. Whatcha making?”

“Pasta.”

You hummed happily. “Did you homemake the red sauce?”

Bucky could hear the excitement in your voice and he chuckled. “Of course I did.”

He finished what he was doing at the stove and finally turned around to look at you. Not for the first time, he found himself blown away by your beauty. He’d always counted himself a lucky man since he’d met you. You were just so gentle and sweet, a soft glow always gracing your skin, a warmth to your soul that he’d never seen in anyone else.

“Buck? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to memorize my face. I’m not gonna disappear.”

He came up to stand between your legs and leaned forward to gently kiss your lips. “I would hope not, but it never hurts to be able to describe every inch of your beloved wife’s body should you need to.”

You laughed. “I think that’s why they have pictures.”

“Hmm…I have heard those last longer,” he said with a grin.

You smacked his arm affectionately. “Go monitor your sauce. I don’t want red splatters all over the kitchen.” You hopped off the counter. “I’m gonna change.”

Bucky went back to cooking and you went to your bedroom to change into something more comfortable. You’d just done laundry the day before and Bucky’s clean clothes were neatly folded on top of the dresser, patiently waiting to be put away. You sighed as you looked at them and shook your head. You loved the man, but god help you, if he didn’t put his clothes away you’d knock him upside his head. It was your personal pet peeve. Laundry comes out of the dryer, is immediately folded (by you), and then put away (by the owner of said clothing). It wasn’t too much to ask.

You grabbed a pair of his sweats and a shirt off the stack and threw them on. If he wasn’t gonna bother to put them away, then you might as well wear them.

You came back into the kitchen just as Bucky was plating dinner. He looked up when you entered and his eyes widened.

“Pretty sure those are mine, doll.”

“Yup. They were just sitting out on the dresser, practically begging to be worn. I figured if you didn’t want me to wear them, you would have put them away.” You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow as you regarded him.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He knew it annoyed you when he didn’t put his clothes away and he felt bad for forgetting, he really did…but seeing you in his clothes? Damn, that made it completely worth it. “Sorry, sweets. Guess I forgot to put them away again.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You don’t look sorry.”

He grinned. “Can’t help it. You come walking in here all grumpy, looking cute as hell, wearing my clothes? You’re lucky I spent so much time on dinner or I’d be taking you right here on this table.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “James!” You said indignantly, a smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

He shrugged. “But since I slaved over this meal, we’d better eat it while it’s hot.” He sat a plate at your seat and one at his. “I’ve got a really good idea for dessert,” he said with a wink.

You blushed and took your seat at the table. You couldn’t deny the hungry way he looked at you turned you on. You felt wetness pooling in your panties and the man hadn’t done anything but look at you and speak. God, you were pathetic.

He watched you closely as you both ate. He asked questions about your day and you tried your best to focus on your answers, but he could tell you were distracted. You kept shifting back and forth in your seat, thighs squeezing together in desperate search of friction.

“Better eat up, doll. You’ll need the energy,” he teased lightly.

Your eyes shot up from your plate and met his. He saw the need in them and knew the very same look was in his own eyes.

“Or, maybe we can eat the rest later,” he said softly.

You nodded quickly.

He grinned. “Besides, I’m quite certain dessert will taste better anyway.”

You weren’t shy by any means, but god, when he spoke to you like that, you couldn’t help but blush. He was always so gentle and affectionate, his love soft and pure. When he was like this? Rough and crude and filthy? You knew you were in for a long, deliciously fun, night.

Before you could even blink, Bucky was beside you, scooping you out of your chair and carrying you off to the bedroom.

"Buck, shouldn't we clean--"

"You really wanna clean up dinner right now, sweets?"

You grinned. "Not particularly."

"Then shush."

He tossed you onto the bed and immediately crawled on top of you, lips attaching themselves to yours in a searing, passionate kiss. Every bit of air was sucked from your lungs, but you didn't care. You needed to feel him, every part of him, so much more than you needed to breathe.

Your lips parted, allowing Bucky's tongue to slip into your mouth, the passion quickly becoming an inferno. You tangled your fingers into his hair and he clung to your body, hips rutting against yours as he moaned into the kiss.

You whined as he pulled away from you, the absence of his lips making you feel empty.

He chuckled warmly. "You do have to breathe occasionally, doll."

"I would much rather be kissing you."

He smiled at you and sat up, pulling his shirt up over his head and tossing it to the ground. It didn't matter how many times you saw his body, you always found something new to love and admire about it. You knew each scar, mark, and blemish that littered his skin and you loved each and every one of them.

It had once made him uncomfortable, the way you seemed to worship his body, despite its many flaws, but he had since come to adore it, even crave it. Your eyes slowly traveled over his torso, appreciating every single inch of it. Your fingers ached to touch him, but you knew better than to do it without asking first...at least when he was in this kind of mood.

"May I?" you asked softly, one hand inches away from his chest.

"Tonight is a special night, my love. Whatever you want, you can have. All you need to do is ask me and I will give it to you."

You inhaled sharply and pressed your hand firmly against his skin, the heat of his body warming your palm. Your fingers moved slowly, tracing the scars along his shoulder, his chest, and finally down to his abdomen. When you reached the top of his jeans, you looked up at him, once again asking for permission.

He leaned forward and kissed you gently. "You don't need my permission, doll," he whispered against your lips.

"Then I think you should remove your pants before I accidentally rip them."

He laughed and stood up, jeans dropping to the floor along with his boxers.

You bit your lip as you looked at him, appreciating his perfection from head to toe. You crooked your finger and beckoned him back to you.

"I think you're wearing too much clothing, sweets. It's unfair," he chided.

"Well perhaps you could help me with that?" you teased.

He grabbed you around your waist and turned you towards him, prompting you to sit up and face him. You giggled as he manhandled you, never once feeling afraid of his strength. He was quick to remove your shirt and your pants, a groan coming from deep in his chest. "No underwear?"

You smirked. "I had plans of my own tonight, handsome."

He grinned. "As long as they were with me, I'm not complaining."

You touched his face and pulled him to you, dragging him back onto the bed with you. "Only you, James."

His body shuddered and he let out another low groan. "You did that on purpose," he mumbled into your shoulder, teeth scrapping along your flesh.

"You're damn right I did."

"God, sweets, you're gonna kill me," he moaned, lips never leaving your skin for more than a heartbeat. He trailed down your body, every inch of your beautiful form laid bare before him, and he'd be damned if he wasn't gonna take the time to fully appreciate it.

His hands felt like fire and ice, tracing lines across your body; his lips like warm velvet, leaving every inch of your skin alight with desire. Soft moans escaped your lips, your own hands clinging to any part of him you could reach, desperate to feel his skin against your fingertips.

When he finally reached your core, your need for him was overwhelming. Bucky could sense it, but he liked to do things at his own pace, in his own time. He placed soft, gentle kisses to your inner thighs, gently across your mound, and down to your soft lips.

You whimpered softly, "Bucky."

He smiled. "I know, sweets. I know. I've got you." His hands rubbed circles into your hips as he held you in place, hot breath against the place you wanted him most.

He watched your face, waiting for the exact moment he would give you want you wanted. It wasn't that he wanted to torture you or make you wait...it was simply a desperate need to watch you come undone from nothing more than his touch.

When he was satisfied by your wrecked expression, he dove into your pussy with abandon. He knew exactly how to please you, years of practice and patience paying off. Your moans echoed throughout the room, fingers tugging on his hair like you were drowning and he was a life raft.

"Bucky, please, I--I need--" you gasped as he slipped two fingers inside of you, knowing exactly what you needed without you having to say it.

Your whole body felt like it was on fire, every inch of you alive in a way only he could make you feel. You gasped and pleaded, and he never stopped, your pleasure the sole thing on his mind.

When you finally came, the pleasure was blinding, so overwhelming that you could do nothing but moan his name. Bucky helped you ride out your orgasm, but he allowed you to pull him away when it became too much for you.

You were panting, limbs trembling slightly, as you watched him lift himself up and crawl towards your face. His movements were slow, his lips planting warm kisses to your soft curves as he went. When he finally reached your lips, your breathing had calmed significantly.

"Hey, beautiful," he whispered.

You chuckled lightly. "Hey, handsome."

It was an exchange that had become almost a ritual. It was exactly what Bucky had said the first time the two of you had ever made love and he had said it every time since. Sometimes before, sometimes during, sometimes after...but he never missed it, and neither did you.

This time though, something felt different. Perhaps it was the way he looked at you, or maybe it was what you carried in your heart...what you desperately wanted to tell him. "Buck," you began softly.

"I love you," he whispered, cutting you off. "I love you so damn much it hurts."

You took a shallow breath and gently caressed his face, a warm smile spreading across your lips. "I love you just as much, Bucky. I hope you know that."

He leaned into your palm and sighed, blue eyes fluttering closed. "I know you do, doll. I know."

"There's something I want to tell you," you murmur.

He feels a stab of fear in his chest, a remnant of his past inability to trust others. But he knows you, knows you would never do or say anything to hurt him, so he pushes that fear aside and opens his eyes to look at you. "I'm listening."

"I umm--well, I've been thinking..."

He cocked his head to the side as he regarded you, waiting for you to say what was on your mind.

"Well, the thing is, we've been married for a couple years now...umm--and I think maybe it would, you know if you wanted, maybe we could..." you trailed off, gaze averting from his face.

"Doll?" he asked softly, pulling your attention back to him. "What is it?"

You shook your head. "Maybe it's stupid."

"Nothing you want is stupid."

"We've never really talked about it. I just...I don't know--it sort of hit me one day and suddenly it's all I can think about."

He brushed some of your hair out of your face, his warm eyes pleading with you to open up to him. "What is, doll?"

"Kids," you whispered so softly he might not have heard you if not for the serum.

His face paled slightly and he inhaled sharply, jaw going slack.

"Never mind, it was stupid," you rushed out. You tried to get out from under him, wanting nothing more than to run away and hide for a couple hours until maybe you either disappeared or he forgot you'd said anything.

"Hey, hey," Bucky said insistently. He kept you from getting away, his hold on you firm, but gentle. "Doll, it's not stupid."

You swallowed thickly, eyes still looking anywhere but at him.

"Look at me, sweets. Please?"

You bit your lip, obvious discomfort etched into your features.

"Please? I need you to look at me when I say this."

You could hear the desperation in Bucky's voice when he spoke and it pulled your gaze back to him, as if you had no control. When your eyes met his, your breath caught in your chest. His beautiful blue eyes were swimming with emotions, just not the ones you were expecting.

"When I met you, my life changed. You have given me everything I could ever want and need; you're my entire world. I would move mountains for you, burn worlds to the ground, whatever you want or need, I will do it." He paused, breathing ragged. "You know what I want, doll? I want to have kids with you. I want a whole little brood. I want to see you barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, watching as I make you dinner. I want to see this beautiful body of yours so full of life, a life we created together. I want to make you a mother, and I would love to be the father of your children. So if you're asking me if I want to make a baby with you, the answer is an emphatic yes."

Tears welled in your eyes as he spoke, his words warming your soul from the outside in. You could hear the love in his voice and it meant the world to you; he meant the world to you. You took a deep breath and you smiled at him, a few stray tears making their way to your cheeks.

He smiled back at you, his expression so full of love it made you breathless. He gently wiped the tears from your eyes and lowered his lips to yours, kissing you deeply, ensuring you knew exactly how he felt.

When he pulled away, you asked softly, "So...you wanna start now?"

At first his eyes widened, but they quickly darkened, the pupils expanding with lust. "Hell yeah, sweets. I think right now would be perfect."

It didn't take him long to work you back up, his expert hands guiding you, arousal pooling between your legs. In minutes, you were begging him to take you, the need becoming unbearable.

Bucky was never one to deny you, especially when you pleaded with him like this. He slid into you in one smooth thrust, earning a deep pleasured moan from your lips to match his own.

"Shit, doll, you're so tight," he groaned. "You always feel so good wrapped around me."

His movements were quick and intense, each thrust sending a wave of pleasure through you. Your moans were his best encouragement, a song meant only for his ears.

He pictured you pregnant, belly all swollen, carrying his child. A baby the two of you had made together, something he had long ago given up hope of, and the thought made him feral. The images flashed through his mind and he couldn't stop the words that flowed from his mouth as he pounded into you.

"God, I can't wait to see you with your belly all swollen. I bet you'll look so pretty pregnant, glowing like the light of the moon. Prettiest damn thing in the world."

He could tell his words were having an effect on you, but you were completely unable to respond. Nothing but hungry moans dripping from your mouth, head thrown back in ecstasy.

"You're gonna be such a good mama, sweets, I just know it. Gonna be so good," he groaned as you clenched around him. "Fuck, doll, I'm so close."

"Me--too," you gasped, though he already knew that.

"That's right, pretty mama. I wanna feel you cum around me, so I can fill you up. You gonna let me put a baby in you?"

You cried out in pleasure as you reach your peak, nails digging into his back, body shaking beneath him.

He gasped, the pleasure of your orgasm pushed him closer to his own. "That's it, sweets. Gonna make me a daddy--fuck," he groaned as you clenched around him, this time on purpose.

He looked at you, surprised to see you looking at him so intently. "Put a baby in me, James; fill me up," you begged.

It was all he needed to push him over the edge, hot spurts of his seed shot into you as he came with a shout of your name. His body shook slightly as he pulled out of you, quickly grabbing a pillow and sliding it under your hips.

"Buck?" you questioned lightly.

"Gotta make sure all my cum stays inside," he answered breathlessly, before collapsing beside you.

You laughed lightly, a warm smile lighting up your face. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe, but you still married me."

You laughed harder. "Touché."

"So how many kids are you thinking?" he asked curiously.

"I don't know, probably two or three." You turned your head to look at him. "You?"

"I was thinking maybe, eight?"

"Eight?!" you asked incredulously. "Only if you carry four of them."

He laughed. "I would do that for you if I could, doll. I just want a big family with you...bunch of little kids running around, maybe a couple of dogs. I mean, we already have the house with the white picket fence."

You laughed with him. "Babe, I'm pretty sure those families only had 2.5 kids," you teased. "But for you, I'm open to maybe having a couple more."

His eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Yes," you said with a laugh. "Just don't get too crazy. We're not making an entire baseball team here."

"Damn," he mumbled jokingly.

You smacked him affectionately and he grabbed your hand and placed a soft kiss to it. "I love you, sweets."

You sighed contentedly. "I love you too, Buck."

He sat up and kissed your forehead before helping you turn onto your side, hips still elevated by the pillow. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, his warmth providing you both comfort and safety. You knew there were still dishes out in the dining room to deal with and whatever mess remained in the kitchen, but you couldn't get yourself to get out of the bed.

As if sensing where your head was at, Bucky whispered, "I'll deal with the dishes later. I'd much rather hold you until you fall asleep."

You sighed and leaned into his chest. "You won't hear me complaining. I'm exhausted."

"Get some sleep, doll." He kissed your shoulder. "Oh, one more thing."

"Hmm?" you hummed.

"I was completely right. Dessert was way better."

He joined in with your laughter, the combination of which was easily the most beautiful sound in the world. It was the sound of two people so wonderfully in love that everything around them seemed to stop and listen, hoping to catch even the slightest glimpse of true love.

[manjiroscum]

COTTONTAIL

Character/s: Bonten!Manjiro Sano

Warnings: f!reader, explicit sex, mature language, hybrid au, established relationship, reader is a bunny hybrid, mentions of past kidnapping, reader is an airhead, tiny angst, cunnilingus, rough sex, creampie, breeding kink, heat cycles, unprotected sex, and use of pet names. Minors do not interact.

Note: commissioned by bby grey @meganemoon 💖🥺 thank you so much and hope u like it luv!

Synopsis: Mikey would do anything for his wife—even hightail out of an important meeting.

WC: 2.7k

Ginza Six, everyone's favorite mall—or so your old friends used to say for the heck of it whenever you guys passed the area after class just to seem relevant. Their snobbishness always irked you, but in a place where friendships were hard to come by, especially for hybrids, you never complained. Pretty little head too wrapped up in the thought that despite how mean they can be, they were still your friends. The building’s postmodern architecture gave off an aura of exclusivity that people will never miss, especially during the sunniest of days when the light hits the glass windows. The difference back then was you didn’t like how it was too lavish and expensive to shop there, the design reminding you of a sleek rubix cube. Finding the prices of the shops’ items to be ridiculous and quite hilarious at that time as a student. A bit envious of those who can afford it. You had no money to buy beautiful dresses that cost more than a month’s worth of groceries. Now? All you had to do was swipe on the trusty old credit card your beloved husband gifted you the first three months into the relationship two years ago. No more snobbish friends or bills to worry about. Time certainly flies fast, especially with Sano Manjiro as your lover.

To spoil his pretty baby was almost second to breathing for him. There’s nothing he can’t do.

Seemed like it was only yesterday when he freed you from a mountain of debts, whisking you away from those icky men who were illegally selling bunny hybrids in the underground city of Tokyo. It was a pity on their part when they decided to mess with the leader of Bonten in the matters of trade and scamming them, but certainly a win for you. Yet, marrying Sano Manjiro wasn’t part of your plans after being set free that involved a quiet life in the countryside after escaping such a stressful situation. Nor did you ever stop and think that maybe this was indeed fate working to reward you for going through tough times.

At the end of it all, you’re more than content with your husband and how he takes care of you.

Other than just a place to spend your free time whenever Manjiro was busy with Bonten, Ginza was the perfect place to just hang out. But unlike any other day, the number of people has significantly increased due to the new shop that opened days ago. Making a mental note not to go through the crowded areas, you almost skipped your way to the first store you wanted to check out. Perked up bunny ears slightly swaying as you went with the shopping bags on your arms that you’ve accumulated from thirty minutes spent going around. Sashaying your way into the Dior store, you politely smiled at the woman. Instantly recognizing you from the countless times you’ve visited, she was quick to assist you with a warm smile.

“Good day. What would it be today, Mrs. Sano?”

“I’ve seen pictures of a new set of leather collars that came in just this week.” Fishing out your phone from your purse, you then started to search for the screenshot you took before holding it up to the woman to see. Specifically pointing at the pink one that had a golden heart as a centerpiece. “Wanna surprise my husband since he likes these. I think it suits me, too. Don’tcha think so? Do you have it in stock?”

“Alright. Let me go and check, okay? In the meantime, feel free to sit down or have a look around.”

Left all by yourself again, you exhaled lightly and began to walk around the shop after setting down your shopping bags on one of the black cushioned seats. Eyes searching for something that might catch your attention as you waited for the sales associate to return. Eyeing a clutch, your gaze traveled from it to the streets outside where a mother and child were passing by. Huge cotton candy in the shape of a familiar cartoon character in the child’s hand, a smile on his face brighter than any of the ladies inside the same establishment as you. Contagious it was, as a smile of your own graced your features at them having a good time. Line of sight falling to the golden band on your ring finger, it slightly faltered then morphed into a pout.

Oh, Manjiro…

Quite dangerous it was for your husband to walk around in broad daylight and accompany you out. Not only were the police after his head, but numerous rivaling gangs wanted to jump on the leader of the most notorious criminal organization in Japan to make a name for themselves. Plus, he strongly implements that you and he should never be seen together in the public eye. And while there were times he brought you to restaurants, it was usually those who had connections with Bonten or you both went so close to midnight where regular citizens have gone home. Manjiro was always careful, calculating in every move in order to keep you safe. Trips to Ginza or other places wouldn’t be possible at all if he wasn’t. But as much as you were thankful, the forlorn feeling never stops seeping into your heart whenever you see couples out doing romantic stuff without care.

Would it be so selfish if you wished for the same thing even after being handed almost everything?

Whether it was the AC blowing directly on you or how the store was cold, you shivered and hugged yourself. Why the fuck is it so cold all of a sudden? You cursed at yourself for forgetting to bring one of your coats in case these things happen. Nevertheless, you quickly beamed at the sales associate now walking up to you with a grin on her face. Finally, once this is over, you could go out and seek the warmth of the sun.

“Mrs. Sano, the collar you wanted is available. Would you like to try it on first?”

Before you could even respond, another chill ran down your spine, prompting you to rub your hands together. What was even more frustrating was how your body temperature was slowly rising, a thick warm sensation blooming from your abdomen. This didn’t go unnoticed by the woman, who quickly tried to reach out and ask about your well-being. Your reaction was instant, stepping back to evade her touch in fear of aggravating the condition that has dawned upon you. Warm flesh, the pounding beat of your heart that is bound to get worse, and the slick dampening your aching pussy folds that would soon be embarrassingly obvious to anyone every time your thighs rubbed against each other. Not to mention, your ears flopping down at the realization, the skin gradually heating up.

Fuck! How could you forget about your heat?! How could you let such an important thing slip past your mind?

“M-Mrs. Sano? Are you okay?”

“Huh? U-uh, yeah!” A weak smile on your face, you then gestured at her to wrap the item. “I’ll take it, d-dear. That and another—what other color do you have? Red? Black? Well, w-whatever, just give me that and another one—doesn’t matter what, just please hurry up?” Seeing her nod and rush away after handing your credit card to her, you sighed. This wasn’t how you pictured your little shopping spree to go… How could you even forget about your upcoming heat?

Well, the telltale signs were already there… From the mood swings and the cravings.

A men’s cologne being tested was happening nearby, notes of what seemed to be spicy bergamot wafting towards you. Your hand shot up to cover your nose immediately at the enticing scent. Averting your gaze from where the sales associate disappeared, you weakly turned to the other way only to catch a familiar shade of hair paired with a different face. Heart banging on your ribcage at the images of your husband sprouting like daisies through concrete, you wished the traitorous mind filling your sight of him would halt in its silliness and leave you be. Wishful thinking never does anything and everywhere you turn, all you see are mimicking faces of Sano Manjiro that merely fueled your desire to have his cock inside your aching heat—now.

“Here you go, Mrs. S—”

“Thank you, bye!” Snatching the paper bag and the card, you mentally took note to apologize to her next time before taking off. Every step you took was like stepping in shards of glass. You did your best to avoid bumping into people as you left looking like you stole something from the looks you are receiving. Eyes darting to the cars parked, you squinted while trying to calm your hammering heart and the heat that gradually enveloped your body to a point everything was a big blur. Colors swirling into a heap almost diluted. To kiss the pavement would have been possible until your chauffeur took a hold of you, scanning your sweaty face and dazed expression. It’s even a miracle you managed to reach the car without passing out or jumping someone. Although the latter would’ve been far-fetched. Clinging to the man, you groaned.

“M-Mikey, c-call him please!”

“Mikey?”

Bored. Tired. His feet screamed to go down the path headed straight to his motorcycle to take him home and see you. Mikey hated leaving the penthouse early, knowing you tend to be needy in the morning while he kisses you goodbye. But matters in the organization wouldn’t disappear overnight, especially when he’s needed. And today was no different, sitting at the head of the table, listening to Takeomi present the sales of the latest drug Bonten was selling. At the man’s call for his attention, the platinum-haired man was about to move his slightly chapped lips from staying utterly silent the whole time found his onyx irises falling to his vibrating cellphone on top of his desk. Brows furrowed as to why your chauffeur could be calling, he quickly picked it up and stood from his seat. The rest of Bonten instantly went quiet, prompting Takeomi to stand still and be ready to resume once Mikey was finished with his call.

Except he didn’t know it was connected to you.

“Speak.”

“It’s your wife, Sir. She needs to speak to you—”

“G-give me that,” your shaky voice cut through the chauffeur’s voice, worry spiking up Manjiro’s spine at how disgruntled you sounded. Keeping his wits together, he waited for you to voice out your thoughts when you practically moaned into the receiver, causing your husband’s eyes to widen a fracture. What were you up to now? “Manjiro…” You drawling his name so seductively had his pants tightening. Manjiro could only mentally curse at the effect you have on him. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you, baby—know how much you hate me callin’ if you’re busy but, fuck…”

“What’s wrong?”

“‘Jiro, my heat… it’s here. Please come home to me.”

Thirty to twenty minutes. That is the usual traveling time Mikey had gotten used to from the penthouse to Bonten’s headquarters every time his presence was needed. Yet, it merely took him five to reach the towering building and ride up the elevator to your shared home. Seconds to discard his shoes and pad to the master bedroom, trailing the clothes you wore now serving like breadcrumbs on the floor. And even before he could swing the door open to ask where you are, you flung it back and jumped him. Hot kisses stamped all over his face, lowering down to his sensitive neck where goosebumps littered while he held you in his arms to steady you. The tight squeeze of your legs around his waist almost bruising, the aching damp cunt of yours rubbing against his clothed bulge. In all his years of living a dangerous life, Mikey would’ve normally prevented anyone from surprising him after being numerously betrayed by those who seek to ruin him. How easily those principles he lived by crumble at the face of you whining for his cock to stuff you full of his cum, naked as the day you were born with your bunny ears twitching.

“‘Jiro… fuck, I need you.”

“Baby, calm down—”

His words were akin to white noise, lips still aching to kiss every inch of his skin and bury yourself underneath it until Manjiro’s scent would stay with you for days, for weeks—forever. Taking matters into your own hands, you unlatched yourself from him and pushed him down until his back hits the mattress. You looked at him from above despite lust clouding your thoughts. And all your husband could do was stare back at your hazed-up mind, swallowing a moan once you straddled him and started grinding down his leaking clothed cock.

“W-wanna ride you.” Groaning at the overwhelming scent of your lover, you figured your hands had a mind of their own and started stripping him down to match you. Your leaking cunt in full display to his dark eyes that never strayed from you. You were definitely out of it—sheathing his throbbing and oozing dick inside of your gummy walls at once, whining at the stretch and how warm it was. But Mikey begged to differ, hissing at the contact and the wet muscles clenching him tightly as you started to bounce fervently. His wife has lost all inhibition and mewled, fingers playing with your perked nipples that he wished to suck on while you rode his cock.

But he couldn’t. Not when you would furrow your brows whenever he made a move to dominate you or to pin you down on the mattress to fuck you himself. No, you wanted to take lead for once and just take. Slowing down to just feel his cock snug in your hot slick cunt, you moaned into the air.

“Missed you so much, baby… Miss this cock in me—mhm, fuck. Need you…” Biting on your lower lip that it almost broke through the skin and bled, your gaze befell onto your husband who could only stare at you in muted awe. He then nodded at your statement, sharing the same sentiments. His pale chest rose and fell at the sight of raw carnal desire unfolding in front of him. Because fuck, if he had to choose between you and Bonten, anyone can mess around with the latter and still lose. But when it comes to you, those fuckers better be prepared to pry his cold dead hands from you before he’ll ever let anything awful happen to his pretty bunny. “‘Jiro…”

“Take me, baby,” he breathed, hands holding onto your hips and waist, giving them a squeeze. “Take it all. I’m all yours.”

No one had to tell you twice, resuming on bouncing on the cock you oh so loved. Unashamed to take what was yours and screaming obscene words, knowing only Manjiro is the sole witness to it all. Holding your tits, you keened. Mouth whining at how you couldn’t go on anymore. He knew this was gonna happen, you giving up in the middle of it because you hated tiring yourself—hate doing all the work. His spoiled bunny. The encouragement of your husband came in grunts, goading you to keep going. To fuck his cock and cream around it until you could no longer keep your eyes open.

“Isn’t this what—shit, what you wanted? Take this fuckin’ cock of yours, baby. Let it breed this bunny cunt. Don’t stop now.”

Sobbing softly, you came undone at the implication. Your eyes rolled back and body quivered at how he spilled his creamy cum into you. Cunt squeezing him dry for the first time today, despite knowing full well your husband would rather shoot blanks by the end of it than stop until your heat was over. Your searing gummy walls painted exactly like his silver hair. You were close to collapsing on top of him when Manjiro held you steady. Your husband caught his breath, a tiny curl at the end of his lips was a telltale sign that this was far from over. He suddenly flipped you to have your back on the mattress. Your husband then immediately went down face to face with your pussy folds still oozing with his semen. Warm tongue darting out to lick on your clit, earning a whine from your parted mouth.

“My turn.”

[megumirose]

Manjiro x Pregnant Wife

Description: Domestic fluff and angst(ish) with Manjiro before baby Sano arrives.

A/N: I let this sit in my drafts for months trying to decide if I like it and how to finish it (I didn’t). Feel free to give advice and critique.

—————————————————

Manjiro had long since retired his title and position as Commander of his gang. He was now subdued to a life of domesticity with you, his adoring and heavily pregnant wife. Along with the joy of expecting and adding a new member to their family came a gnawing fear of losing everything important to him once again.

You both laid in bed after a long day and your final doctors appointment before your due date. He absent-mindedly ghosted his hand over the taught skin of your swollen bump. Even this late into your pregnancy, when movement becomes less often, his touch seemed to provoke the baby’s attention and his hand was answered with a barrage of soft kicks. You chuckled at his expression and joked with your husband about your son inheriting his mighty kick. He laughed along with you before you could see a series of emotions flash through his eyes as his face relaxed and his expression turned thoughtful.

“What’s on your mind, my love?” You asked as you reached out to tilt his face towards you and peered into his charcoal eyes. Lately, you’d been trying to talk with him about his fear of revisiting that dark place he was trapped in as he lost member after member of his beloved family.

He nuzzled his cheek past your hand and into the crevice of your neck. “I love you,” he said as he deeply inhaled your scent. “I’m excited to meet him but I’m also scared about what could go wrong. Especially now that we are so close to your due date.”

You rolled to face him and pulled him into you, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and weaving the other hand into his onyx locks. “Everything will be fine. I promise you that you won’t lose us” you said as you kissed the top of his glossy locks.

“After we lost my sister, I never let myself picture anyone else having kids. I couldn’t. It reminded me of the future I couldn’t protect. Even now, I’m unable to picture what our family will look like when he’s here,” he said as his eyes focused on the wall over your shoulder.

“I can’t help but imagine Shin and Emma with their own families and all of the holidays and events we will never experience together. I worry that our son will grow up lonely and end up in dangerous situations like we did. I don’t think I could handle losing my own ch-“ he got cut off by you smothering him into your chest.

You tighten your arm around him a bit more, “don’t put that out there, Mikey,” you said and he squeezed you back feeling slightly nostalgic from the old nickname. “Even without your siblings around, we have our friends and the families they’ve built. We’ve always been as close as family anyway. He won’t be alone.”

He shuffled down the bed an extra foot until he could press his forehead against your swollen belly. “Promise me you’ll be cooperative next week little man,” he pleaded as he pressed his lips to your skin.

“Laying like this is killing my hips, should we take a bath together?” you asked and Manjiro looked up at you with excitement. I would love to darling.”

He ran the warm water while you picked a calming bath soap. You both quietly relished moments like this the closer it was getting to not being just the two of you anymore. Who knew how much longer it would be after your son was born before you would get to relax together in the bath.

You sighed as you both settled into the bubbly water. You pressed your back to his chest, arms resting on his knees like he was your personal recliner.

He helped you wash your body and massaged your aching muscles, taking care to caress each stretch mark that developed as his child demanded more space to grow.

After getting out of the tub and drying off, Manjiro treated you to a foot and calf massage before smoothing lotion over your belly. With one hand still resting on your bump he pulled you into a naked embrace. “I want you to get as much rest as you can before he comes.”

The last week before your due date slowly trickled by with no excitement. Your husband pushed you and himself to voice whatever concerns came to mind so you would both be mentally at peace when the time came. With each of the last three days that passed since your due date, Manjiro became restless and even helped you with the last few nesting touches to baby proof the rest of the house.

That night as Manjiro helped you out of the shower, you felt another splash of fluid hit your feet. “I already put the bags in the car this afternoon,” he quips faster than you can process what just happened.

You labored at home with Manjiro for a few hours. He helped you through each contraction and added pressure to your hips and lower back as you swayed against the kitchen counter. “You’re doing great,” he said, rubbing his thumbs into the dimples on your back, “don’t fight it. Try to relax and breath through it.”

When you hit your pain tolerance and the contractions became close enough together, he gently helped you into the car and headed towards the hospital. Each contraction had him debating on if he should pull off the road or not to help you through them as you dealt with the pain.

The hospital was quick to accommodate you and you settled into your room quickly. Before you knew it, you were only a few pushes away from holding your son. Before the next round of pushing you heaved back against the hospital bed letting out a strained and exhausted groan. “Y/N, I’m here. Right here.” your husband says as he smooths your sweat slicked hair out of your face. “You’re almost there, just a little more and he’ll be out.”

You nodded at his words, face flushed from exertion and eyes teary. You were long past ready to be done with the agony of birth. You took another deep breath as the doctor instructed you to start your final set of pushes. The room around you transformed into a tornado of people readying the room and prepping to clean the baby.

You took a deep breath and held it, pushing with as much strength as you could muster. “That’s it! Keep going, keep going” the doctor encouraged you, “Okay! Stop!” There were suddenly only two sensations you could register, aside from the immense pressure and pain subsiding. One was your husbands weeping face pressed into the side of your hair and the other was an enthusiastic wail coming from the end of the delivery table.

The doctor placed your son atop your belly, skin no longer painfully taught. Your vision was blurred by tears as you looked at him while the nurses were wiping him down. Both you and Manjiro leaned your heads on one another’s, weeping with joy and relief. “Thank you, Y/N. He’s perfect. Thank you for bringing our son into the world safely and healthy.”

The doctor and nurses finished up checking you and your sons vitals and cleaning you both up. You were left with your new little family to experience a moment alone. Manjiro sat on the side of the hospital bed peering down at your sons face pressed against your chest.

Little droplets scattered down the expanse of your shoulder and you tilted your head up to see your husband with tears streaming down his face. “I’m not dreaming, am I?” He asked. “I’ve never felt love like this before. How can I be this happy?”

[watchmegetobsessed]

BABY MAMA

A/N: woke up and just knew i needed to write about dad Harry, bc lets be honest, he is my fav. this fic is perfectly fine as a oneshot, but if you'd like, it could be a sequel to Grammy Winner Husband and Baby Grammy, i wrote things to line up with them!

PAIRING: Husband!Harry / Dad!Harry x Reader

WORD COUNT: 2k

masterlist

The arena is blowing up, the fans are screaming from the top of their lungs and Harry is putting out a show just as good as the previous ones have been. He is blowing the stage up, singing, dancing, joking around with the fans, enjoying this time he gets to spend with the people who got him to this point in his life. He’ll never be not grateful for what he has, what he is experiencing, no matter how hard this life can get sometimes.

“Dallas, how are you feeling tonight?” he asks in the mic as he walks back to his water bottle to have a few sips. The crowd erupts, the screams almost burst his eardrums, but he just chuckles, easing his thirst with some water before he returns to the microphone stand.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he teasingly asks, though the reaction is the same. Insane screaming. “Alright, let’s move this show on before you get bored,” he chuckles playfully, the band starts playing the next song and he is back at what he does the best. Performing.

Though not far from the arena, there’s someone who thinks there’s something he is even better at than performing. That person is you, and you’re one hundred percent sure Harry is best at being a father to your five months old son.

Owning the stage, putting out the utter best he can, Harry’s thoughts still wander away from the show he is supposed to be focusing on. He can’t help it, his instincts are just completely drawn to his baby in the hotel suit, dying to know how he is doing. Leaving for the show late afternoon was harder than usually, because baby Theo was having a fever and coughing quite badly. His heart was breaking that he couldn’t help his son, didn’t even know what could be done for such a tiny baby.

“Love, he’ll be alright, okay? The doctor is on the way, it’s gonna be fine,” you told him gently as he was cradling Theo to his naked chest, always so eager to be skin-to-skin with him. Harry kissed his soft little curls on top of his head before nodding, though you knew it was eating him away.

“Call me or Jeff if something happens, okay?” he told you, handing Theo over to you, who was finally asleep after fussing for hours.

“I will,” you nodded, but he cupped your face to make you look at him.

“Y/N, I mean it. I’ll come off the stage if—“

“You won’t come off the stage, Theo is gonna be fine, he just probably got a cold from the aircon at the greenroom in Denver. He’ll be here when you get back, okay?”

He knew this tone, this was your momma bear voice and he would never argue with you when you used it, so he just nodded, kissed you and then Theo’s chubby cheek before heading out.

Now as he is nearing the end of the show he can’t help but think about finally being back at the hotel with his wife and baby, though he won’t let it be seen how eager he is to get off the stage.

The last song passes, the whole arena blows up from the energy and he is throwing kisses everywhere as he heads off the stage, down the aisle that leads him backstage. As he puts on his mask he turns around one last time, throwing some more kisses around to his beloved fans before disappearing behind the curtains.

“Did she call?” he instantly asks Jeff instantly, who hands him his phone over, a text from you already waiting for him.

Doc just left, everything is fine, left some meds for bub. Love you Xx

Even though this is what you told him before too, he feels relieved that the doctor confirmed it, but he still can’t wait to see the two of you.

“Alright, get the car ready, I’m leaving in ten,” he tells Jeff.

“Got it,” he nods, not even daring to argue with him. He knows better than to stand between Harry and his baby.

His legs bounce nervously on his way back to the hotel and he jumps out of the car as if it was on fire, running inside in a rush. He swipes the keycard through the reader on the door and opens it quietly, scanning over the place for you and Theo and there you are, sitting in one of the armchairs with his sleeping son in your arms, your hand gently tapping on his bum. You must have just finished feeding him, because a rag is still thrown over your shoulder and your shirt is all wrinkled around your chest. Theo loves playing with the fabric while you breastfeeding him and Harry loves watching his tiny fingers grab onto it and massaging it aimlessly.

“Hey,” he breathes out, quietly pushing the door closed behind him before he walks over, kneeling in front of you. He kisses Theo’s forehead first, before pressing his lips to yours too. “How is bub feeling?”

“He is doing good. The doc gave him some meds for the fever and we have a syrup for the coughing. He said he’ll be fine in a few days,” you softly explain to him, nodding towards everything the doctor left you on the coffee table.

Harry grabs the bottles, inspecting them as if he knows anything about medicine and you can’t help but smile as he furrows his eyebrows, reading the packaging.

“Want to put him to bed?” you ask him, his head snapping up right away.

“Of course,” he nods eagerly. You both stand up and he carefully takes the little boy from your arms without waking him up. “Hey bubs, I missed you,” he coos at Theo and as you watch him sway with the sleeping baby, your heart could easily burst from just the sight of them.

You didn’t know what life would be like as a family of three. After Harry posted a picture of you with his Grammy award and your belly ready to pop, the whole world went crazy over the fact that Harry Styles is going to be a dad. Despite the buzz, you managed to stay hidden for the rest of your pregnancy and just three weeks after that post, Theodore Styles decided to come to the world. Harry cancelled everything for the first two months, it was just the three of you, showering in the joys of parenthood. You had all the ups and downs, but you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Then tour got rescheduled and Harry was hesitant whether it was a good idea to go on the road with a five months old.

“Sarah and Mitch are coming too, she gave birth a week after me,” you reasoned when Harry was about to cancel the whole tour. It took you some time to convince him that it’s gonna be fine, though you knew he would be extra cautious with Theo.

Now as you see him gently sway his way to the bassinet next to your bed, knowing that he just performed to thousands of people and now he is here with you and your son, you wouldn’t change it to some peace at home. Besides, you’re convinced tour is gonna do good for Theo, make him get used to people around him, not just the two of you or the grandparents and aunts. During the first night in Vegas, he barely spent an hour in your arms, everyone wanted a piece of him and you gladly let them befriend him, especially because he loves meeting new people, just like his daddy.

As Harry lays him into the bassinet and stands next to it with a lovesick smile on his face, you sneak behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He smells so fresh, he surely had a quick shower before heading back to the hotel, but you’re already planning to seduce him to join you for a quick shower as well. He won’t say no.

“Watched a livestream for a bit, you were so good,” you hum, kissing his right shoulder blade and you don’t miss how he leans back against you. “Loved the shimmery outfit.”

“Yeah?” he chuckles softly. Reaching around, he pulls you forwards so he can wrap you in his arms, kissing your forehead gently. “I missed seeing you dance at the side,” he smirks at you and you don’t miss the reference to the old times.

On his first solo tour, when you weren’t even married yet he often caught you dancing like crazy at the side of the stage, it would always make him laugh mid-song and you loved hearing his giggles through the mic, so you often did it on purpose. A few nights ago in Vegas you did the same, but with Theo in your arms, a massive ear protector on his head so the noise didn’t hurt him. When Harry spotted you, he almost started crying, he mouthed I love youand then carried on with the show.

“I’ll be there soon,” you smile at him, cupping his face in your hands to pull him down for a kiss that’s more than just a peck. “Now, I need help with something,” you mumble against his lips.

“Anything, baby.”

“I need you to help me shower,” you tell him cheekily. He pulls back and stares down at you with a playful grin, his hands already wandering under your shirt.

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah, I need someone to wash my back and… maybe somewhere else,” you hum seductively and start pulling him towards the bathroom, peeking at Theo one last time, but he is sleeping so deep, the two of you can have some alone time.

“Alright, I could never deny anything from my favorite milf,” he grins, but you smack his chest with a gasp.

“Harry! I told you not to call me that!” you protest, the two of you walking into the bathroom not to bother the sleeping baby in the room. You start running the water right away so it can be nice and hot for you when you walk in.

“Why? You are a milf,” he smirks, so full of himself, already pulling his shirt over his head.

“Then you’re a dilf, just so you know.”

“Baby, my fans have been calling me that for years, even before Theo,” he chuckles softly.

“You were destined to be a dad,” you giggle, getting rid of your own clothes. “Hey, if Theo feels better tomorrow, we could maybe take a walk in that park we saw on the way here,” you suggest, but when no answer comes, you look at Harry and find him just standing there, fully naked, staring at you grinning widely. “What?” you ask, glancing down at your own naked body. Suddenly, you are way too aware of the weight you haven’t been able to lose after giving birth, the stretch marks on your waist and how you’re not at all freshly shaved. Just as you’d move your hands to cover yourself a bit, Harry grabs your wrists and stops you.

“You are so fucking gorgeous, baby,” he hums, dropping his head until his lips could reach yours.

“Stop being such a flirt,” you giggle, feeling your face heating up.

“It’s the truth! I have the prettiest baby mama and that’s a fact.”

He looks at you with so much love and adoration in those beautiful green eyes, it almost makes you cry, knowing that this man is your husband and you get to spend the rest of your life with him.

Wrapping your arms around his neck you kiss him hard, pulling him into the spacious walk in shower.

“Then come and get your baby mama wet,” you giggle against his lips, making him laugh with the ambiguous request as he shuts the glass door behind him, his lips hungrily kissing wherever he can reach and you’re pretty sure the hot water is not the only thing that’s steaming up the glass.

Thank you for reading! Please like/reblog if you enjoyed!

[redahlia-writes]

before sunrise. | steven grant x reader

Abstract: He thinks ten, twenty years into the future, lets his mind wander. A job he’s starting to lose interest in, a marriage that hasn’t even happened yet losing its energy, and him regretting the things he didn’t do all those years gone by. In the midst of it there’s this - a train leaving, you, Vienna. Something so sweet he just missed out of fear.

Words: 2.1K

Content: fluff, meet-cute, please don’t get off the train with strangers

A/N: pictures are not meant to depict the aspect of the reader, i tried to keep it as neutral as possible - june 16th, the day jesse and celine met, could i really pass on the opportunity to write a little au with our beloved steven grant? yes i am aware of the utter irony of ethan hawke playing the male lead, no i absolutely do not care - i wrote this in a rush and it is not edited

also on AO3  - masterlist

It is so incredibly difficult to focus on the book in your hands when the couple sitting across the aisle from you keeps arguing.

They’re speaking German, you’re sure, and he keeps waving his newspaper around to emphasise his words - until she smacks it right out of his hands, the sound so loud it rings in your ears and convinces you to get up at last, recovering your bag and quickly walking away from them.

Row after row you look around until you manage to spot an empty seat across from a man with curly dark hair, his gaze cast down towards the book on his lap. You put down the bag, quickly glancing at the man that returns your gaze - a quick nod of acknowledgement, both of her and of the absurdity of the situation, before returning his attention to his book, allowing you to try and resume your own reading.

It ends in failure once more, as the wife gets up with an angry noise and more muttering and mumbling in German, the man following her shortly to continue their argument across the entirety of the train.

You follow them with your eyes, and notice the man doing the same, eyebrows arched and lips slightly parted - after the couple passes you, he makes another quick eye contact with you, mouth moving in a silent uh-oh at the woman closing the door of the car in her husband’s face. You snort quietly, shaking your head before looking down at last to the page you’d lost your sign.

“Do you have any idea what they were arguing about?” his voice is low, with a strong British accent, and you train your eyes up towards him, temporarily dazed. You see his eyes widen a bit, just a hint of panic in his gaze before he clears his throat, stuttering a bit. “Do you speak English?”

“Yeah,” you reassure quickly, leaning towards him. And then, “no, I’m sorry - my German is not very good,” you confess, and he sighs, nodding slightly before leaning back, his gaze turning towards the window and the scenery outside. You smile to yourself, arm resting on the empty seat at your side. “Have you heard that as couples get older they lose their ability to hear each other?”

He blinks in your direction, fazed, lips parting again.

“No,” he muses, finding a smile starting to bloom on his face. “Really?”

“Supposedly, men lose their ability to hear high-pitched sounds,” you explain, the fact sprouting from your memory out of nowhere. “And women eventually lose hearing on the low end. I guess they sort of nullify each other, don’t they?”

“Must be nature’s way of allowing couples to grow old together and not kill each other, I guess,” he notices you grinning at the corner of his eyes as he takes in the information, and mentally slaps himself for his own words. So he clears his throat, awkwardly shuffling in his seat to face you before tipping his chin up. “What are you reading?” he’s noticed your eyes falling down towards the book, but cannot help himself attempting to salvage this half-conversation, possibly keep it going. There’s something enthralling about you, and he’s spent so long on that train that he just cannot let the opportunity for good company slip past him.

You hold up your book, an old battered copy of a French novel. He nods, humming, and you smile again.

“How about you?” he picks up his book - a textbook, really, the Ennead in gold foil blinking back at you. Your eyebrows arch in curiosity, but you do not comment on his reading choice.

Still, your lips part, and you’re about to ask a question when the door of the car slides open again and the couple comes back, still arguing, still loud. You both cringe at the sound, following their return to their seats with your eyes before once more looking at each other.

“Listen, I was thinking of going to the lounge car sometime soon,” he offers, eyeing the couple. “You wanna go?”

“Yes, please,” you exhale in relief, immediately standing up and stuffing the book in your bag. Then you pause, frowning to yourself before clearing your throat. “Uh, nice to meet you,” you extend your hand in his direction while he’s still getting up, and it takes him a moment to catch on.

“Steven,” he blurts out, holding your hand for a few instants. “Sorry - I’m Steven, nice to meet you, too.”

  —

Steven is absolutely mesmerised.

He’s looking at you sitting in front of him and cannot seem to think straight. There’s something in your mannerism, in the way you speak, that has him eating out of the palm of your hand.

And surprisingly enough, he doesn’t feel the need to measure every word he says, to turn the words over and over in his head before actually saying them - he can just talk, and you’re sitting there with your glass of water and empty plate sitting askew on the table listening to him.

“So, where are you headed?” you ask all of a sudden, and that bright smile of yours leaves him dumbfounded for a moment.

“Ah, back to London - I’m starting working on Monday, so I’ll get a flight from Paris,” he outright beams. “Been visiting a friend in Italy for a few days, borrowed a few books for my lessons, then decided to take the long way home - do some sightseeing from the window.”

“You’re a teacher?” there’s genuine curiosity in your words, head resting on your closed fist. He nods, and you eye the book poking out of his backpack. “Egyptology?”

“Yeah - I used to want to be an archaeologist,” he confesses, and your eyes light up with newfound curiosity. “I’ll have to admit, I’m not made for field work,” he gives a sheepish smile, which you return quickly. “What about you?”

“I just got my PhD and decided it was time to allow myself to travel across Europe for the first time,” you shrug lightly. “I’m not really thinking about work these months - not until I go back home, anyway. Next stop is Vienna.”

“And what do you want to do, then?” he asks, and your eyebrows arch carefully, attempting to not let your smile take over. He mutters something under his breath, quickly shaking his head. “Right - sorry, sorry. No work, got it,” you grin at him, nose scrunching up with the motion. “So why allow yourself? How come you never travelled around Europe before?”

“I just -” you pause, sighing as you drop both hands on the table. “I felt this constant pressure of just doing good, you know? Like -” you pause again, clearing your throat a little as the confession builds up - it’s been so easy to talk to Steven in the past few hours. “My parents have never really spoken of the possibility of my falling in love or getting married or having children. Even when I was young, they wanted me to think about a future career, to focus on what I wanted to do.”

“Did they expect a lot of you?” he frowns lightly, a slight sense of guilt building up in his chest.

“I mean, you did get a PhD,” he points out, his head tilting ever so slightly, causing a curl to fall across his forehead. It makes you want to reach across the table and sweep it back, so you move your hands back and onto your lap. “And you’re visiting Europe - isn’t that something someone great would do?”

“No, that’s the thing - it wasn’t demanding, they just assumed I’d be someone great,” you chew on your bottom lip absent-mindedly. “I’d say to my dad I wanted to be a writer and he’d say journalist. I’d say I wanted to have a refuge for stray cats and he’d say veterinarian. I’d say I wanted to be an actor and he’d say TV newscaster. It was this constant conversion of my fanciful ambitions into practical money-making ventures - it was a subtle pressure they probably didn’t even realise was there.”

The laughter leaves you before you can fully register it - he seems to have this ability of making you feel at ease that feels so rare, so difficult to find in such a short time.

“I suppose,” you muse, nodding slightly before taking a slow, deep breath.

“Maybe the problem is that if you have parents that never fully contradict anything you want to do and are basically nice and supportive, it makes it harder to officially complain. Even if they are wrong,” he offers, and you nod again, the smile starting to make your cheeks ache in the most welcomed way.

“Europe is my way out of thinking I owe them - or anybody else, for the matter - anything,” you declare at last, and watch him straighten a little, as if absorbing the pride in your statement. “It’s a slow process, but luckily it’s a big continent,” he grins at your statement, and almost goes in to reply when the train starts to slow down.

“Oh,” he slouches down again, smile faltering. “I think this is Vienna.”

“Yeah, it is,” you rest back on your seat, sighing quietly. “I wish I’d met you earlier - I really like talking to you,” you murmur, and his eyes widen a little as if in surprise.

“It was really nice talking to you, too,” he confesses, voice lower.

“God - I hardly talked to anybody in weeks,” you mutter, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “The perks of travelling solo,” you click your tongue then, and reach over to grab your bag resting on the empty surface of the table between the two of you.

It hits Steven like a flash: he doesn’t want it to end. Not like this. Not right now.

His hand shoots out on its own accord, and he’s resting it over yours over your bag, quickly looking up at you just as you open your mouth to speak again, and for a moment you just stare at each other.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, but doesn’t move his hand.

“I have an admittedly insane thought,” you retort instead, face flushing at the mere idea - because you don’t want it to end, either. “And I know it might come off as absurd, but it’s one of those things that will haunt me forever if I don’t ask you.”

“What?” he’s somewhere between perplexed and concerned, his hand shifting so his palm rests under yours, fingers curling gently around your own.

“I really want to keep talking to you,” you admit, and his quick smile caught him off guard as well. “I mean, I have no idea what your situation is, but I do feel a sort of… connection.”

“Yeah, me too,” he agrees, and you find yourself exhaling in relief.

“Good,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. “Because I really want to hear about your job, and that book, and how Italy was and -” you shake your head to clear it from the rambling ready to fall from your tongue. “Why don’t you get off here in Vienna with me?”

“What?” he smiles at the thought, but there’s some hesitancy in his expression.

“It’s Thursday, right? You don’t start until Monday, and we can just see the city today and you get the next train for Paris tomorrow,” you explain, shifting a little on the seat as people start to unboard. “You’ll still make it in time for your flight, and we’ll have some extra hours.”

He thinks about it - really thinks about it.

On one hand it’s outright insane to even consider it: getting off a train with a stranger in a city he doesn’t know, with no plan as to what to do or where to go.

On the other he can’t bear the thought of letting this -  you  - slip through his fingers, of watching the train leave the platform with you walking away, your back on him, bag slumped over your shoulder.

He thinks ten, twenty years into the future, lets his mind wander. A job he’s starting to lose interest in, a marriage that hasn’t even happened yet losing its energy, and him regretting the things he didn’t do all those years gone by. In the midst of it there’s this - a train leaving, you, Vienna. Something so sweet he just missed out of fear.

You’re still looking at him, eyes wide and expectant, a newfound giddiness as you eye the window and the people still leaving, nibbling at your bottom lip, waiting, waiting.

Steven smiles, his chest lighter, his head clearer.

“Let me get my bag.”