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carnalcrows · 2 months ago

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MEOW - PARK MIN-SU

pairing: min-su x top male reader

synopsis: min-su reminds you of a cat- so you decide to put your theory to the test.

content warnings: 18+, bottom min-su, spit used as lube, full nelson, semi-public sex, mentions of a threesome

word count: 1.1k

The oppressive atmosphere of the living quarters was suffocating, with the grim reality of the games pressing down on everyone. Yet, in the dim, flickering light, your gaze kept wandering to Minsu.

He sat curled up on his bunk, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, his eyes darting nervously at every sudden noise. He flinched when someone raised their voice, shrinking into himself like he wanted to disappear.

A scaredy cat, you thought. And the more you watched him, the more the comparison fit. His skittish demeanor, the way he seemed to seek small, hidden spaces, and even the soft, plaintive looks he gave when he thought no one was watching.

The idea stuck with you, an unexpected distraction from the horrors of the games.

Lights out came, and as the dormitory descended into uneasy silence punctuated by muffled whispers, you slipped off your bunk. Moving carefully to avoid the patrolling guards, you made your way to the dingy bathroom where Minsu had retreated earlier.

The flickering bulb overhead cast a pale glow across the cracked tiles. You found him near the sinks, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, head ducked as if he were trying to make himself smaller.

“Minsu,” you called softly.

He jumped, almost slipping on the damp floor. “What—what are you doing here?” he hissed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Relax,” you said, raising your hands in mock surrender. “I just wanted to check on you. You seem... tense.”

He frowned, his expression somewhere between confusion and suspicion. “Why do you care?”

“Because,” you said, stepping closer, “you remind me of something.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“A cat.”

His reaction was immediate—his face flushed red, and he stammered, “A c-cat? Are you serious? Why would you—”

You grinned, leaning casually against the sink next to him. “Yeah. A scaredy cat, to be exact.”

Minsu’s mouth opened and closed like he was trying to come up with a retort but couldn’t find one. His flustered expression was too good to resist.

“See?” you teased, stepping closer, watching his ears go pink. “You even look like one when you’re embarrassed.”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, looking everywhere except at you.

“Sure you don’t,” you said, tilting your head. “But I think there’s one way to prove my theory.”

Before he could ask, you leaned in, your lips brushing his in a fleeting, deliberate motion. Minsu froze, his wide eyes meeting yours as his breath hitched.

For a moment, he stayed like that—still, hesitant. But then something shifted. His hands gripped the front of your shirt tightly, and he pressed back, his lips warm and insistent against yours.

What started as cautious quickly turned messy. His lips moved clumsily against yours, a mix of eagerness and inexperience, and you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. You tilted his chin slightly, deepening it, and he let out a muffled sound of surprise that sent a shiver down your spine.

The kiss grew hungrier, his breathing ragged as he pulled you closer, fingers clutching at your shirt like he couldn’t bear the idea of letting go. Your hands found his waist, steadying him as he leaned into you, his back brushing against the cold, tiled wall.

Minsu let out a soft, breathy whine as you nipped at his bottom lip, and you couldn’t resist teasing him. “You sound like—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, but his flushed face and half-lidded eyes betrayed him.

You pressed your lips to the corner of his mouth, trailing down to his jaw, and that’s when you heard it—a soft, low vibration.

You froze for a moment, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “Are you... purring?”

Minsu blinked at you, his face turning impossibly red. “No! I—I’m not!”

But the sound was undeniable, a steady hum coming from his chest.

“Oh my god,” you said, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. “You’re actually purring.”

His hands flew to his face, muffling a groan of embarrassment. “You’re the worst,” he mumbled, the vibration still faintly audible.

“And you’re adorable,” you countered, leaning in to kiss him again, this time slower, savoring the way he melted against you.

Your hands slowly went to the hem of his sweatpants, tugging on the strap. He yelped at the friction, wide eyes looking up at you.

“Do you want to do this? I can stop if you give me the word,” you stated, to which he said nothing for a moment, before he brought his lips to yours once more.

Taking that as a sign to continue, you pulled down his sweatpants and boxers with one firm tug, revealing his aching cock.

You flicked the tip, making the other man let out a small squeal.

Cute.

He steadied himself by placing his hands on your shoulders, as you lifted him up onto the sink. Your hand travelled past his length to his hole, that was twitching around nothing.

Two of your fingers went towards his face, prodding at his lips. “Suck.”

Minsu complied, meekly letting your digits into his mouth, swirling them around with his tongue. The sight alone made you hard. You wondered how his mouth would feel around your–

Soon, you removed your fingers and placed them at his hole, slowly sliding one finger in. Minsu gasped at the intrusion, his hands gripping onto your shoulders much tighter than before.

You slid another digit into his hole, then another– three fingers were gently pumping in and out of his hole. Your other hand was covering his mouth. As much as you wanted to hear his pretty sounds, you didn’t want to risk a guard barging in.

Once you felt that he was fully prepped, you removed your own sweatpants and boxers, before removing your fingers from his entrance and replacing them with your hard cock.

“This might hurt just a little bit,” you whispered in his ear, before slowly sliding the head in. Minsu gasped, the sudden intrusion doing wonders to his brain. He had never felt this full.

You on the other hand, let out a low groan. ‘He must be a virgin,’ you thought. You had never fucked anyone this…tight.

You gently bottomed out into him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear to calm him down. You lifted him up from the sink, and held him in a full nelson, before starting to thrust into him.

The new angle was making your cock hit his prostate with every thrust. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he let out a loud moan. Your other hand hand gone to his waist to hold him upright.

You fucked into him like a wild animal, savouring his every sound. Logical reasoning had flown out the window a long time ago, you were going to die anyway.

“Fuck–I’m cumming, please–,”Minsu rasped out, to which you only sped up your thrusts.

“So good f’me baby, that’s it–”

The bathroom door opened.

“Minsu my boy! Better vote O tomorrow– What the fuck.”

“...”

“...Can I join?”

“No.”

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lalunanymph · 13 days ago

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💭 thinking about . . . . going furniture shopping with caleb

tw. caleb x fem!reader, suggestive content, domestic caleb, crack-ish, inspired by that one tiktok of a couple playfully testing out furniture ergonomics in the ikea showrooms, 760 words

Maybe a trip to Ikea with your boyfriend slash ex-older brother figure wasn’t such a good idea when you take into consideration how pent-up you are from the mere sight of furniture.

While that might sound strange, it’s nothing compared to the thoughts that arise when your gaze lingers on a few sturdy couches, your mind wandering to what it would be like if Caleb had you bent over the arms, the hot press of his body moving against yours desperately, his mouth on your neck, fingers tangled in your hair, trying to get you to that feverish peak—

“... and we could have the lamp near the desk—Pipsqueak?”

His voice breaks you free from the reverie, and you startle slightly, turning your wide eyes to him.

“Hmm? What was that?”

Caleb is looking at you with a shadow of concern in his eyes, his brows pinched in thought. “Are you okay? You zoned out and I coulda sworn you were about to break the stratosphere.” He takes your hand in what is supposed to be a comforting gesture. But, all you can think about is how those warm palms were just pressed to your hips last night, pinning you down as he got his fill of you.

The deepening warmth in your cheeks can’t be hidden. Caleb notices it instantly, years of intimately knowing your reactions and now, as your boyfriend, your little cues which point to one thing lingering in your mind.

He grins. “Oh?” Despite being in a public setting, he corners against a fake console table, a smirk on his handsome, devilish expression. “Is my princess feeling a little bit… frisky?”

Caleb guffaws when you pout and push him away, the heated points of your cheeks undeniable. “Caleb, you big dummy—”

“Come on, princess. I was just messin’ around with you.”

Slinging an arm around your waist, he drags you closer to his broad chest, the ends of his bangs tickling you when he leans in to smooch your cheek in the middle of the fake Ikea living room. Another couple walks past, their curious gazes darting to the two of you, and you feel the weight of judgement—the understanding of why your boyfriend is being so touchy-feely with you right now.

Caleb decides to humor you, wanting to make you feel comfortable by interjecting lame jokes whenever the two of you drift to a new Ikea showcase. He pretends to measure the height of the kitchen counter in comparison with you, a half-serious thoughtful look on his face as he cups his hands by his side and bends slightly, trying to picture how you would look like sprawled out over the slick tiles and gasping while he—

Oh.

He can definitely see what you’re on about now.

Shopping for furniture suddenly stopped feeling like a chore, especially when you can amuse each other by speculating on just how sturdy the fixings would be for future, intimate encounters.

You would test a table’s resilience by sitting on it, and Caleb would give you a knowing look and a smirk. In the bathroom aisles, he slips inside a makeshift shower, pretending to measure the dimensions of how your body would fit pressed against the glass.

Things get a little too real in the bedroom section. Caleb chuckles as you discreetly kneel by the edge of the bed, turning back to look at him with a heated tint in your cheeks.

“Peak comfort, Colonel?” You tease him and he pretends to mull it over.

“Sturdy as can be, soldier… though the Malm does look more cosy…”

Caleb pinches your arm in warning when you slump over the sofa bed and spread your legs, trying to picture how ergonomic it would be when he has you folded like a lawn chair and is rocking your world apart. “Princess, behave—” he hisses, shielding you from an elderly couple who strolls by, oblivious to your mischief.

Hand in hand, Caleb and you make a mental note of each piece of furniture that passed the degeneracy test when you finally load up the trolley.

He glances at you as you’re deep in thought over some light fixtures, and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to kiss the top of your head.

When he first bought his house in Skyhaven, he gave it little thought—letting moving boxes pile up, and leaving it sterile and empty. Then, you came into the picture and what was once four blank walls became his favorite thing in the world: a home—a real home—with you.

♡ feedback and reblogs are appreciated

#🦢 writes #caleb drabble #caleb x reader #caleb x mc #caleb fluff #lads fluff #lnds fluff #caleb lnds #caleb love and deepspace #caleb lads

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

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ooh im glad!!! so, expanding on that then..

how about price with a civvi wife/gf, and when they’re talking over the phone while he’s gone, she’s being kinda cagey and definitely omitting something, but he doesn’t know what. so when he gets back home she tells him she’s pregnant? really just a lot of fluff (and maybe angst? �� like about how his job is super dangerous and he might not come home, so he has fears about it?? bc your angst is so good it makes me sob violently /pos)

ive never sent a request before, so if this is too specific or something, feel free to whittle it down or toss it, i don’t wanna bug you lol

have a good day hal, love u!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Our Remains

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: You disliked hiding things from John. Certainly something as big as this.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Pregnancy, allusions to breeding kink & unprotected seggsy time, morning sickness, angst, major fluff at the end

A/N: This was an adorable request, Anon!! Thanks so much for sending it in.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You disliked hiding things from John. It not only felt like a betrayal of his unlimited trust in you but also a slap in the face for what you had built with each other. The both of you were always honest to a fault when it came to your relationship—like how a bird was loyal to the sky. It was an unselfish principle; a promise of pure love and devotion that transcended touch or given gifts.

You told each other things. Everything. Down to how much you had spent on groceries that day just because it was something to talk about and share; something that made you closer to one another even when you were apart. You told the Brit what you planted in the back garden—what shirt you were wearing!

But now you hold the ringing phone in your hand and for the first time in your entire relationship, you consider lying.

Your eyes bore into the icon of John’s smiling face, head covered by a black beanie and beard tilted up softly. Affectionately, his name on the device had been changed to ‘Grumpy St. Bernard,’ but now the title made your lips go thin instead of the usual giggling reaction. No heat spreads over your cheeks; no excitement.

Just an overwhelming sense of dread.

The week had started just as the last three had. A special form of hell. At nearly six o’clock you would whip back the covers with all the fervor of a terrified rabbit being chased by a hawk; the taste of bile immediately snapping you to attention as the toilet acts as your commanding officer.

You imagined John would get a chuckle out of that comparison, but when you’re hurling up your guts in nothing more than a pair of your boyfriend’s boxers and a tank top it’s hard to think about all that. The taste of bile was still lickable from your lips as the bathroom tile digs into your knees, ringing phone still in your palm.

The idea of a pregnancy test slid into your subconscious in the first week of John’s two-month deployment, the tantalizing thought that was like a hook to a fish. You had pulled on the string, of course, and had instantly drowned in air. But you hadn’t taken one until now. Too nervous, perhaps. Hesitant.

In your other hand, opposite of the buzzing phone, you held three positive pregnancy tests in a shaking grip. Pink and white plastic mock you from the corner of your vision; two double lines.

John’s icon dims.

You press the green circle in your panic, mouth opening and closing yet no sounds escaping. Would you tell him now? Later? Was it right to tell him about this now—when he was halfway across the continent? Fear overtakes your heart for no apparent reason. You didn’t want him to act rashly, especially when John could act so stubborn when he wanted to.

He was always so concerned about you when he was away but you were concerned just the same. That man was the one who was getting shot at constantly, not you.

“Took you a while to answer. Trying to give me the slip, then, Sweetheart?” John’s gravelly voice helped slightly, making your heart still, even if for a short moment. You close your eyes and tilt your head down, lips quivering at the soft chuckle over the line.

God, you loved him so much.

Blue eyes furrowed in confusion at the silence on the line, the chilled Switzerland air sneaking inside John’s compression shirt as he stood on the hotel balcony. The sounds of gentle conversation twitch his ears from inside the room—the voices of the One-Four-One a dull mumble behind the half-closed sliding door. They had been playing cards before the Captain had easily slipped away to check up on you.

He tried to call as often as he could.

John’s hips shift, one arm crossed over his chest as the other presses the phone harder to his ear. Lips pull to a frown, beard bristles going with them, before the lines on the Brit’s forehead grow larger.

“...Love?” Naturally, a sliver of concern wedges itself into his ribs but it subsides when your calming voice spreads honey over the call. John’s shoulders fall back down.

You breathe deeply, hands dropping the tests onto the bathroom counter with a small clack of plastic.

“John,” forcing away the hitch to your words, you stare at yourself in the mirror, free hand sliding up to lightly rest over your collarbone as a soothing method. Your eyes are so filled with shock that it throws you off. “I…I wasn’t expecting a call so soon.”

“Hm, been up since 0500.” the man grunts, looking out over the city and seeing the rising sun before asking softly with a deep-set brow. There was something about your tone…lids narrow at nothing. “Did I wake you?”

“No, no,” You force a chuckle, having to take a deep breath before ripping your sights from your own reflection. The disgust was settling at you trying to avoid this. But if your own brain could barely process this right now, what gave you the right to tell John when he wasn’t here? “I’ve been up for a few hours.”

Licking your lips, you run a hand over your hair, glancing out of the ajar door into the master bedroom, pushing out bland answers for only the fact that you couldn’t think clearly right now.

Jesus, this was actually happening.

You study the thrown covers from your morning rush to the bathroom, seeing the pictures on the nightstand and feeling the delicate atmosphere that was sparking—electricity between atoms. A silent moment of realization that everything down to the bare bones of your relationship was about to change. Blinking back to the tests, you dwell in the strange fuzz that took residence in the back of your mind.

“What’s been going on?” Your voice isn’t right. Too tight. Too…nervous. Why were you nervous? “Everyone good?”

The Brit frowns stiffly, shifting his feet again and sending a look back into the hotel. Hunching forward, John’s large fingers fix the position of the phone as his voice lowers, ignoring your question entirely. He doesn't want to jump to conclusions, but there were pros and cons to his line of work.

Above all, he knew when something was up with you.

“Are you alright over there, Sweetheart?” Blue eyes rove the street below, “Feelin’ okay? You sound a bit stuffed up.”

Your heart lurches, quickly stuttering through an explanation of, “O-oh, I think I just came down with something.” The irony wasn’t lost on you. “A stomach bug,” you cringe, “I’m sorry, was it that obvious?”

The laugh that exits is less convincing than you thought it would be, but it does the trick. John sighs in relief, chuckling as he shakes his head.

“No need to apologize, Love…anything bad, then? I can bring some meds from Base when I’m back if you need me to.” He was still concerned for you, but knowing that you’d never lied or withheld the truth from him before there was really no reason to believe that anything else was going on. John trusted you to the end of the earth.

The Captain rubbed at the back of his neck, cracking his spine as he bent back. It was still early and waking up on a hotel bed without you beside him was torture. John longed for home. Longed for you.

Back at the house, your face scrunches together.

Bad? You wonder, saying absentmindedly that some medication would be lovely. Was this…bad?

John had always wanted to have a kid—or, at least, he’d told you as much when he was above you, filling you to the brim and then doing it again a second and third time. Thighs quivering and eyes fighting to stay open through layered bliss as sharp pants rung in your ears.

“Gonna get you pregnant…watch you swell up…c’mon sweet thing, you can handle another one, can’t you? Need to watch it take.”

…But was that a true feeling or just a kink? You blank and realize you’d never asked him. More than that, though, was this what you wanted?

“When do you think you’ll be home, John?” You speak softly, palm flattening over your stomach as you exit the bathroom and sit on the end of the bed, gut swirling but not in a nauseous sort of way. “I…I really miss you, y’know? It would all be better if you were home.”

The brunette blinks softly, lids peeling back in shock for a moment before a thin thread of guilt worms its way into him.

“Kate said two months, Love,” John speaks slowly, the grumble in his voice trying to convey his unease at your strange behavior, “You know that.”

He’d explained his job when you both had gotten serious, how he would be gone for long periods of time, and the somewhat uncomfortable situations you’d be put in because of it. You’d agreed and never brought it up when John would have to leave in the small hours of the morning and disappear for months on end. It shocked him, really, with how well you adjusted but that was just how you were. One of a kind.

There was no one else with whom John could see himself building a life—being buried beside in some nice meadow grave plot and turning to dust together. Growing a family with.

John cleared his throat, tilting his head down slightly before pulling himself back to the present.

“It’s bothering you that much, eh?” His brows furrow, “Are you sure you’re alright? I can call hospital and—”

“No!” You slap a hand to your mouth, halting your outburst as blue eyes go somewhat wide, jaw slackening. Taking a breath over the shocked silence over the line, you dig your fingers into your cheek before letting your limb drop. “No, John…I-I’m sorry I just…”

Your voice quivers.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…

Eyes burning and nose twitching, you breathe heavily, mouth closing shut because you knew that if you say another word you’ll explode. You were shivering with cold sweat, scared and confused, and wanting John to hold you in his arms; whispering that it would all be okay into the shell of your ear.

You force through a sob, “I’m just really scared.”

John tenses, one hand going to grasp the balcony with white knuckles. His mind goes into overdrive. “Scared?” the Brit prods, muscles going stiff and mind running, “What in the hell is going on?”

Authority leaks into his tone, serious and deep. It made him nervous that he couldn’t see you right now—couldn’t stop the sounds coming from your mouth. Why were you crying? Has something horrible happened to you? Were you in trouble but were unable to tell him? John runs over your conversation again, every word and sound, as his heart races. He was wound up like a spring.

From behind him, the conversation in the hotel room halts.

You force your eyes closed, now up on your feet and pacing. Tears lightly patter to the floor.

“John, I can’t tell you over the phone,” you admit, shaking, “that wouldn’t be…wouldn’t be fair to you.” Swiping at your eyes, you spread the salty liquid away from your lashes, sniffling; praying that he would understand. “But I really need you home as soon as you’re able. I don’t want to break up what's going on over there, it’s just really important. I don’t think I can wait two months by myself. You know I would never ask this if I didn’t need to.”

John’s jaw clenches, legs unable to stay still as your anxiety leaks to him. He’s nodding before he realizes you can’t see him, taking a deep breath to fill his lungs.

“...I’ll see what I can do, then.” The brunette runs his hand over his beard pulling at the strands aggressively. What was so crucial that you can’t tell him over the phone? It was a secure line, John always made sure it was; yet, at the same time, that fact didn’t matter at all. If you needed him home so fervently—then he was coming home. That was that. “How long can you wait for me, Love?” He spares a glance inside. “There are a few loose ends that need to be taken care of here. Might complicate things.”

You blink around the bedroom, hand wrapped around your middle and trying to run soothing circles into your skin.

“I…I don’t…” John’s face softens, closing his eyes.

“Breathe, Sweetheart,” he whispers, “I’m comin’ home to you. We’ll get whatever this is sorted, yeah? I need you to be brave for me until then.”

Listening, you let the words calm you down, sniffling one last time like a kid who had fallen off the monkey bars before you let out a chuckle. John instantly follows his own advice when that sound wafts over the line. His shoulders fall back once more, silent sigh exiting.

“You said that exact same thing to me when I ended up burning that loaf of bread I was making—two years ago, was it? ‘Breathe, Sweetheart.’” Blue glimmers with love, cheeky tone growing.

“Hm, nearly set the kitchen on fire, didn’t you? So much smoke I swore someone had set off a charge in the oven.” John doesn’t push you to answer him, though he’s more questions than anything else at this point. You’d said you would tell him when he’s home and he believes you. “Please, Love, at least promise me you didn’t burn the bloody house down, yeah?”

A laugh strikes his chest, and he’s chuckling slowly in retaliation.

“I promise, John.”

“Good.” You’re smiling for the first in what seems like ages, tears drying as the flood down your chin stops. You lick away the water stuck in the corner of your mouth when John grunts lowly, “I’ll tell the boys and inform Laswell. But I can’t say it’ll be less than two weeks.”

Nodding to yourself, you say, quietly, “Okay.” Your eyes fall to the framed picture on the nightstand—the image of John and you smiling brightly on your third anniversary. You’d gone hiking, both sweaty and dirt marks on your cheeks, but happy…always happy. Your veins pump blood faster. “I love you, John.”

The final comment is tender; the words are more silk and soft furs than vibrating vocal cords.

He blinks away the blush that lights his pale cheeks. John huffs, an infectious smile flickering over his face as his chest wells with affection. Acting like a bird preening itself, he smirks and says, “Well, you’re lucky then…I love you too, Sweetheart.” An exhalation echoes over the call as his tone drops, “Keep safe for me, eh? I’ll call to update tomorrow.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

When the phone is set down on the bed, tossed down carefully, you try to think over this situation more rationally. You wouldn’t say you were against this—building a family with John. In fact, if not him, then you don’t believe it would be anyone else.

The Brit was the only man for you. You both knew the risks of having unprotected sex and in reality, you think neither one of you cared about the consequences.

Nodding to yourself, you wonder how to explain this to him when he comes home as you get to fixing the sheets, one hand always drifting back to your stomach with a growing appreciation.

—

John jogged to his car in the underground parking garage, unlocking it with his fob as his bags are slung over his shoulders. He wastes no time chucking his belongings into the back seat, swiftly sliding into the driver's seat and slamming the door shut as the engine starts. His dog tags bounce on his chest, but he’s half convinced they move from the rate that his heart is going alone.

All through traffic his fingers are tapping against the wheel, grunting stiffly at red lights and shifting his hips.

It had been three and a half weeks of fixing loose ends.

“Fuckin’ hell, c’mon,” John huffs, one elbow on the car frame as his hand flattens over his lower jaw. The light slowly snaps back to green after a long minute.

Pressing on the gas, the vehicle moves forward and continues until the familiar home comes into view on that quiet street nearly twenty minutes later.

John barely parks the car before he hops out, leaving his bags in the back, and rushes to the door. Taking the key from under the doormat, his mind is focused on only you. He had been unable to stop his worry about you and your unnamed fear, watching the phone with every free instance he could. It had only grown as the days got longer, and no matter how much you assured him that you would be okay until he got back, deep-seated apprehension grew. He didn’t like living under a shroud, especially when it came to your health.

The key in his hand was inserted with a firm wrist and twisted, shoving open the door with a heavy shoulder like there was a cloud over his head.

“Love?!” He calls, not bothering to shuck off his boots before looking around the visible living room and foyer. “Where are you?”

Long legs move swiftly as an utterance calls from the kitchen, barely taking the time to close the door behind him in his anxiety, “John?”

The Brit immediately backtracks, skidding to a stop and turning with blinking eyes. His ears twitch at the sounds of dishes being dropped back into water, as his heart steadily slows at the sound of your beautiful voice calling his name.

He rushes around the doorframe, feet stomping and hand catching the wall as you come into view, staring wide-eyed.

Your digits are around the fabric of a dish towel, fingers dripping as John finally presents himself to you. You hadn’t heard him until he had called out, too preoccupied with your own thoughts to hear the lock click.

But now it was like every worry you had was wiped clean at the sight of that gruff face; the hitch in his large chest. A smile slashes your lips after a moment of shocked silence.

“John!” You laugh, rushing forward, and the man lets his face soften—bringing you close to him as you draw near and trapping you in his arms.

His breath spread out over the top of your head in a great sigh, grumbled chuckles accented by the way John’s great hands wrap around your shoulders. Fingers press you into a solid chest, digging through hair to let your ear twitch at the sound of his heartbeat.

John doesn't speak until he has held you in his arms for at least three minutes, just pressing his face into your scalp and feeling your warmth against him. You don’t pull away either, breathing in his musk as it instinctually leads to your muscles loosening.

Minutes later, the Brit pulls back slowly, gripping you by the shoulders and looking down into your eyes. His gaze filters over yours, taking you in before his lips meet yours in a brief yet deep kiss. You melt into it, hands going to grip his cheeks and spread throughout his beard hair, soft strands leaving you shivering when John’s thumbs rub circles into your flesh.

He pulls back and you fight the tears in your eyes as he connects his forehead with yours. His optics shine with love, bleeding out like trapped stars; silver flecks of devotion and a blue the color of sea storms.

“What’s going on, Love?” John whispers, concern alight and raving as his grip goes to your waist, squeezing comfortingly. “I’m here. Tell me.”

You blink slowly, lips going thin with tight brows. Swallowing through a tight throat, you nod.

“Can you go sit in the living room, please?” Speaking carefully, you tilt your head and watch John get confused—his nose scrunching and moving his lips together. You run your thumbs over his cheeks and smile slightly, obviously nervous again. “Trust me.”

Though it wasn’t a question, John replies under his breath, “Always.”

But still, he holds you, studying your expression and the whites of your eyes with stiff lungs. You were making him fear that something horrible was coming—something he couldn’t control. His heart begins to hurt, but he backs away from you, brows tight as he exits the kitchen and disappears into the living room.

Taking down a swift breath when he’s out of sight, you fiddle with your fingers above your abdomen, looking down at your still-flat stomach. You knew it was stupid to worry, but how could you not? It wasn’t every day you just told your Lover you were pregnant with his child…

“John loves me,” you mutter to yourself, nodding and getting ready to go through with the plan you’d formed over the three weeks you’d been alone. “And he’ll love the both of us. I know he will.”

Hand flattening over your stomach, you open a drawer with the other, pulling out a small cardboard box no bigger than a book. Fingers shaking, you lick your lips and feel the slight pull of a nervous, yet giddy, smile. Turning, you exit the kitchen and see John sitting with his nose resting above the clench of his fists, foot tapping. His head immediately snaps over when you come into view, hands falling to hang off his legs as the couch under him dips from his weight.

You steel yourself and raise the box.

“Here.” Placing it on the coffee table, you sit across from John in an armchair.

He blinks slowly, eyes going small with curiosity. The man sends you glances through his lashes as he stares down at the object but he says nothing. Rubbing his beard with one hand, he reaches and grabs it carefully.

Testing the weight, John is genuinely confused, clenching his jaw and feeling the material in his palm.

“...What’s this, then?” He asks lowly, glancing at you with a raised brow and lines on his forehead.

You put your intertwined hands in your lap, prompting with a tilt of your shoulders.

“Open it.” Off put by your cryptic answers, John nods firmly, grasping the top of the box and pulling lightly, careful not to disturb the contents. It was strange to think, but he was honestly quite perturbed.

What exactly was inside this box, and why had he been called home for it? He loved being here, no doubt, but the circumstances….

Blue eyes glimmer. You didn’t look overly afraid as you shifted in your seat, just plain timid—like the inside object would change something fundamental about his and yours relationship.

John pops the top off and looks as you start talking before your throat threatens to shut you up. “I…I know it’s not a life-threatening thing to call you home for,” the man stills as if he was made of stone; a statue as non-breathing and pulse-less as anything, “But I didn’t want to tell you over the phone because that seemed so—!”

Your voice is drowned out as John’s shaking fingers delve into the box, ears ringing. His fingers flinch off of three positive pregnancy tests and the soft fabric of the plain army green baby onesie that surrounds them; skimming slowly.

“I found out the day you called and I said I had come down with something.” Your laugh is strained when it exits you, and you stare at the Brit hard, seeing his features utterly halt all expression. Thumbs digging into your skin, your tone drops, speaking slowly, “...John? A-are you okay? Say something to me, Love.”

It’s only in that long minute of nothingness that you really start to get an all-consuming tenseness to your bones like a rabbit.

Why isn’t he saying anything?

John clears his stiff throat, blinking rapidly as he brings out one of the tests, dropping the box lightly to the coffee table with a dull thump. The twin red lines are ingrained into the softness of his retinas as the sun would be if you were to stare directly at it.

Pregnant.

His heart swells to an almost painful degree, blue eyes moving to look at you across the table and then dipping to your stomach. The Brit stands up slowly.

Your lungs are tight, lids moving quickly with wetness growing in your tear ducts.

“Please, John, what are you thinking—?” Large hands capture your arms, bringing you up as lips meet yours in a passionate and heart-stopping kiss.

John’s limbs wrap around your hips, bringing you up into the air as gently as a bird, face parting from yours with a series of loud and genuine laughs. You snap your arms around his neck, shocked but not at all complaining as he holds you up with ease, twirling you around in a firm but ever-gentle hold.

“You’re pregnant?” His whispers meet you, airy and deep with awe. It was like he was in his teens again, running around Herefordshire with his mates—his eyes shone with happiness; pure unabashed love. “Oh, truly, Sweetheart?”

Tears dribble down your cheeks at the sight of him glowing, beard peeled back in a large smile with wet eyes. Hiccuped giggles leave your lips as you nuzzle your face into his neck, the sight of him like this overwhelming. All stress leaves you in a millisecond when your feet hit the ground again.

“Yes, John,” you sob, overjoyed, pulling back so you both can stare into each other's teary eyes as the Brits’ fingers go to shakily wipe the waterworks from your under eyes. His orbs flicker quickly, looking you over in an entirely different light. “You’re going to be a father.”

He fights through a scratchy voice, “Me?” The tone is amused, but he can’t articulate how exalted he feels to hear that. A father…him? It was more than he could have ever asked for, and, even better—John whispers out, “You’re going to be a mum.”

You kiss him, multiple quick pecks that he returns through shared joyous chuckles.

“I didn’t want to tell you over the phone,” the confession meets the air as one of John’s hands travels to cup your flat abdomen, fingers flinching over the fabric of your shirt to sneak under. You laugh and shiver at his calluses, as his blue eyes are so soft they could be compared to butter. “And I couldn’t wait two months.”

“Christ, Love,” John lays a kiss on your forehead, needing to be as close to you as possible. You can feel his heart through his chest, and you know yours isn’t any better. This was far more than you could have hoped for. He mutters against your skin, “I’m so glad you didn’t. This is bloody amazing news—I want to be here for all of it.”

Sea storms lock onto your face with a grunt, “You’re so lovely. Perfect, yeah?”

His warm hand still rests under your shirt, and you doubt it’s going to leave anytime soon.

You feel your cheeks heat and you smile bashfully, heart about to explode.

“You are.” John reiterates. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, Sweetheart. I’m so happy.”

The air is ripe with tenderness, a soft state of being that just keeps getting better. John had silent tears dripping down his face, blinking to clear them and not letting you leave his hold for a second.

“Oh, John,” you whisper, digging your fingers into the back of his shirt, looking up. “Me too, Love.”

While the glee is nearly physical enough to grab, there is a moment of hesitancy in the Brit. He was gone more times than not for work; put into situations that could leave him going through bodily harm. You didn’t deserve that stress—didn’t deserve to sit at home with a swelling stomach just watching the door and wondering if you’d have to become a single mother. You had a child in your womb. His child. Both of yours’ child.

A family that you both had made.

John swallows and says to you seriously, without an ounce of hesitation in his blood, “I’m telling Laswell to pull me out,” you blink up and listen, letting him continue as his press on your flesh gets even more prominent, nodding to you, “I’m not missing this—not putting you through that worry. Two years, then I’ll head back in. We have enough saved, I give you my word you’ll want for nothing.”

Blue eyes flicker down, and a small mumble so tiny it nearly disappears hits your ears. You almost start sobbing again. “This is more important. You both are more important.”

There were few moments in your life that you think you’ll remember when you are old, weathered and wrinkled, but this you tell yourself is one that you will carry to your grave. John and yours’ grave.

What remains behind, you ask? Simple.

White bones entangled with an eternity of deathless worship, and the generations that will come to lay flowers on the headstone.

TAGS:

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mariswxt · 5 months ago

Text

whiskey, baby

SUMMARY: Dean’s no longer a demon, and in order to deal with the horrors of all that he’s said and done he retreated into his own shell. Drowning himself in whiskey and his own problems because that’s all there’s left to do. Then there’s you, his demon self’s esteemed fuck buddy, who comes up with a two step plan to feeling good, only for a little while. Step 1? Let you take the reins. Step 2? Sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

TW: MOC!Dean, angst, demon trauma, post demon!Dean, Reader’s not a stone cold bitch and actually worries about Dean in this but in her own weird way, Dean doesn’t hate her for an odd reason, smut

STW: switch!Dean, riding, oral (m + f receiving), temperature + whiskey play, lipstick play (does it count?), marking, switch!reader, thigh riding (brief), pussydrunk!Dean, fingering, face sitting, ass slapping, thigh slapping, slight overstimulation, ring kink implied, major praise kink, dirty talk, damage of clothes, vocal Dean, threat of exhibitionism

A/N: Yes, this is a sequel to lipstick, baby, and you guys can make the comparison between Dean as a demon during the smutty parts and Dean post demon and more aware. Hope you enjoy!

NOW PLAYING: RIVER - BISHOP BRIGGS

Dean felt kinda empty, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. Being a demon didn’t suit him at all, and now that it was over he was left to deal with the reality of it all. The killing, punching people’s lights out, hurting Sammy, hurting in general— he hated it with every fibre of his fucking being.

“Fuck.” Dean growled under his breath, staring at himself in the mirror and finding he just couldn’t damn do it, looking away after barely five seconds because holy hell, he wanted to smash the mirror in just to please the Mark throbbing on the skin of his forearm. “Shut up, why don’t you, you… I don’t even know what you are.” He hissed at the Mark, but it didn’t shut up or stop pulsing.

The bunker door being banged on drew his attention away from his own flaws - thank God, if the bastard even existed - and prompted Dean to walk out of his bathroom, grunting an affirmation that yes, he was coming to whoever was behind the door.

When he wrenched it open with an expression that looked like the human equivalent of a ticked off chihuahua, he saw… you. Oh, fuck, oh, shit, you. The woman that he as a demon had incredible sexual escapades that may or may not have been the star of his dreams for weeks on end after the whole demon thing got cured. Pouring the whiskey on your body, you riding him till you both were spent— it felt almost lucid.

“You.” Dean murmured hoarsely, his throat feeling dry upon the sight of you and your gorgeous, sexy self. Today you were in denim shorts and fishnet tights - of course you were in something that made his senses go wild - with the same red plaid that was buttoned up this time, tucked in and the sleeves rolled to your elbows.

He kind of felt a little out of place. Out of place in his own home— that’s the kind of effect you had.

“Gee, how enthusiastic.” You drawled, leaning against the doorframe, brown paper bag clutched in one hand. “I really thought you’d be more inclined to see me, Dean, I’m partially offended.” You gave him a cheeky smirk, then grasped what was in the bag, showing him the neck of a bottle of Jack.

Oh. That changes things.

Dean’s lip twitched up at the sight, warming up to you like he would when drinking the good stuff. Then again, he knew that deep in that roughed up heart of his, he had a soft spot for you in particular. “That’s my girl.” He took the bottle, examining it with a chuckle as he let you inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

“So, Dean, how’ve you been?” You asked, following behind him, your boots clicking on the tile of the bunker’s floor. You looked around, pouting in approval at what you saw. Place was damn impressive. But you were also perceptive to Dean. The way he clutched that bottle like a vice, the slight tightness in his gait, the set of his brow. All subtle, but you’d had sex with this man enough times to know when something bothers him.

What? You were perceptive during sex too, you’re not only in it for the physical stuff. You’re not a monster.

However, Dean just shrugged, making a grumble of an ‘eh’, ambling with you towards his bedroom. “As good as a man can be, sweetheart. You?” Bullshit.

“I mean, how’ve you really been?” The question stopped him dead in his tracks, and he swallowed, eyes furtively glancing to you in a way that screamed ‘oh, shit’. But he didn’t say anything, just prompted him to trudge up to his bedroom, you following, rolling your eyes.

Dean Winchester was the sexiest man alive, but… my god, was he irritating sometimes.

“Three fingers, sweetheart?” Dean asked you as you stepped over the threshold to his bedroom, the guns and random trinkets he’d collected adorning the place as usual. His bed was messy, pillow and blanket askew, which he tried to sort out but only ended up messing it up further.

You smirked, winking as you closed the door behind you, kicking off your boots and moving to sit beside him on the bed, cross legged while he was propped on his hand, legs outstretched. “You know I can take it, handsome, don’t be shy.”

Dean couldn’t stop the visual from popping up in his head. Damn demon him for being so attracted to you. Then again, he couldn’t really say anything.

He poured you three fingers of whiskey in a glass and handed it to you with a soft grunt under his breath, his eyes flicking over you for the umpteenth time before pouring his own. “Here y’ go.”

“Cheers.” You smiled, clinking your glass with his before sipping some of it. “I know you better than you think, y’ know that? You’re struggling, even a blind man can see that one.”

Dean just grunted again, shaking his head. “M’ fine, darlin’. Don’t sweat it.”

“Don’t sweat it? Damn, you really are struggling.” You snorted, taking another sip of your whiskey. “C’mere, babe.”

Dean scooted closer, clearly not anticipating how your lips would ghost his jaw before pressing an open mouthed kiss to it, humming and sucking on the skin, making his breath hitch and eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. “Darlin’—”

“Shh.” You continued kissing down his stubble, drawing a quiet moan from him, not protesting as you plucked the whiskey from his hands and set it on the bedside table, guiding his hand to your hair.

Fuck. This is what he gets, for not having a woman’s touch in a while.

“Mm, baby.” Dean couldn’t help but groan, especially as your hands pulled off his flannel — wait, when did you unbutton that thing? — and tossed it aside, his back hitting the mattress, eyes hazy and hands flying to your soft thighs as you straddled him.

Not like he was roofied, he just felt so drunk. Not on whiskey, but on you, your lips, your gorgeous body.

Now he saw why his demon self liked you so much.

He exposed his neck to you, which earned a hum of approval from you, your hand cupping the side of it as your thumb brushed his pulse. “Attaboy.” You whispered, one hand smoothing back his hair (the whimper that left him was almost embarrassing). “Lemme take your mind off things.”

You returned the favour from the first time, grabbing the whiskey glass and pouring the contents on his chest, the cold compared with your warm body making Dean shiver.

His belt clattered to the floor.

Jeans went after.

And your tongue was on his chest.

Dean didn’t think he’d ever seen something filthier in his life, it rivalled the likes of Casa Erotica— your tongue flattening against the divots and ridges of his muscle as you collected the burn of the whiskey on your tongue, moving down and down, kissing his v-line, nuzzling his thighs.

“Don’t you stop, sweetheart.” Dean pleaded, voice strangled, hips bucking as your fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down and freeing his cock, which was already needy for you.

Damn, the effect you had on him was ethereal.

You chuckled, licking from his base to his tip while your thumb spread his precome, his hips bucking into your hand with a needy whine. “Not gonna stop, don’t you worry.”

“Gonna taste you,” He panted, his skin glowing already with a thin layer of sweat as his hand twisted in your hair, “when this is done. Mark my words, pretty girl, gonna eat you dumb— son of a bitch.”

“Looking forward to it.” You murmured before you took him into your mouth, working him fast while grinding into the bed.

The sight of him with his head tossed back, eyes rolled and freckled cheeks flushed like that was incredibly hot, ok? Don’t blame a woman.

You pulled off him to suck at his tip, which had him fisting the sheets, eyebrows furrowed in bliss. “So good, handsome. Taste so good.” You murmured, which earned you a sinful whimper.

Praise kink. Noted.

Your signature scarlet lipstick smeared on him — good — and left your mark, sucking and licking until Dean came, spilling into your mouth, but you’re a trooper, so you swallowed the whole thing.

Before you could register, however, you were being yanked up the bed and Dean’s hands were undoing your shorts, shoving them down — ripping your panties — and taking your fishnets to your knees, hauling you onto his face and barely letting you register before his tongue fucked into your soaking pussy, your eyes rolling back like his did, moaning in sync as one hand shot to the headboard and the other his hair.

His hands were so fucking reverent, gliding up your thighs, kneading them, one moving to deliver a light smack and grope to your ass, moaning when you began to grind down onto his tongue because you just couldn’t help it.

And then his hand slid up your back, around to your front, unbuttoning your plaid so his fingers could pay extra attention to your nipples (you would obviously show up to his house braless, y’all out there’d understand) as one long, thick finger thrusted up into your pussy, ring pressing against your g-spot in a way that had his name tearing from your throat.

How was normal Dean better than demon Dean? Or Deanmon. Whatever, either way, he was fucking you right.

“What if Sammy comes back, huh?” Dean growled into your cunt, licking every inch of it while he pushed a second finger into you, then a third, stretching you out and sending vibrations and electricity through your body. “Gonna give him a show, sweetheart? Show him how much you fucking need me?”

He ripped an orgasm from you, drinking it up like he was parched before flipping you over, getting your plaid off and entering you in one clean stroke while his mouth enveloped your nipple, sucking and nibbling.

“Shit, Dean!” You cried out, the first coherent sentence you could make since you rode his face and even that meant don’t you dare stop. And if any other man threatened you with exhibitionism you’d probably slap him and leave.

But this was Dean Winchester, so you’d make a thousand exceptions as long as he fucked your legs out.

He marked your neck, pounding into you like he just couldn’t help it, entwining your hands and pinning them above your head. “F-Fuck, baby girl. So tight— shit. Could fuck this pretty pussy forever.” He rolled over, putting you on top, and you took the cue to ride him, moans in tandem as Dean reached down to rub your clit. “Ride me, baby, c’mon. Give it to me, need it all. Please, need all’a you.”

Well, how could you say no?

“So good,” You panted, which earned a whimpering moan from Dean. “Gonna give it all to you, promise.” You clenching around him and his cock’s ride brushing your g-spot and all of it reaching places you didn’t know you had sent you over the edge, and before you’d realised it, he’d come before you with a strangled grunt of your name, hands moving to your hips to help you through your high despite being in it himself.

Once you’d come down from your high, and he his, you pulled off him, collapsing on the bed next to him, both of you flushed red, panting and so damn satisfied.

“C’mere.” Dean rasped, holding a hand out to you, and you were confused. The hell is he doing? “C’mere, baby.” He looked positively wrecked — you most likely did too — but that didn’t distract you.

“Why?” You tilted your head, pushing sweaty strands out from your face.

“To cuddle, why else?” Wow, he was a secure man, saying it outright like that. “I wanna hold you, sweetheart.”

He didn’t hold you as a demon. Nobody had.

So you scooted up to him, laying your head on his chest and allowing his arm to rest around your waist, other one acting as a pillow underneath his head.

Dean felt upset that demon him hadn’t taken the courtesy to hold this gorgeous woman, but now’s not the time to address that.

“Thank you, gorgeous,” He kissed your hair, “I needed that.”

𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

TAGLIST: @goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

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lilacwants · 9 months ago

Text

you and me, we go way back.

18+ notes: fem reader, takes place vaguely during season 2. summary: Homelander sneakily makes his way back into your life, though you make no room to stop it. warnings : mature content, domlander. word count: 1.4k

After saving a mass of civilians from a terrorist attack, going to interview after interview, and socializing with fans, Homelander was exhausted. Well, as exhausted as he could be—tiredness was a concept foreign to him. Landing on the roof of the conglomerate he called home, Homelander decided to visit you. You, with your sweet words, comforting presence, and sinful smile.

The flight to the door of your balcony lasted a quick two minutes, the location of it still etched into his brain. The lights were turned off, and he didn't hear any noise that suggested you were home, so imagine his surprise when your balcony door was unlocked. You wanted him to come, he figured.

The living room looked the same as always, though there was an orange cat sleeping on your grey couch. You did love cats with all your heart. He was more of a dog person, though. It was no problem, however; he knew as soon as you moved in with him, your family was bound to grow anyway. With the exception of your companion, everything else had stayed the same.

Your bedroom was the same as always, your bed had the same wooden frame, and plants were still littered everywhere. Your bookshelf now had the complete collection of his movies, including a little poster that was all rolled up, marked with his signature and a sweet message written in the corner: "To the best p.a at Vought, let me take you out to dinner sometime. -Homelander."

In comparison, the bathroom seemed bigger and a new shower had been built, with black tile and glass doors. What attracted his attention the most, though, was an article of clothing thrown over the hamper. It was a Homelander-themed t-shirt, and it looked used. That made him chuckle. He wondered, did you touch yourself late at night wearing this shirt while thinking of him? He hoped you did.

After taking a tour through the apartment, Homelander heard the familiar jingle of your keys and prepared to see you again.

You were just coming home from a disastrous date. Your hopes were actually high, and you even put in more effort: your burgundy dress hugged your curves nicely, your Van Cleef perfume was drool-worthy, and your red-bottomed Louboutins completed the look.

So imagine your disappointment when Mike—or at least that's what he called himself—was rude-mannered and even asked if you would pay him back for covering your food, making clear the other options he viewed as payment, which completely flabbergasted you. As soon as he was done eating, you bid him farewell and basically teleported to your car.

Fiddling with your keys, you were completely prepared to change into a night slip, pour a glass of wine, and accept the fact that maybe, remaining single wasn't as bad as you thought.

Opening the door and leaving your purse and keys on the counter, you first took your heels off and poured yourself a glass of your favourite red. Quickly turning to enter the living room, you almost dropped it of shock.

"John. What? How… how are you here?"

"Sweetheart," he said with a smirk, "I missed you."

"You can't just show up like this," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You're a superhero, for God's sake, the leader of The Seven, might I add."

"I know," he replied, his smirk widening. "But I wanted to surprise you."

"Well, you succeeded," you muttered, unsure how to feel about his sudden appearance.

"Come on," he said, stepping closer. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

You hesitated, then sighed. "Maybe. But next time, try giving me a heads-up."

"Noted," he said with a wink. "Now, how about we catch up?"

You took a deep breath, trying to process everything. Despite your attempts to stay composed, seeing him again stirred up old feelings. Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you and gently placed his hands on your waist.

"I've missed this," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek.

You closed your eyes, feeling his touch sending shivers down your spine. "John…"

He tilted your chin up with his finger, locking eyes with you. "I've thought about you every day."

"I…" Words failed you as he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours in a kiss that was both familiar and electrifying. Years melted away in that moment as his kiss deepened, the taste of wine and the scent of him engulfing your senses.

You wrapped your arms around him instinctively, pulling him closer. His hands roamed your back, holding you even nearer as the kiss grew more intense. It was as if the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you in that moment of undeniable chemistry and longing.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. John's eyes searched yours, filled with a mixture of longing and affection.

"I never stopped loving you," he confessed quietly, his voice raw with emotion.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you cupped his face in your hands. "I missed you too, John."

"You know," you whispered, your voice husky with desire as you traced your fingers lightly along his jawline, "you always knew how to make an entrance."

He chuckled softly, his breath mingling with yours. "I couldn't stay away any longer."

Leaning in closer, you murmured, "Well, now that you're here, what do you plan to do about it?"

His eyes darkened with desire as he pulled you even closer, his lips brushing against yours. "Everything I should have done a long time ago."

With that, he kissed you deeply, his hands finding their way through your hair, and you knew that this time, there would be no more goodbyes, only the passionate reunion you had both been craving.

Homelander knew how much you had wanted this, your arousal already pooling between your legs, the smell of it hitting him hard and heading straight to his cock. How did he stay away from you for so long? How did he resist fucking you senseless and instead entered a relationship with a fucking nazi?

Breaking out of his stupor, he found you already kissing his neck, your hands unbuckling his belt and peeling off his suit.

“Missed me that much, hm, sweetheart? Finally realized no one can fuck you like I do. You’re even wearing my face to sleep.” Homelander whispered, getting on top of you and roughly sliding his cock in, filling you to the brim with his length.

“Please John, fuck. You know no one can fuck me like you do, you're everything I've ever wanted, needed, and craved. I love, love, love you so fucking much, you're so good to me." You cried, tugging at his hair.

Now for that, you were getting rewarded. As he finally decided to start moving, hand sliding up your shirt and pulling your nipple, teasing you, you found yourself sobbing, his cock sliding deeper into you and making your flimsy bed shake.

Quickly deciding he had enough of missionary, Homelander pulled you into his lap, thrusting into you harsher than before and grabbing your other nipple with his mouth, sucking and biting, your moans drowning out the sound of your bed frame banging against your wall.

“You’re so fucking good. So, so good. I’m so fucking close, John, God.” You sobbed, tugging at his hair and scratching his back with your nails.

After a few rough thrusts into you, you finally came, vision going white and sobs coming out of you. The sensation of you tightening around him, the noises, and the smell of sex were all too much for Homelander as he came crashing, white load spilling inside you.

The intensity of it made your legs shake, overstimulation finally taking hold of all your senses.

However, now, as you settled down on his chest, head tucked away into his neck, you realized that maybe that sucky date was all worth it. John was back; he was in bed next to you right now, tracing little shapes into your skin and kissing your forehead.

Oh, how much you had missed this. His softer side, the love he offered you, the sweet gestures, and kind words—it made your head dizzy and your heart melt in your chest.

"Finally realized you're all mine, sweetheart. We'd better start packing; you're moving into the penthouse first thing in the morning. Can't risk letting you slip away from me again."

Those were the last words you heard as your breathing slowed, your eyes finally closed, your head resting on his chest. The promise of a new beginning with him filled you with a warmth and peace you hadn't felt in a long time.

#homelander x reader #homelander imagine #the boys x reader #the boys imagine #the boys #homelander fic #— lena writes 🔖

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giuseppe-yuki · 4 months ago

Note

No but like rain is not fine, but orange cat gf will climb into the bath like nothing and just sit in the water looking at franco, maybe even swatting at him, i mean its her bath after all, he cant join

🐅

hehe yes definitely!

franco asking you to step outside while it's drizzling is a preposterous request, but a nice warm bath? hell yeah.

mini blurb below :D

picture credits from pinterest :)

franco colapinto x orange cat shapeshifter!reader

you can hear the noisy bath faucet from inside the master bathroom as you pad around franco's flat, swishing your tail. the gurgles as it pours out a steady stream of hot water echoes through the empty halls. wisps of steam escape from underneath the door, curling like ghost fingers at the edges. you can also hear the shuffle of your boyfriend as he yanks off his clothes every which way in order to hop in the bath quicker.

honestly, you felt like a bath too. how dare he not invite you in?

you approach the door and send a swift karate kick against the corner of the door in an effort to open it.

luckily, franco hadn't closed the door all the way, so it slams open, revealing your boyfriend sitting in the tub. you can see his arm muscles ripple impressively , which was quite the comparison to the way the bubble bath solution glittered as he poured it into the water.

you narrow your eyes. he was probably using your special strawberry scented sparkly bubble bath solution that had literally cost an arm and leg. whatever, you'd probably make him buy you a new one soon anyways.

the moment franco spots your feline figure padding across the bathroom tiles, you about jump out of your skin, because he starts screeching at the top of his lungs.

"EEEEEEE! what are you doing in here?" he yells, using his arms to shield the top part of his body that was above the water.

the bottle of expensive sparkly bubble bath flies across the tub, and fully turns upside down in the water. almost immediately, the still-running faucet creates a hoard of bubbles that threaten to spill out of the tub.

your boyfriend chooses to ignore the $30 dollars worth of bubble solution that has now made its way out of the bottle and into the tub in bubble form to snap at you.

"i am naked!" he says pointedly, continuing to use his arms to cover the part of his chest that was above the rising suds.

you roll your eyes. as if you hadn't seen him fully nude before.

approaching the tub, you use your paws to scramble up onto the edge. it smells delightful, the strawberry scent wafting into your sensitive nose from the steamy water below.

your boyfriend seems to understand what you are trying to do, because he quickly shakes his head and holds out a finger in warning.

"don't you dare, baby. this is my-."

with a wet plop, you drop into the bubbly water before franco can finish his sentence.

he lets out a huff of annoyance.

"oh great- so you can hop in here like it's nothing, but you won't step out in the rain for a million dollars?"

you let out a moody meow, as if saying 'yes.'

a beat of silence passes as franco wedges himself at the far end of the bathtub, glaring at you sitting on the other end.

after a bit of thought, you suppose that you would rather take a bath by yourself.

you take a leap at franco, using your paw to swat at him a few times.

it seems like he gets your message after a second, because he jumps out of the tub the second you take your third whack at him.

your boyfriend scowls at you with his arms crossed, bubbles still piled on his head and body dripping bathwater all over the tiles.

"thanks a lot for stealing my bath!" he snaps.

#anais talks🎙#f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto x reader #💬

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a-ikuoliver · 4 months ago

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kinktober day 31: maki + stepcest

w/c: 2.9k warning/s: f!reader (wearing a dress, referred to as woman), stepcest/incest, characters are referred to as sisters/use of honorifics, masturbation (r!receiving), panty sniffing/stealing, degradation, oral (r!giving), semi-public sex, maki's kinda (read: very) mean lmao notes: this is part of @ficsforgaza kinktober event!! ffg kinktober masterlist — please enjoy and check out the creators who helped raise over $400 usd for gaza aid!! this is my first time writing maki and i think i've gone blind from horniness so i think i did well LMAO inspo/acknowledgements: co-written with my lover @cottoncalicoes

crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

“congratulations again to the happy couple!” swallowing thickly, you take the opportunity during the applause to clear your throat, “and i’m so excited to be an honorary zen’in.”

you hate your cognisance of the weight of the microphone in your hand, your sweaty palms sliding against the metal no matter how nervously you adjusted your grip on the cylinder. you feel like you’re going through withdrawal, your lips too tight in your smile, showing too many teeth, your fingers twitching at your side, sweat beading on your brow as you stood at the centre of the dance floor in front of your new family on the best day of their lives.

for them, it looks like it is; mai, mingling with everyone in her stunning bridesmaid’s gown, dark green hair framing her pretty face, glitter sparkling on her eyelids in the low light, the blushing bride glowing at the centre table, her white slip dress rubbing against her grooms leg as he inched their chairs closer, both of them beaming with lovesick smiles. and maki, in a matching dress with her twin, the gown ruching, plunging and bunching on every addictive curve of her body, like your mother had chosen the dresses just to torture you. you, in comparison, look miserable with your flushed cheeks, darting eyes, clammy fingers attempting to pull the clinging fabric away from your searing skin.

you can’t do it. you can’t. you can’t even last a day without it.

your lewd vice. an unintentional habit born the week you moved in with your new family. you’d all settled into a routine quickly; family dinner, tidying the home, showering and bathing, and then slinking back to your bedroom for some peace. any apprehension you may have felt about the change melted from you when you’d stepped into the bathroom on your fifth night, the walls still sticky with humidity from your step-sisters shower, the faucet dripping against the porcelain tile rhythmically. only after stripping down to your underwear did you notice it; your downfall served to you on a silver platter. maki’s underwear strewn carelessly across the floor.

the fabric was plain. black. a boy short cut, curved to complement the shape of her ass. everything you'd expect from your new step-sister.

shame bubbled in your stomach, a pit of trepidation building the more you stared at the garment. moving on autopilot, hot water spouted from the shower, noisily hitting the tile and glass opposite it, steam billowing to the ceiling, your fingers snatching the panties before you can think about the repercussions, your left hand slipping between your thighs to furiously fuck yourself, your garbled moans and pants muffled by your right hand, holding her panties over your nose and lips like a depraved version of a mask.

each and every single day since had been no different. you and maki crossing paths, her hair still damp, droplets trailing down the skin of her neck, and you, refusing to meet her eye, hurrying into the bathroom after her, needing to huff and suck and lick at her underwear while they still tasted like your oneesan.

wetting your dry lips, you pass the microphone along to the next, family members rushing to pass along their well wishes to the happy couple, you only hope your new family doesn’t notice the way your eyes glaze over, meeting maki’s across the room. your (now official) step-sister stares over the top of the round frames of her glasses, tawny eyes studying you like she’s watching the memory replaying in your mind, too, hearing the wanton call of her name.

with a polite smile to a cousin who’s name escapes you, you slip from the banquet room, ducking your head past ornate decor, white, gold and a muted emerald green to match the bridesmaid dresses, the train of your own billowing after you as you rush toward the end of the hallway, near sprinting by the time you reach the door.

swinging the door open, your chest heaves, lungs tightening each time you try to catch your breath, too preoccupied with hiking the length of your dress up to focus on your breathing, too impatient to even hold your underwear aside when you press your fingertips to your aching clit, only just managing to slam the stall door shut before you breathe out an airy sigh.

the bathroom door swings open, the hinges creaking, a noise that should send your heart to your throat. instead, you only feel a frustrated scream build in your oesophagus, willing your unwanted guest to take care of themselves quickly, to let you take care of your issue.

their steps echo ominously toward your stall, each click in time with your erratic pulse before stopping outside your door, their shoes eerily similar to the heels maki adorned for the event.

“you're pathetic.” the familiar, bored voice rings from the opposite side of the stall, icy blood rushing in your ears nearly deafening you, “what’s it been, hm? not even an entire day without stuffing yourself full?”

your cunt aches at her tone, disappointment laced through every syllable, disappointed in your weakness, about to lecture you on self-control.

when you don’t answer her, she knocks sharply against the door, demanding your attention with the jarring note, “come here. now.”

reluctantly, you obey, a painful jolt shooting through your spine to your neglected clit when you drag your hand away, clenching your fists between your thighs, trying not to release a petulant groan, willing yourself not to whine and cry to your step-sister about your addiction, your debauched habit, the wail catching in your throat before it can be free. easing the door open, you attempt to steel your features, letting your dress fall back into place, hiding the slick on your thighs when you meet maki’s wolfish gaze.

“look at you,” she sneers, tilting her head to take in your dishevelled appearance — your dress creased at your hips, the angry marks your nails left in your palms, your swollen, bitten lips, “can you even get off without your nose stuffed in my underwear?”

your stomach drops at her words, eyes darting around the confined space, trying to find something to look at other than her face. feeble excuses tumble past chapped lips, stuttering over every word that comes to mind, finally landing on a complete sentence, “i-i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

picking nervously at the bed of your nails, painted to match hers for the special day, you still avoid her sharp eyes, your gaze landing on her lips as she laughs at you.

“perverted and an actor,” crowding into the already cramped space, she’s sure to slide the lock into place behind her before she continues, “you really thought i wouldn’t notice your little habit?”

cowering under the heat of her stare, maki easily backs you against the wall, the tension thick enough even the dullest blade would slice through it; a heat blossoming anywhere she touches you, one hand at your shoulder, the other your waist, her hips pressing into yours to trap you beneath her patronising sneer.

“how long?” her slender fingers move to grasp your jaw, calloused fingertips squishing the fat of your cheeks, pressing them together until your lips parted dumbly, tilting your head to look into her shining eyes. the glass atop her nose flashes, a fierceness reflected back at you.

although, the longer you stare, the sooner you realise it’s her pupils swimming with the wickedness.

“what?”

“how long did you think you could get away with it?” pressing herself harder to you, she studies every minute reaction: the flutter of your eyelashes, the pucker of your lips, the whine in your throat, the wiggle of your hips, chasing the euphoria she was willing to give you with every adjustment of her hips.

“using me to get off like that,” leaning closer like she’s going to kiss you, she continues clicking her tongue at you, her voice dripping in vitriol, “stealing my underwear, getting yourself off to the smell of me like some pervert, and all i get is a selfish little sister and stained underwear.”

digging her fingertips into your side to halt your wiggling, you bite back a moan, a small part of you worried you’re going to stain her dress with your slick.

“christ, and you’re getting off on this, too?” looking down her nose at you, there’s a pang of humiliation blooming at the nape of your neck until she grins, as evil as the glint in her eye, “you fucking freak.”

“i’m not a freak.”

maki laughs, no, snickers at your weak voice, sounding more like a frightened child trying to stand up to its playground bully, 'sensei said you're not allowed to snatch,', dropping her hand from your waist, she slips it between your thighs, allowing you to wiggle and grind into her hand, your body still screaming to cum, here, like this, with your sister’s fingers inspecting the slick drooling from your pussy, the voice in your head screaming at you to leave growing quieter and quieter, silenced for good when she swipes her thumb over your clit.

“you have a different word for getting this wet for me?”

heat rushes to your face, stammering like a poor little victim again as she strokes your dripping slit painstakingly slowly, “you know what i think?”

you only whine in acknowledgement, reaching for her wrist in an attempt to get closer, to feel her weight pinning you, her heat, for more.

tightening her grip on your jaw, she sadistically draws her fingers away from you, “when your oneesan asks you a question, freak, you answer.”

“w-what do you think, maki?”

“show some respect,” she goads, “what do you moan when your fingers are stuffing your greedy cunt? say it.”

“what do you think… oneesan,” you sound pathetic moaning the honorific, the taste of it on your tongue enough to make your cunt pulse and gush, your empty hole clenching around nothing when maki rewards you with her thumb stroking circles on your clit.

a predatory smile graces her lips, still glossy with makeup, her feminine features twisting as she taunts you, “i think you owe me.”

it doesn’t take much for maki to get you to your knees, pushing at your limbs until you’re fumbling to kneel on the frigid tiled floor beneath her, your face level with her crotch. even maki’s hands tangling in your hair can’t stop you from pressing your face between her thighs, the dull pain of her tug at your scalp nothing compared to the ache in your stomach, a hearth burning and smouldering with each prod, pinch and spit from your step-sister. the scent of her like gasoline, your kindled hearth quickly growing into an uncontrollable flame.

she was right, you can’t get off without this anymore, without the taboo, the scent of her, the taste of her on the cotton.

your eyelids flutter, dazed when you dip your head beneath the hem of her dress, sucking in a deep breath with your face pressed to her cunt, already addicted to how much better it is like this – the heat of her muscular thighs around your head, the strength of her smell, the way you can trace the shape of her cunt while sucking her taste from the material, more and more of her cum starting to drool from her cunt the more you tried to lap it up, greedily drinking everything in.

hot blood rushes in your ears, into your cunt, pressing your face harder into her cunt, bruising your nose against her pubic bone while mouthing desperately at her pussy. as if remembering yourself, you bring your hands up to join your ravenous mouth beneath her dress, a whimper torn from your throat when she snatches you away from her soaked underwear.

“still so greedy, aren’t you?” maki’s eyes match yours, a debauched need burning in the depths of her dark eyes, “use your manners. ask for a taste.”

“oneesan,” you don’t hesitate like you did moments ago, too caught up with the desperation to taste her firsthand, instead of your face buried in her panties trying to taste the minute amount of her through the material, too caught up in your sister’s gravity to bring yourself to care about the humiliating position she had you in. with a broken voice, you plead, “please, let me taste you, oneesan.”

hazel eyes flash at your eagerness, hardly moving an inch in a nod before you're pouncing on her — pawing at her underwear like a woman starved, tugging the material down enough to curl your tongue around the string connecting her to the fabric before you abandoned them in place of spreading her thighs apart, conscious of every precious second that could be spent with your nose bumping against her clit.

if you thought you were addicted before, tasting maki like this had you hooked, euphoria swimming in your veins when your tongue connected with her flesh. you didn't think you could sink any lower than suckling your step-sisters underwear clean in the shared bathroom, but stuffed and kneeling in a bathroom stall at your parents wedding, you realised you had miles left to sink for her. moaning against her skin, you press forward, crawling on your hands and knees to impatiently suck at her skin even as she stumbled into the stall door.

saliva slips down your throat, your lips wet with it when you keen, curling and swirling your tongue over every inch of her cunt you can possibly reach like this, desperately pawing at her thighs to get more, taste more, touch more, just more.

“god,” crossed eyes meet hers, expecting her to look even half as debased as you do, instead eye to eye with her glare, one dark brow quirked, there's only disinterest reflecting back in her pupils, “i finally let you eat my cunt, and this is the best you can do?”

gripping the hair at the base of your skull, she steps over you until you’re stretching awkwardly to keep your head comfortably in her grip, one of your hands holding her ass to stay upright while she positions herself to fuck your mouth, “maybe you should just stick to licking my cum off my underwear. seems that’s all you’re good at.”

tightening her hold on your hair, maki manoeuvres you beneath her, tugging your hair — and subsequently your head — where she wants you. she's slow, deliberate, at first, tortuously so, your tongue tracing sensuously along her slit, dipping into her cunt to taste the cum beginning to drip from her, before she’d drag you backward to her clit.

while pushing and pulling you, her hips grind in a perfect rhythm to soak her pussy, working herself closer and closer, using your tongue like some toy; grinding harder on your face when she wants to let you have a taste, tugging you back by the hair when she wants to watch the way your lips are connected to her cunt with a silky white string, studying how your eyes roll into your skull, hazy with lust when it snaps back onto your bottom lip.

“so lucky your oneesan is here to teach you how to eat pussy, hm?” her cheeks are flush, the only sign of your affect on her other than the cum sticking to her thighs, to your lips like her perverted take on lip gloss. licking her cum from your mouth, you nod, your eyes darting back to her cunt in a silent plead for her to let you continue, to taste her cum as her thighs shake around your head.

she obliges your taboo request, a hiss echoing in the small stall when you dig your nails into the fat of her ass, burying your face in her once more — gently lapping at her pussy while your nose rubbed against her clit, the scent of her cunt driving you insane, her scent embedded in the hair just above her clit making you dizzy, grateful for your kneeling position, taking everything in you to be patient, to go slow, to follow her movements as she strings you along.

sucking and swirling your tongue around her clit until she cants her hips, slurping and flattening your tongue to drink in much of her as you could, mouthing along her slit when she'd cradle the back of your skull to hold you close to her.

you think she's close, her clit pulsing like yours did beneath your fingers when you'd nearly suffocate yourself with her panties to your nose, her pussy clenching around your tongue, her hips jumping erratically. her moan wavers as her hold on your skull tightens, dull nails scratching angry marks into your scalp as she holds you with both hands, using your face, spreading her cum all around your nose, lips and jaw, your tongue stuck out dumbly as she takes what she needs from you, holding your face deep into her cunt when she cums with an airy, drawn out hum — silky cream drooling straight onto your tongue while you hungrily lapped at her skin, licking her cunt and thighs clean of the precious liquid, ears perking at each of your sister's sharp inhales.

like an over excitable puppy, maki has to pull you away from her again, “you were alright.” she pants, catching her breath as you stare up at her with clouded eyes, “try harder tonight you can keep the panties to jerk off with, pervert."

© all works belong to @a-ikuoliver, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

#line dividers by me #maki x reader #maki zenin x reader #zenin maki x reader #maki jjk x reader #jjk maki x reader #「mercury writes」#k-atsukibakugou #「maki <3」#tw: incest #tw: stepcest

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lucysarah-c · 1 year ago

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Thinking about Levi being this amazing lover who leaves you breathless is great, amazing, perfect. Love it.

Then why does my mind tend to wander so much to Levi being sexually frustrated? Like this man closed up in the scouts after being taken out of the underground, stuck with a bunch of other guys in the barracks. Levi cherishes his privacy; he may have been young when he left the underground, but there's no way he's going to be jerking off under some thin blanket with the stink of mothballs while the others sleep. Then he finally gets his own room, his own office, bathroom, everything, but... he's so overwhelmed with work that he hardly has time to think about anything else.

He knows he's the one who reprimands the cadets if they are being hormonal little shits. But then some nights he simply can't help it. Hand on the slippery tiles, gripping it in vain as he bites his bottom lip and his hand works relentlessly on his cock. Squeezing it in all the right spots, playing with his own balls the way he knows drives him crazy. Some nights he gets off more than twice, but it's not the same. His mind replays vivid memories from the humid, dark dead ends of the underground city. With rushed quickies and the passionate recklessness of youth. No, his hand even pales in comparison to the memory of having his dick milked dry by some warm, slippery cunt.

Then, that's when you come into his thoughts. He simply can't stop thinking about you; he feels like he's a teenager all over again, and he hates it. He wets his sheets like a pre-teen having dreams. He brews you a tea that you softly blow on because it's too hot, and he simply can't help but imagine your gorgeous lips so close to his dick, smiling mischievously but not touching him. Your body in the harness only fuels wild thoughts of how he would tie you up, force you into position, snap those belts against your skin until it's boiling red.

And perhaps, just perhaps... the real reason why he asks for a blow job before he ravages you in bed is eagerness under the guise of dominance. He's scared of not lasting long enough if he doesn't finish once, perhaps making himself look like a fool and cumming as soon as he finally feels the welcoming heat of your velvet walls.

But Levi would never admit it, of course not.

Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @i-literally-cant-with-this @angelofthorr @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @s0meb0dy-0nce-t0ld-me @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @@hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @flxrartsstuff @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @katharinasdiaryy @ackermanswifee Wanna join my tag list? Here!

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saturnville · 9 months ago

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oops, l. hamilton

pairing: lewis hamilton x black wife reader/oc (she) content: she comes home after a long night and gives him an unexpected show. warnings: voyeurism (?), sexual innuendo, sexual situations song: oh my vs slow jamz (JP) an: thank you for reading <3 let me know what you think! tags: @boujiestpoet @mauvecherie-writes @saintslewis @greedyjudge2 @vile-harlot @emjayewrites @ggaslyp1 @neeville

He urged her to take time for herself. To bask in the beauty of life, enjoy the presence of her girlfriends, and have the night of her life. He asked her to take a break and soak in the moment. So, he arranged for her to have a girls' night with her closest friends. With money in her pocket and his number on the speed dial, he ushered her out the door with a kiss, “Enjoy yourself. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“See you soon,” she whispered against his lips. Her manicured nails brushed against her palms as she waved one, two, three, before disappearing into the night. He chuckled at her and retreated into their shared home.

Soon turned into three in the morning. He was awakened by her heels scruffing against the floor. Click, clack, he heard her walk through their home. He sat up slowly and rubbed his eye with the stump of his hand. His legs swung over the bed and his feet followed the sounds he heard.

She was in the hallway just outside their bedroom struggling to take her heels off. Her purse had slid across the floor along with her phone and she wiggled like a leaf to keep her balance. Then, her knees buckled and she fell. “Shit.”

“I see you had a good time,” Lewis said, announcing his presence. She shrieked at the sound of his voice but her surprise turned into a dopey smile. Lewis’ finger found the lightswitch and he finally saw her in all her drunken glory. Her hair was no longer straight but rather frizzy around the edges and poofy. Her eyeliner had smeared, her lipstick was gone, and her dress was twisted. She still looked gorgeous nonetheless.

“Baby!” she reached for him and accepted the loving kiss on her lips. “Missed you…” She wrapped her arms around his neck and toyed with his braids thay were no longer in the ponytail. She moaned against his lips as she fell into his embrace.

He pulled away shortly after and said, “I missed you too. C’mon, let’s get ready for bed.” Lewis found her phone and purse and offered his arm to his wife, who stabilized herself against his body.

“I’m tired,” she mumbled, rubbing her eye with the stump of her hand. When they made it to their bedroom, Lewis placed her belongings on the dresser and plucked her bonnet and pajamas from the top drawer. “Gonna take a shower.”

His ears perked. Before he had a chance to respond, he saw her dress slip down her hips and pool at her feet. She shook her hair and turned to face him, smiling smugly as his eyes raked her bare body. If she wasn’t drunk, he’d pull her to the bed and have her screaming his name while he dug into her. But, he blinked once and nodded toward the bathroom. “Go ahead. Gonna get you some water.”

She made her way to the bathroom, but not before kissing him once more. “Thank you.”

When Lewis returned to their shared bedroom, bottle of water and her favorite snack in hand, he expected to hear the shower running and her lovely voice in harmony with the rhythm of the water against the tile shower floor, but instead, he caught a glimpse of her silhouette, riveting and ravishing in all its glory.

Her shadow, mirrored against the white door that separated her from him, moved like waves. He heard the low hums from the song that played from the bathroom speakers, but the catchy beat was nothing in comparison to the rhythm of her hips.

He took a step forward. Just barely a shuffle across the floor. Then, he saw her in all her glory. Her bare glory on display. His breath hitched and his jaw clenched. Suddenly, the water and bag of chips were a balloon, ready to pop as his grip tightened around them.

Suddenly, the desire that lay dormant within him was sparked and ignited a fire within his loins. He should have felt like a creep, like a weird man for admiring his wife as she caressed every inch of her body with love and adoration. He should have, but he didn’t. What he wanted was for her to continue. To give him a show.

To drop her hands from her frizzy hair and trail her palms down her shoulders and outline the shape of her breats with her manicured fingers, making sure to stop over her nipples to give a teasing flick, then continue down the plane of her stomach. And she did exactly that.

Her hand dropped between her legs, where she ghosted over the treasure between her thighs. She’d taken a page out of his book--letting her fingertips ghost along her inner thighs then dropping further to where her fingers grazed her swollen lips and her thumb drummed against her glistening pearl. The sound she elicited made his pants grow tight.

Then, she dropped her hand from her legs and stared at herself in the mirror. She leaned forward and gripped the edge of the countertop. She pursed her lips and cocked her head to the side. Her eyebrow quipped as if she was thinking and suddenly, with a smirk playing on her lips, she called for him. “Babeeeee!”

He jolted and then tossed the water and snacks on the bed before shuffling to the bathroom. “Yes, love?” He gave the door a testing push and she ushered him in. Lewis stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her bare body, buttery brown and tantalizing. Addicting. He pressed his lips against her neck and she smiled at his affection. “What’s up?”

“Are you sleepy?” She asked lowly. She looked at their reflection, basking in the beauty of their appearance. The beautiful shades of brown and array of kinks and coils were her favorite things to look at.

Lewis raised an eyebrow, confused by her questions. “No, baby. Are you?” She shook her head. Then, with her eyes on his through the mirror, she took his hand, slid it down the plane of her body, and placed it right between her legs. “Touch me then.”

“Baby…”

She tsk’d softly. “You had a show earlier. Might as well act on it right?” Lewis’ breath hitched. Oops. Caught red-handed. She smiled innocently and batted her eyelashes. “Right?”

Lewis tongue ran over the front of his teeth. He dropped his hands from her waist and smacked her bottom lightly. “On the bed.” She giggled and walked out the bathroom and laid on the bed like an angel in the all-white covers.

“Ready for me?” she teased, raising on her forearms. Lewis crawled between her legs and cupped her neck, bringing his lips to hers. “Always.”

—————————————————————————————

aj’s control center 🚀: y’all this took forever and idek why cause I didn’t even do too much with it, but it’s done now! I had to take a little break cause ya girl has an internship and a job at the same time, so I wasn’t as focused on writing. but anyway, I hope you enjoyed! 💚

#SoundCloud #saturnville #black!reader #black reader #original writing #original content #lewis hamilton x oc #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton x black fem oc #lewis hamilton x black!oc #sir lewis hamilton x black!reader #sir lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton x black!reader

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ladykailitha · 4 months ago

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The Au Pair Boy Part 2

We interrupt your regularly schedule "Of Butterflies and Backstrokes" for another chapter of the nanny AU. I just need to cut down on the amount of backlog I have on this story and bolster OB&B while I work on the Halloween-esque metal band sequel "Around the World".

I am living for the responses to this fic. It makes my heart so happy!

In this we have a correct Robin, well... a mostly correct Robin and they all get to know each other a bit over dinner.

Part 1

Steve walked into his apartment feeling like he was walking on air. He never thought he would get his dream job, in his dream house, with his dream guy, who was gay. Like what did he do to warrant such a windfall?

The first thing he did was call Robin.

“Are you sure he isn’t some mass murderer?” Robin asked after he had explained the job. “Because that sounds too good to be true.”

“Well unless major rockstar and music producer, Eddie Munson is a mass murder,” he snarked back, “I high doubt I’m going to be murdered in my sleep.”

“You could be being catfished,” she warned. “He could only be pretending to be Eddie Munson just lure handsome young men to their deaths.”

Steve laughed. “Uh...no. The pictures online matched all the way to the cute dimpled smile he gets when he’s feeling super happy.”

“Ooh...” Robin teased. “Hot musician got it bad for the au pair boy.”

“No...” he whined. “He was looking at his daughters when he smiled like that. No dating the hot parents. That’s the number one rule. You know this.”

She burst out laughing, too. “For the married ones! But he’s single. It’s been a year since his very public break up with ex Ethan Giovanni. He’s trusting you with the two cutest girls ever. Like why not tap that?”

“Because I want to keep watching said little girls,” Steve huffed. “Plus he’s going on tour for three months in two days. Not going to happen.”

“Yeah,” Robin said. “For now.”

He told her about how they wanted to him to start that night and how this was the final test on whether or not he would be good fit.

“Knock ‘em dead, babe,” Robin said. “You’ve got this.”

Steve opted for a chicken lasagna with white sauce. He could sneak some vegetables in there and see if he could trick them into eating them.

He shredded the chicken and blended spinach and basil into the sauce. Added lots of shredded cheese as well as a well seasoned ricotta and popped in the oven.

While it was cooking he went up to the room that would be his if he got the job. It was large for some place where the help would be staying, but small in comparison to the girls room. Which they shared for now. Once they started school, Eddie said that they would be given their own rooms, but with them being so young it was good to keep them together.

Steve agreed.

He was close by, but he also had a baby monitor with camera that the app would be downloaded to his phone.

The house was well fitted with security measures that had only been tightened since the girls were born.

The room had that same Gothic, spooky feel, but wasn’t over the top with it. Instead of reds and blacks the room was dark browns and deep blues. Steve felt like he was floating on a ship on the high seas. He scratched his cheek thoughtfully.

He wondered if he could go a little harder on the nautical theme. There was an en suite bathroom that could also lean toward the nautical with its soft blues and teal color of the tiles and walls.

Eddie had given him a budget to decorate his rooms and now he was planning a shopping trip with Robin.

Steve knew he was getting ahead of himself, but he wanted the job so bad. Surely the universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to taunt him with it only to take it away.

He checked the timer on his phone and saw that it was almost time to check on the lasagna. He trotted back down the kitchen, again admiring the decor of the place. Everything felt antique but timeless at the same time.

He really did love it.

The kitchen was even stylishly antique in look and flavor, but all the appliances were state of the art. Only nothing was connected to the internet here. It was honestly freeing in that regard.

He hummed to himself as he pulled the dish out of the oven and set it on the stove top to let it firm up a bit before serving. He started to get down plates and cups for dinner. He quickly set the table for three adults and two children. Noting that one plate had a pink kangaroo and the other had a blue ballerina.

Steve correctly guessed which plate where as each girl came running up to the seats that they were sitting in for lunch and gasped in surprise that the right plate was in the right spot.

“Daddy, Daddy!” Joan cried. “He didn’t put my plate in Jannie’s spot!”

Eddie grinned down at his youngest. “So he did. Say thank you.” He turned to Janice, too. “You too, little miss.”

“Thank you, Stevie!” Joan and Janice said together.

Steve practically melted on the spot. He wanted to scoop them up and hold them forever. “I hope you’re all hungry, I made enough for an army.”

He set the dish on a couple of hotplates and everyone, yes even the girls, oohed and awed.

“This looks amazing, Steve,” Eddie said, positively salivating. “You didn’t have to go this far. Something simple would have been just fine.”

“Yeah, Steve,” Chrissy said, leaning forward to smell the lasagna. “I might have to haunt this place while Eddie’s gone if you’re going to cook like this, sweetie.”

Steve blushed as he dished out the lasagna, before serving himself a slice. He picked up his plate and silverware (which looked like actual antique silver, he was not looking foward to handwashing them later) to move to the kitchen.

Eddie looked up at him with his big puppy dog eyes. “Where are you going? You’re going to eat with us right?”

Steve looked around the table and no one said a word against it. “Oh. Um... I’ve never eaten with the whole family before. I eat with the kids when it’s just us, but usually when the parents are there, they want me to eat in the kitchen.”

“Sit.”

Steve set his stuff back on the table and next to Eddie. The only other open on the far end of the table. He dug into his lasagna.

“So you want to break down their evening routine for me?” Steve asked after his second or third bite.

“No business at the dinner table!” Joan cried, kicking her feet in protest.

“Yeaahhhh...” Janice chorused. “That’s the rule.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at Eddie. Who coughed into his fist and looked more than a little sheepish. There was definitely a story there and judging from the sly grin Chrissy was giving him, Eddie was no doubt the reason for said rule.

Eddie cleared his throat and set down his fork. “I’m, was a music producer for a very prominent metal label and before that I was the lead singer of ‘Corroded Coffin’. One of the few and I mean very few valid points my ex had was that I wouldn’t be present at the dinner table.” He twisted the rings on his fingers nervously.

“I would either be talking some band or another, messaging different people about the record I was working on or even just on the phone with former members of my band. So when I quit two years ago to try and save my marriage I still had people calling me and asking for my opinion, so the rule no business at the table was born.”

Steve smiled down at his plate. “No business at the dinner table then.” He paused and tilted his head to the side. “Would be asking you girls what you like business or just being friendly?”

Both girls looked at Eddie for guidance. “I leave it up to you, girls. I think it falls under being friendly.”

Joan cocked her head the side and instantly Steve was struck on how much like her dad she was. “I think it’s business,” she said with a pout. “Like in preschool.”

“I think it’s friendly,” Janice said, just to be contrary to her sister.

Chrissy and Eddie shared a knowing smirk and Steve realized this was a new thing and they might need those separate rooms sooner rather than later.

“How about we compromise,” Steve said gently. “I’ll tell you something about me, and if you want to you can share your favorite thing. Like if I said my favorite color was yellow, you could tell me what your favorite color is. But you don’t have to.”

“My favorite color is pink,” Janice said proudly. “Daddy says my room will be pink.”

Joan stuck her tongue out at her sister, because she knew she was had. “My favorite color is blue.”

“My favorite color is black,” Eddie said, joining in. “And red. Can’t forget red.”

Chrissy giggled. “Well, I guess if everyone else getting in on this, mine is green. I love that it’s the color of fresh cut grass, and spring, and how hot I look in it.”

Steve snorted as he was bringing his glass up to drink. Thankfully he wasn’t quite drinking when she said that. “Green’s a great color.”

Eddie and Chrissy shared another smirk.

“Ooh, I know why don’t we go around in circle,” Eddie suggested. “Like my favorite movie is ‘Lord of the Rings: Return of the King’.”

Steve smiled around his cup and then set it down. “I like that idea. My favorite movie is ‘The King’s Speech’. Colin Firth as King George VI and learning how to overcome his stutter? Amazing.”

Janice bounced up and down in her seat excitedly when she proudly cried, “Paddington Bear!”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Yep, and now there always has to be marmalade in the house at all times.”

Steve chuckled. Poor Dad. “Have you seen the second one yet?” He knew there was a second one, but not when it came out.

Janice nodded fiercely. “Poor Paddington!”

“Barbie and 12 Dancing Princesses’!” Joan replied next. “There are so many pretty dresses in that one!”

“Ooh,” Steve cooed. “That’s a fun one. And there are so many Barbie movies to chose from, have you watched all of them yet?”

Joan nodded as Eddie shook his head sadly. “So, so, so many times. Same with both Paddington Bear movies. So have fun.” He flashed Steve a smile that was half between a grin and a grimace.

“Well I haven’t seen any of them yet,” Steve said with a wink a Janice. “You’ll have to show them to me tomorrow.”

“My current favorite is ‘The Quiet Place: Day One’,” Chrissy said. “Lupita Nyong’o is just too gorgeous for me to not watch every movie she’s in. I even watched Marvel movies for her and I’m a DC girlie all the way.”

They went around the table learning favorite books and other things about each other. Joan forced to participate so she wouldn’t be left out of the conversation. Then after they were all done. Steve cleaned up and put the leftovers into the fridge.

Then he watched as Eddie put his girls to bed. They got baths on Tuesdays and Saturdays unless they were super messy that day. They brushed their teeth to Daniel Tiger song and got into their pajamas.

Well...pajamas for Janice and a nightgown for Joan. Each one got a different story complete with all the different voices. He was assured he wouldn’t have to do the voices. That was only a Daddy thing.

Then the lights were turned off leaving the glow of the bumblebee nightlight to lighten the room and find its way into Steve’s heart.

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Tag List: CLOSED

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @sadisticaltarts @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @dolphincliffs @steddie-as-they-go @steddieislife

10- @kultiras @morallyundefined @ollieolive

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #nanny au #nanny steve harrington #rockstar eddie munson

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anthonys237thfreckle · 7 months ago

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Love in Oklahoma - Javier ‘Javi’ x F! reader

prompt: javi and his girl bought a small farm in Oklahoma, reworked it and adopted little nancy!

TW: mentions of injury, implications of smut

i saw @tempesttamers make a post about seeing anthony ramos with nancy and they needed a javi fic who has a miniature cow named nancy lol. it was such a cute idea, so thanks for that!

Whenever it wasn’t tornado season down in Oklahoma, the excitement was buzzing for the next one. Everyone round the bonfire of another cheap motel, all the storm chasers would gather and share stories of chasing a twister or two, the failures, close calls, successes… reminiscing the adrenaline high everyone felt in their own way.

But you and Javi had no place to stay apart from those motels. Your homes were far away from the southwest, and though storm season was over, Javi still needed to do a lot of research and analytics for storm patterns, their paths, conditions, humidity levels and even sometimes forecasts. Storm Par was busy all year.

Since he dragged you from your own job in the city down to Tornado Alley, you felt like you belonged down there, among the wheat fields, cheap food, thick humid air and wide skies; you and Javi would stargaze at times, and they seemed brighter down there for two reasons. One, there was no pollution for them to shy away behind and two, Javi was there - the man who seemed to make everything brighter.

So rather than stay basically homeless, Javi saved up some money and bought a little house with a farm. Barely half the size of a football field, it was selling for pretty cheap, so you Javi bought it for the two of you.

It wasn’t grand, but you two loved it very much. A small, simple, two story farmhouse with a porch, wide and welcoming, its wooden steps leading up to the red-brick house. Inside, it was definitely in need of some handiwork, but it was inviting nonetheless. After all, blank walls are nothing but a canvas to store potential. Dark stained wooden floorboards run throughout, giving it a rustic elegance. Though scuffed by generations of footsteps, they were very well polished. The kitchen, an open wide space, the heart of the home, had a traditional water pump basin and sink. You grinned when you saw it, turning to Javi who raised his eyebrows in shock and chuckled quietly, shaking his head in amusement. The sink sat beneath a window with a picturesque view of the backyard. White wooden cabinets adorned the walls, giving the kitchen its own light. Though the house was partially furnished, providing you with a large, rectangular dining table, some vintage pantry cabinets, and some sturdy chairs the previous owners left behind.

The second floor was led by some creaking wooden steps, and after climbing the short flight, you were met with a master bedroom with a large window overlooking the front yard, connected to a bathroom with checkered floor tiles, one of your new favourite things. They had a normal tap unlike the kitchen basin downstairs, and large mirror with some storage units and a shower. The other room, another bedroom, was smaller in comparison, but still had a window and a large bookshelf covering one whole wall. The other bathroom, almost as large as a room itself, was spacious, with two sinks, a rainshower, and bathtub.

Needless to say, you two fell in love with the house.

Once you two moved in, you both started to rework the place a little. Javi invited some close friends from Storm par and you invited Kate and the Tornado Wranglers to held paint the walls. Once that was done, everyone went out for dinner at a local diner, letting the stench of fresh paint air out. 2 weeks of relentless reworking went by, the crew made everything a lot faster; the house was homely, cozy, inviting. A bit of a contrast to the two city people you two were, but all the hard work made it all the more impressive. All your old stuff was shifted in, the crew helping you move all the heavy furniture, then left you two to do your own thing. Once everything was furnished, you both fell asleep on your shared bed upstairs, holding each other close.

After a day of rest, you both spent from sunrise to sunset out on the farm. Javi drove you to the farmer’s market, finding people who sold nearly mature crops with the purpose of repotting. You both bought 3 tomato plants - one in each colour: purple, red and yellow - 2 cucumbers, some Napa cabbage, romaine lettuce, arugula, some raspberry and blueberry shrubs. Once back the sun was high, you both slathered some sunscreen on and spent hours outside, repotting everything into the fertile southwestern soil.

The Tornado Wranglers came over for housewarming, bearing gifts; Kate bought you a pot of flowers, with her own recipe for a fertilizer which wasn’t damaging. Tyler brought a handmade sign saying ‘Not our first farmhouse!’ with the ‘Not’ crossed out in red paint. You accepted it with a laugh, and Javi just rolled his eyes playfully. Boone bought you both a vintage polaroid camera, and you had the idea of taking a photo of everyone who visited this house, and sticking it on the wall near the entrance, as a cute little housewarming idea. Lily brought some food, her famous enchiladas. Dani bought you two a weighted blanket and a toolbox, knowing how handy that can get. Dexter bought you two some encyclopedias and books you two would definitely enjoy. Everyone shared laughs and jokes and memories over dinner, and you both realized how this farmhouse really changed your lives.

You both started living a new life together, which contrasted everything before.

You always had a knack for baking and cooking, but only did so occasionally, because you could always buy bread from the supermarket, and you were busy. Now that you had joined Storm Par (once you cornered Javi and Scott into finding ethical investors) you both worked from home, giving you a lot of time for each other, and equally important, yourselves. Now, not a weekend went by when you went on a baking spree, pulling in Javi to help you out leading to flour fights, stolen chaste kisses where he’d lift you onto the counter, and everything in between. You baked sourdough, focaccia, dinner rolls, peanut butter cookies, muffins with fresh blueberries from the yard.

Javi rarely ate breakfast, mostly because he was too lazy or never had the will to eat anything shitty anyways, so every morning he’d be blessed with a platter of fresh herbed butter on sourdough toast, free range eggs from some chickens you both bought, and crispy organic bacon. Now, he claims breakfast is his second favourite meal, and when you ask what comes first, he just gives you a knowing look, which ends up with him getting flicked on the forehead.

All in all, your lives had changed for the better, but it was only about to get even better.

As you both drove back from the farmer’s market one evening, you saw a little curled up black and white creature on the side of the road

“Hey, baby, look..” you pointed over, and his eyes followed yours.

“Is that-” he slammed the breaks, rushing out of the car, you following behind.

It was a baby cow, or a miniature one, and its leg had a horrible gash on it.

“Its owners probably ditched her, pool gal…” He said softly, stroking the calf’s head when he found no ear tag on her.

You and Javi shared a look, and a silent communication went between you two. You needed to help her out.

You rushed over to your trunk, pouring out some milk and giving her some sustenance in the hopes of earning her trust. After carefully lifting her, making sure she didn’t thrash around, Javi put her in the backseat after you put a blanket down. You sat with her, the animals’ head resting in your lap. You drove a little way out of town for a vet, and after a quick checkup, you were given some ointment, and since the calf was abandoned, you both decided to keep it.

“Come on, Nancy” Javi said soothingly, carrying calf back into the car.

“Nancy?” you chuckled “We’re naming her already?”

“Yeah” Javi said with a chuckle “I like Nancy” he smiled, petting the calf’s head

“So do I” You said after a moment of thought. “Let’s get going”

Once everyone was back home, you brought out a wheelbarrow, and Javi put Nancy in there, the both of you gently bringing her to the barn. Once she was settled on a pile of hay, Javi gently tied her neck to a pole, making sure it wasn’t cutting anything off. You brought a bottle of milk with you, feeding her as her big black eyes got drowsier.

“Can I sleep here with her?” Javi asked you with concern.

“In the barn?” you laughed “Seriously?”

“I’m dead serious, (name)” Javi said, a look of determination you couldn’t fight.

“Alright, let me get the limoncello candle” you said in fake annoyance. Javi smiled, and called out.

“Love you, baby!”

—

Once you came back with the lit limoncello candle to ward off any bugs, setting it in the corner, you brought some sleeping bags and a bottle of water and milk, for you two and Nancy.

“I’m sleeping here with you” You said, handing him a sleeping bag.

“You don’t have to..” Javi said softly, never taking his eyes off Nancy as he stoked her head, tracing the blotches of black on her cream fur.

“I want to” you reassured, settling into the sleeping bag. “G’night, Javi” you murmured after giving him a sweet peck on the lips.

“Love you” he said, watching you over his shoulder as you settled in for the night.

“Love you too” you yawned “You know, if you changed your mind-”

“No” He interrupted you stubbornly “I’m staying here with Nancy” He reinforced.

“Whatever you say, baby” you chuckled, closing your own droopy eyes. “Make sure to actually catch some sleep”

“Yeah, I will. I promise” He nodded. “Goodnight, (name), I love you”

“Love you too, Jalapeño” you chuckled “Goodnight”

Javi chuckled at the nickname you loved using, and watched as you fell asleep. He looked over at a now asleep Nancy and smiled. He was so happy he bought this little home with you. He looked over at you again, then crawled over, unzipping the sleeping bag.

“Javier….” you whined “I was falling asleep!”

“Hold on just a second, baby..” He unzipped the sleeping bag, detached the zippers on his own one, and attached the two bags together and crawled inside, zipping it back up.

“Now we can cuddle!” he grinned, and you shook your head with a chuckle, burying your head in his chest and wrapping your arms around his torso.

“Okay, now really goodnight.” you murmured with mock annoyance.

“Yeah, really” He chuckled, nodding. “Goodnight, love”.

And with that, you both fell asleep in the barn, in each other’s arms, alongside your new companion. Javi dreamt of your lives progressing in this little farmhouse, filling it up with kids, maybe a German Shepherd… ironically, the house did have a white picket fence too, which made everything all the more cliche. But he didn’t care how much of a sap he was around you - since you seemed to love it anyway. Your lives had gotten so much.. lovelier.

If anything, you both found more love here, in Oklahoma.

#foryou #fyp #tumblr fyp #anthony ramos #twisters 2024 #twisters movie #anthony fucking ramos #twisters #javier rivera x reader #javi rivera #javi x you #javier ‘javi’ rivera #javi x reader #javier x reader #nancy #nancyfromtwisterslmao #NANCYSASTAR

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a-world-with0ut-dr34ms · 1 year ago

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Hi, please, please, please! I need a premise where Simon finds a pregnancy test in the house he shares with his wife believing it is hers, upset and anxious he asks her for explanations, without giving her the time to give an answer. The test was his girl's sister's ❤️ :')

A Good Father

Ghost x Wife!Reader

Ghost is anxious about being a father.

SFW, Extreme Fluff, Husband!Ghost, Wife!Reader, Comfort, Pregnancy Scares, Domestic, Softness, Vulnerability, Awkward Conversations, Innocent Misunderstandings, I'm reluctant to say there's humor, Scarcely Proofread, Drabble

Personally, I do feel like Ghost would be flustered if he found out his wife was pregnant with his first child. HOWEVER, I don't think he would act rude or distant or cold. Not on purpose. This is how I interpret that I guess. And thank you anon, this was an interesting topic. If you have anymore please don't be shy! ^^

Masterlist

It'd been an accident when he found it, and the kind of accident that could put a man six feet under if you weren't careful.

It was a sunny and rare fall day in which Simon had been let off work before you for once; a welcome change to his usual routine, as he'd been looking forward to surprising you.

He started with the kitchen, knowing it had been one of your least favorite places to clean. He washed and put away the dishes before wiping down the counters, making quick work with sweeping before mopping. In the blink of an eye he'd already straightened up the living room, which made the dining room light work in comparison. All that had remained was the bathroom, your second least favorite room to clean.

When he arrived home and saw you were gone, he'd thought to himself -- What would be a better surprise than coming home to your man and a clean home? It hadn't been as often as he liked where he was given such an opportunity, so he jumped at the chance without question the second the idea popped into his mind.

There hadn't been much to contend with, a few misplaced clothes and some used towels. He'd just begun picking things up when he'd suddenly heard something small clatter against the bathroom tiles. Finally he saw the tiny, long piece of white plastic sitting tucked between the toilet and the counter -- A pregnancy test.

At first glance Simon froze, unsure as to what exactly he was even looking at. It hadn't been every day he was faced with these sorts of things; you'd only recently broken the record for being the longest relationship he's been in. So when he saw it, his mind hadn't wanted to jump to conclusions. Not at first...

...But when he picked it up off the floor and felt the thing in his hands, it was as the whole world had stopped. His brown eyes skimmed over that red plus sign at the corner of the test and reality felt anew. A positive result.

A number of emotions ran through Simon, though none could be more certain than the sudden shakiness to his grip and the tightening of his jaw. A pang of nausea coarsed through him, soon followed by a sudden guilt for that. He must have stood in that bathroom for a solid three minutes before his thoughts had somewhat gathered...

Pregnant. You were pregnant, and you didn't tell him. Why? Had you not planned on keeping it, or were you simply just waiting to break the news to him?

Robotically, naturally, Simon finds himself continuing with what he was doing before, throwing the test away and continuing with cleaning. He hadn't known what else to do really; anything else and he may just storm out and call you about it.

But no, he wouldn't do that. He couldn't. His emotions are just out of sorts now and he's confused. There wouldn't be a point in channeling that confusion into anger and taking it out on you, especially since you're the one with the answers.

The final thing to clean had been the mirror. As Simon began to wipe the glass down, he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection. There he sees the battered husk he barely recognized at times. A father.

It felt unreal. Both too good to be true and a waking nightmare. He'd always dreamed of being a father some day, perhaps, in a different life which allowed him to be a part of his child's world in the proper way that he had desired. Some parts had been out of spite of his own father, having had some subliminal need to prove to a ghost what a real parent looks like. Other parts of him genuinely longed for a family of his own, and something he could be a part of from the start and see through to the end. To be a father would make him the happiest man alive.

Yet he wasn't ready, not now. Not in ways in which he felt he could really be of any use to you and your child. He feared every bit that could replicate his own childhood into his life today. There had still been so much of himself he'd felt needed to be set right before bringing someone into this world under him. He'd just wanted this moment to be perfect...

Simon didn't bring it up when you got home. Seeing the excitement on your face to see him nearly made him forget about the whole ordeal entirely. But it lingered on his mind like a heavy weight, and you could see it.

You asked him if he was OK, and despite himself he'd told you he was fine, only tired. He'd hoped that perhaps you might bring it up yourself, though you don't, merely continuing about the evening as usual.

Dinner was awkward, mainly do to Simon's stoic behavior, even moreso than usual. He stayed up to watch a movie with you, though he hadn't said much at all during it, forgoing his usual jokes and one-liners.

It hadn't been until you'd crawled into bed next to him that he finally spoke, though it hadn't been what you expected to hear.

"Do you think I'd make a good father?"

The question catches you off guard and you laugh and little, rotating yourself in his arms and resting your chin on his chest to look at him. From there you've felt his fluttering heartbeat dancing anxiously against your palms.

"Of course I do, Si'," you say. "Why?"

He's quiet again. Even in the dark you know those brown eyes are sifting through the room, looking anywhere but where you are. His hands over you shuffle slightly, and he sighs. "I have my doubts sometimes."

"I don't know why," you smile. "You're one of the best men I've ever met. I've always thought you'd make good "dad" material."

Simon can't help but smile. "Is that right?"

"I mean you've already got the dad jokes down," you tease. "What more do you need?"

You both laugh lightly to each other, and Simon feels a warmth grow in him that only you seem able to bring forth. Even when you know something is on his mind, you go out of your way to make him smile first. It's these reasons he loved you.

"Is this your way of saying you're interested in... trying?"

Unsure of what ruse you were playing now, and no longer being able to hold himself back any longer, Simon sits up, signaling to you that this was about to become something much deeper than anticipated.

"No," he says rather coldly. Too blunt for what he'd intended.

"Oh," you say, unable to hide the disappointment in you tone. You then look up to him, confused. "Is something the matter? You've been acting odd since I got home."

"I'm just wondering when you're going to break the news to me."

"The news?"

"Your first step into motherhood."

You pause. "My... what? What are you on about?"

"I found the pregnancy test."

You pause again, audibly making a confused "oop" noise as you tried to figure out what it was your husband was talking about. "Pregnancy test?"

The confusion in your tone now only makes Simon pause. "Yes," he says. "A pregnancy test. A positive pregnancy test."

You're sitting there racking through your brain now, trying to recall when it was you took this said test. Having brought it up, all the thoughts Simon's had little time to sort through can't help but spill from him now.

"I'm not mad," he leads with. "I'm just... I wasn't...

"Oh!" You interject suddenly, a light bulb going off over your head. "That was my sister's!"

"...Wha'?"

"My sister came over this morning. She didn't want our mom to find it so I said she could do it here," you explain, before chuckling. "Though I'm gonna have to yell at her later since can't clean up after herself... Didn't mean to spook you though, love."

Simon sits there silent and frozen, still processing the last minute. "...So you're not pregnant then?"

"No," you laugh. "Not that I know of anyway."

No. He won't be a father after all. If he'd felt his emotions swirling earlier, they've torn into a twister now. He won't be a father.

It disappointed him, despite his reluctance earlier. Had he been looking forward to it more as the day went on? This was for the best, nonetheless. Now at least he could breathe again.

"Fuckin' hell," Simon lets out a heavy sigh, a boulder of stress dropping from his shoulders like a landslide. "Don't scare me like that, love. Y'nearly did me in with that."

You smirk, climbing back onto Simon until your legs were straddling him against the bed. You lean forward, letting your nose brush his and his breath detail his presence to you in the dark. Before you've kissed him, you linger there for a spell, simply marinating in the moment.

"I still think you'd make a wonderful father, Si'."

You feel him sigh, his body sinking comfortably beneath you, as you've felt his callous palms cup your cheeks gently.

"You'd make a beautiful mother."

"I'm still up for trying," you say. "If you think we're ready, I mean..."

Simon pulls you in, until your lips have found his, locking in its familiar ways. Between the soft pecks he'd left, he spoke to you softly, holding you close.

"We're not getting any younger."

(╹◡◠)

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty #modern warfare ii #call of duty modern warfare ii #mwii #mw2022 #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost simon riley #simon riley #ghost

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year ago

Text

Home Is Where The Heart Is.

Synopsis - They say home is where the heart is. Your heart belongs to four guys you call your best friends. Also known as - four important times the boys told you they loved you.

Pairing - Frankie Morales, Will Miller, Santiago Garcia, Benny Miller x Female Reader.

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol consumption.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 5k

Author's Note - is it weird that I have sort of compared each boy to a room in the house? maybe! but we're rolling with it, because it worked in my head. this is the first of a few fics like this, much like Tethered, Time and Tranquility - I have a few different TF boy comparison ideas. love these babies so much. <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

You follow the laughter floating down the hallway into your backyard. Standing against the doorframe, you watch as the boys double over in amusement while Benny reenacts the time Frankie fell in your pool. Their faces are illuminated by the golden glow of the fairy lights adorning your deck, moonlight shining down.

"And none of you helped me! Hermosa had to come and rescue me! At least I know who loves me the most," Frankie chuckles, tilting back in his chair to catch your eyes.

You make your way over and kiss him on the cheek, standing behind him and wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I don't think there was ever any debating that. You've always been my favourite," you coo, ruffling his hair gently.

"Give us a break," Benny teases. "We all know I'm your favourite, sweetheart."

Santiago scoffs and jabs Ben in the ribs, yelping when the younger man elbows him in retaliation.

"Cariño, put them out of their misery. Tell them I'm your favourite."

You catch eyes with Will, who's grinning at you across the table. He doesn't even have to say anything. He raises his eyebrows and winks at you, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. You can't help but smile back.

"I mean, Will is currently very high on the list, because he built this table for me today."

Everyone groans as you and Will laugh, knocking on the table to check his handiwork.

"You did a good job," Frankie praises, kicking at a leg to see if it holds.

"I built your couch!"

"You can't build a couch, Ben."

"He did! It needed assembling!"

Benny blows you a kiss, thanking you for the assist.

"I did most of the painting," Santiago chimes in.

"Until your weak ass knees gave in," Frankie laughs.

Santi shoots daggers at him, both of them chuckling.

"Me and Hermosa tiled her bathroom. That took fucking forever."

"Frankie, I told you that I'd call a guy for that, and you told me you were the guy."

"You can't tell me those tiles aren't gorgeous."

You shrug, squeezing him tight.

"You're right. They are. I admire them everytime I shower."

"Ooo, tell us more," Benny teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

"Pervert," you and Will say in unison, both shaking your heads.

You settle into the chair next to Frankie, popping the cap off your beer.

"I honestly don't think I'd have any furniture without you guys. This house wouldn't be a home if it wasn't for you."

All of their attention is on you, focusing as if you're the only girl in the world. You feel like it sometimes, when you're all together.

"I can't believe you've been moved in for an entire year," Santi muses. "Feels like only yesterday we were helping you unpack all those boxes."

"Time flies when you're having fun," you beam at him.

As the evening settles and the sun begins its descent, you start to think about just how many parts of the boys live in your house. The furniture, the paint, the lights. At least one of them helped you with basically every single element. You think of all the memories filled with happiness and laughter that have happened here over the last year, and your eyes well with tears. You meant what you said, earlier. Your house wouldn't be a home without them.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The Living Room. Benny.

You're tangled with Ben on your newly assembled couch, a cheesy romcom acting as background noise. We have to test it out, he'd said. Just in case.

So here you are, nestled into his side, strong arm slung over your shoulder to pull you closer. You sip your drink, paying virtually no mind to the movie. You're making a mental list of all of the things you still need to do for the house - tile the bathroom, buy a lawnmower, paint literally every room. But the couch is a start.

"I can hear the cogs turning in that brain of yours," he laughs, pinching your side. "We're supposed to be relaxing. You know, really getting a feel for the couch."

"Right, right. Sorry," you chuckle, nudging him with your shoulder in retaliation. "Just thinking about all of the shit I've gotta do."

"Hey, we've got plenty of time. And you've got four guys ready to do whatever needs to be done. There's no rush."

Exhaling loudly, you realise he's right. There is no rush. Yes, you may have a never ending list of things you need to get done, but there's no time limit. You can take each job as it comes.

You turn your attention back to the movie, discovering that it's actually half decent. By the time you're an hour into it, you and Benny are laughing along. It's a sweet coming of age story, two teenagers falling in love for the first time.

You watch as the two characters share a kiss, all clumsy hands and unsure touches. You smile, and start to think.

"This bringing back memories, Ben?" you tease.

"Oh yeah. First time I ever made out with a girl, I couldn't get her bra undone. I was trying to give her a hickey at the same time, and I snapped the clasp against her so hard I made her bleed. Safe to say, we didn't make out again."

Both of you are crying with laughter, vibrating the couch with it.

"I can see the image so clearly. Teenage Ben with his frosted tips and his puka shell necklace. Bet you broke some hearts, huh?"

"Shut up," he chuckles. "I got tonnes of girls back then."

"I'm sure you did," you joke, pinching his cheeks.

He pinches your thigh and pulls you closer, settling back into the cushions.

"You know, I've never had one," you say after a while.

"Had what?"

"A hickey."

Ben pulls away and turns to face you, looking at you incredulously.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Never got one as a teenager. Now I'm a grown ass adult, I always warn my partners not to leave marks. Guess I just missed out on the whole hickey thing."

Ben smiles at you, mischief rife in his eyes.

"You want one?"

You quirk your brow and turn your body towards him, putting some distance between you to look at him properly.

"What game are you playing, Benny Miller?"

He laughs, and the sound makes you smile so wide it's blinding.

"No games, baby."

"No?"

"I believe getting a hickey as a teenager and having to figure out how to cover it up in embarrassment is a rite of passage. And I'm weirdly sad you missed out on it. So, I'm offering to give you that experience."

"Out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Exactly. Because I am a kind, selfless, giving guy."

You pause for a moment, watching his face carefully.

"Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you laugh. "Show me what you've got, makeout king."

He chuckles at the nickname, but grabs your thighs to pull you closer. Benny plants a knee between your legs and leans over you, using a strong hand to hold onto your jaw. You tilt your head to the side, and brace yourself for his lips.

Instead, he takes his time. He noses up your neck, and then traces the path with the tip of his tongue. He blows onto your heated skin, making you shiver. Humming at your reaction, he leans in again, and connects his lips to the spot underneath your ear, kissing it softly.

"Benny," you breathe. "Don't tease."

"Whatever you want, baby."

Benny picks a spot on the side of your neck and sucks. When he's satisfied, he grazes his teeth over the mark, and uses his tongue to soothe the sting. Your eyes roll back, and you cant your hips into his knee between your legs.

You both lose yourself in the moment, chests heaving and breath panting. You separate yourselves to look at one another for a moment, neither of you breaking the gaze.

Suddenly, you burst into a fit of laughter, unable to stop it escaping. Within seconds, Benny joins you. Before you know it, you're both crying tears of joy, sides hurting and abs aching.

"Oh shit," you choke out between giggles. "How the fuck am I gonna cover this up?"

"That's half the fun, baby!"

"I hate you," you chuckle, smacking his side. "You're the worst."

"I love you too," he grins. "You're the best."

And when the rest of the guys ask what happened the next day, you and Benny discover that you make good improv partners. No one questions your elaborate story involving the couch and a runaway screwdriver. Benny winks at you cheekily, and you can't help but smile.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The Bathroom. Frankie.

Repeated knocking at your front door breaks you out of your reality TV induced haze. You check your phone for the time. 8:34pm.

You swing it open to be met with the sight of Francisco Morales. He has Ava perched on his hip, fluffy pink backpack held in his other hand.

"Hey, you guys. You okay?"

"Hermosa, I'm so sorry for just dropping in with no warning. I have a favour to ask."

"Anything."

"Can I bathe Ava here? We're having some sort of plumbing emergency in our bathroom, and we can't get a guy out until tomorrow. I want her to have clean hair for when I take her back to her Mom's."

You wink at Ava, who sticks her tongue out at you cheekily. You mimic her and smile, glancing back to her Dad, who looks like the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders.

"Of course you can," you assure, reaching over to grab Ava from Frankie's arms. "Come on, baby girl. Let's get you clean!"

Frankie exhales a sigh of relief, and follows the two of you upstairs, locking the door behind him.

"Frank, did you bring shampoo and stuff, or shall we just use mine?"

He unzips the backpack and pulls out a couple of bottles.

"I have shampoo, and conditioner, but no body wash or anything."

You root around in your cabinet, finding a bottle with a label that contains words like sensitive and hypoallergenic.

"Vanilla and chamomile. Is that satisfactory for you, my princess?" you tease, grinning when Ava beams at you at the nickname.

You turn the water on and start to run the bath, trying to ignore the way you can feel Frankie's eyes on you as you bend over the tub.

"Bubbles, or no bubbles?" you ask, already knowing the answer. "Right. Stupid question."

"These tiles are hideous," Frankie says from behind you.

"Thank you, Frank. Appreciate it," you tease. "I'm gonna call a guy about getting it all retiled."

"What?"

"Don't call a guy!"

"Why not?"

"I'll do it."

You look at him in confusion, before realising he's very serious.

"Do you... know how?"

"Hermosa, it's not rocket science. We can figure it out together."

You deliberate for a moment, looking at him carefully.

"Okay. As long as you don't mind?"

"Of course I don't."

You smile at him before leaving and disappearing downstairs for a minute, trusting Frankie to watch the water.

"Where did you go?" he asks on your return.

"I just put a towel in the dryer, so it's warm when she gets out of the tub."

Frankie steps over to you and cradles your face in his hands, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. He's always been good at that - saying so much without saying a word.

"Princesa, you need help?" you ask, laughing as she struggles, head stuck in her shirt.

Soon enough, Ava's sat happily in all the bubbles, splashing around in the warm water. You and Frankie sit on the floor next to the tub, legs tangled and bodies pressed together. You lean in and rest your head on his shoulder as he throws an arm around you.

"Thank you for this. Seriously. I don't know what we'd do without you."

"It's no problem, Frankie. I love seeing her. Wish I saw her more."

"Me too," he says quietly.

You look up at him, and grab his chin so he meets your eyes.

"You're a damn good Dad, Francisco Morales."

He goes to protest, but you cut him off.

"You are. You need to stop being so hard on yourself. You're doing a good job. I mean, look at her. She's happy, she's healthy, she loves you so much. What more could you ask for?"

Frankie stares at you for a moment.

"You're right."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Shut up," he laughs, dipping his hand into the bath water to splash you. You splash him back, and before you know it, the three of you are completely soaked. Completely happy.

You eventually get around to cleaning Ava's hair, shampooing and conditioning as carefully as you can. She loves the fact she gets to use your body wash, and slathers herself in it, making you both smile.

You wrap her in the dryer warm towel and sit her in your lap on the floor, rocking gently as she snuggles into your chest. Frankie pulls you both against him, wrapping his arms around you tightly. The three of you sit for a while, peaceful and content.

"I know I don't tell you enough," Frankie murmurs. "But I love you."

"You tell me everyday, Frankie."

"I do?"

"You don't always have to say it out loud, but I know. The way you smile at me across a room, the way you always have one eye on me when we're in public, the way you trust me with Ava. You tell me you love me in a million different ways, every single day."

"I love you," he says again, surer this time.

"I love you. Both of you. So much."

When Ava falls asleep in both of your arms, you convince them to stay the night. The next day, she can't stop telling everyone about the best sleepover ever, with her Dad and her best friend.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The Kitchen. Santiago.

You're completely in your own world. An upbeat, catchy melody hums from the radio and radiates around the room as you slide across the tiles in your socks. You grab your mixing bowl from the cabinet, picking up the bottle of vanilla extract too.

Your hips are swaying, head nodding, feet tapping along to the beat. The sunlight is beaming through the kitchen window, keeping the room bright and warm. There's flour covering every possible surface, sugar sprinkled over the counters. An array of bowls, cups and spoons litter the worktops - a visual representation of your efforts. You've barely even began baking, only just having measured your ingredients. You've set yourself up for an entire day of preparation, ready for the exciting occasion.

You're humming away to yourself, completely oblivious, when two hands plant themselves on your hips from behind. You shriek and throw your elbow backwards, connecting with the person's ribs. You spin around to face your attacker, only to be met with the sight of Santiago Garcia hunched over.

"Fuck!" he groans, clutching at his side.

"Shit! Santi, fuck. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Welcome home to me, I guess," he laughs breathlessly.

"Are you okay? Fuck, I'm so sorry, Santi. I thought you were an intruder or something. You're not supposed to be back until tomorrow!"

He smirks slowly, before winking at you.

"Surprise."

You finally calm your rapid heartbeat down enough to register what's happening. You grin at him, before running and jumping into his arms, holding onto him as tight as possible.

"I missed you so much," he breathes into your hair. "Four months is too long."

"I've been counting down the days," you whisper into his neck. "We all have."

He finally puts you down to take a good look at you.

"You look good, cariño. This dress is real pretty."

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

He knows what.

"Looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"You're just full of questions today, aren't you?"

He laughs, twinkle in his eye. The sun has kissed his skin while he's been away. He looks tanned, glowy, alive.

"Last time you looked at me like that, we ended up naked in your hot tub."

"Good times, huh?"

"I hate you," you chuckle, smacking him on the arm.

Santi looks around, and takes in the scene before him. Ingredients scattered, bowls full, oven preheated.

"What are you making, cariño?"

You survey the kitchen quickly before answering.

"Nothing."

He smiles, Cheshire cat style.

"Nothing? You've measured everything out. The oven is on."

You're trying to figure out a way to cover this up, to make up a lie as fast as possible, but it's no use. He can see right through you. You might as well be transparent when it comes to the boys.

"I'm making you a cake," you mutter quickly under your breath.

"What was that? Hmm?"

You roll your eyes and scoff, but give him what he wants.

"I'm making you a cake."

He looks genuinely surprised, gentle smile gracing his face.

"You are?"

"Yeah. I wanted to do something special for you coming home. Tomorrow."

"Sorry, cariño. I didn't know I was coming back early. Thought I'd make the most of it and surprise you."

"Well, now your surprise cake and your surprise party aren't a surprise anymore."

"There's a party too?"

"Shit."

The two of you laugh as he slings an arm around your shoulder.

"Thank you, cariño. You didn't have to do all this for me."

"I wanted to. I'm so excited that you're back, Santi. There's so much I've missed doing with you."

"I made a list."

"Of?"

"Of things I wanted to do with you when I got back. It's what kept me going - thinking of going to that lunch spot with the sandwiches we like, our annual road trip to Cali. It kept me sane."

You turn to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You lean up and press your forehead to his, both of you exhaling. You stay tangled together for a long moment, enjoying each others long awaited company.

"You know what was on the top of my list, though?"

"What?"

"Painting your goddamn kitchen."

You laugh, pulling back to look at him incredulously.

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly. This colour is fucking awful."

"It's not that bad."

"It's terrible."

"Fine, fine! Whatever you want, Santi. You can paint my kitchen if that's what your heart desires."

"It is," he grins. "I can think of nothing I want more. We'll do it this weekend."

"Okay," you smile. "Now, about this cake..."

"Can I help you?"

"I can think of nothing I want more."

"I love you," he tells you, stroking a thumb across your cheekbone.

"I love you too. So much, Santi."

The two of you spend the afternoon baking Santiago's cake, singing and dancing around the kitchen. You turn a blind eye to him licking the spoon and sticking his fingers in the icing. You're just glad to have him back, annoying you again.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The Bedroom. Will.

"Can you pass me that screwdriver please, honey?"

You would, but you can't take your eyes off the man currently kneeling on your bedroom floor. His chest is glistening with sweat, warm in the morning sun. The light illuminates the room in balmy hues of gold, shadows dancing across your faces.

You and Will agreed to dedicate today to building all of your flat pack furniture. You've been sleeping on the floor for weeks, and it's finally taken a toll on your back. So, Will showed up bright and early, ready to tackle your bed, dresser, nightstands, desk, and whatever else presented itself. You were barely awake, still in your pyjamas, sleep heavy in your veins. But the sight of Will, toolbox in hand and smile on his face? That's enough to motivate anyone to assemble furniture all day.

"Honey?"

"Shit, sorry. The green one?"

"Please."

He smirks at you like he's reading your dirty thoughts. He probably is, knowing him. If anyone you knew turned out to be telepathic, it'd be Will. You're convinced he was some sort of psychic in a past life.

"You okay over there?"

"Yeah, I'm good. You need a hand?"

"Come hold this up for me while I screw it in."

You shuffle over to sit next to him, leaning over to hold the piece he's gesturing towards. He's trying desperately not to look down your shirt, and you're trying desperately to ignore the way he smells like heaven.

"C'mere," he murmurs under his breath, scooting backwards so you can get closer to the bed frame. He grabs your hips and pulls you so you're sat between his legs, holding onto the wood steadily. He wraps his arms around you from behind and gets to drilling, placing the screws in perfect rows.

Every now and again, he stops to press a kiss into your hair, or onto your cheek. You smile every single time, heat creeping across your chest. He eventually changes his path, trailing the kisses down onto your neck, shoulders, back. You're breathing so heavily you wonder if you're about to pass out.

"I like this colour," he whispers into your ear.

It takes a moment for your mind to register what he said.

"...Hmm?"

"The colour on your walls. I like it."

"Oh," you murmur. "Santi helped me pick it. He was only gonna do the kitchen, but then we were on a roll, so we ended up painting every room in the house."

He chuckles, tightening his arms around you and encouraging you to relax. You lean back into him, resting your head on his firm shoulder.

"This place is really beautiful, you know," he says lowly. "It's so... you."

"Is that a good thing?"

"The best thing. Beautiful house for a beautiful girl."

"You're a smooth talker, Miller."

"I learned from the best."

The two of you sit intertwined for a while, reveling in the comfort the other person brings. After a while, Will speaks.

"Okay, strong girl, you wanna help me put the mattress onto it?"

You flex your biceps, making you both laugh.

"I mean, I could do it single handedly... but sure, I'll help you."

"That's my girl."

You both make light work of the mattress, picking it up and throwing it onto the frame effortlessly. Will helps you put on your sheets and pillows, standing back to admire his handiwork.

"We did a good job."

"You did a good job, Will. I just sat over there and stared at you the whole time."

"Thought I felt eyes on me," he laughs.

You don't know where it comes from, the sudden honesty. It creeps up your throat out of nowhere, clawing to escape.

"I'm always looking at you."

Will turns to look at you, confusion written across his face.

"No matter where we are, or what we're doing. The most interesting thing in the room is always you."

His features soften, gentle smile tugging at his lips. He strides towards you and cradles your face in his big hands.

"I love you," he tells you so sincerely it makes you want to cry.

"I love you, William Miller. My love for you is just so... overwhelming. Some days I just want to scream it from the rooftops. I don't know what else to do with it."

"Give it to me," he says without missing a beat.

"What?"

"All the love. Don't throw it into the abyss. Give it to me. I want it."

You grin at him, a bright, blinding thing. He reciprocates, before leaning down and smashing his lips to yours. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Your knees give out from the sheer love he's kissing you with, both of you tumbling to the floor.

You pull his shirt over his head, exposing his gorgeous, sun soaked skin. He's so broad it makes you clench your thighs together. He tugs your shirt off and throws it across the room, paying no mind to where it lands. The two of you don't separate your lips for more than a second.

He's rutting his hips into yours, the friction making you dizzy. You try and push his jeans down, fingers fumbling with the button. He takes pity on you and shoves them down himself, adding them to the pile of clothes scattered across the room.

Will wastes no time, throwing his boxers behind him and pulling your underwear down your legs. He pushes into you with effortless ease, both of you ready and eager. You unanimously groan in relief, panting rapidly. You claw at his shoulders, leaning up to connect your lips.

"I love you," he whispers against your mouth, hips gliding into yours.

"I love you," you gasp, resting your forehead against his. "I love you I love you I love you."

Will slides a hand down your body to rub quick circles between your legs, dipping his tongue into your mouth as he does it. He's swallowing your moans, licking the whines from your lips. He can't get over how sweet they taste.

"Come for me, honey. Give it to me, good girl. That's it. Atta girl."

You back arches off the floor, nails scratching down his back. Your vision goes white, stars clouding your view. Will groans, deep and low, spilling into you. You both ride out your highs while Will murmurs sweet sentiments into your ear, against your skin, into your mouth.

He collapses onto you, smothering you with his weight. You don't mind. Every part of your body is touching a part of his, and it still isn't close enough. It'll never be close enough. You could sew yourself into his ribcage, and you'd still want to be closer to his heart.

The only sounds that can be heard are two sets of heaving lungs. When you've snapped back to reality, you thread your fingers through his hair, scratching your nails across his scalp and smiling when he leans into your touch.

"Will?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"Why did you just build me a bed, and then fuck me on the floor?"

He takes a moment to register what you've said, before breaking out into contagious laughter. He's vibrating against you, both of you high on each others company.

"I didn't even think," he wheezes. "Fuck, we're idiots."

"You can say that again," you chuckle. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Will rolls off and lies next to you, linking his fingers with yours.

"You ready to keep building?"

As much as you'd happily stay where you are forever, it would be nice to have actual furniture in your bedroom.

"Let's do it," you say as you sit up.

You scramble around for your clothes, both of you beaming at each other as you get dressed. You walk over and wrap your arms around his neck, looking up at him.

"I can't wait for you to move in."

He grins at you, pecking your lips.

"I can't wait either. Two more months and my lease is up. Then you're stuck with me forever, honey."

"I wouldn't say stuck. More like the luckiest girl in the world."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Shut up," you laugh, grabbing the toolbox. "Let's build our furniture, shall we?"

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"You've made this place really beautiful, you guys."

"Beautiful house for a beautiful girl," Will grins at you across the table.

"Ugh, I hate when they do that," Benny complains.

"Do what?"

"Look at each other like that. It's like they're communicating through their minds, or something."

"We're silently talking about you, dipshit," Will teases, jabbing his brother in the side.

"Before the Millers kill each other, we bought you a present, hermosa. Think of it as a one year housewarming gift."

Frankie hands you a large rectangular parcel, wrapped carefully. You rip open the paper, discovering a large, ornate picture frame. In it, is your favourite picture in the world.

You and Will's first dance.

Frankie had taken the picture, unbeknownst to the two of you. You're both swaying to the music, arms wrapped around your husband's neck, completely lost in each other. Around you, the lights twinkle as your closest friends and family look on in awe.

"Frankie," you breathe. "Thank you. All of you. I love it so much."

"We thought you could hang it above your fireplace," Santiago offers. "In that big empty space."

"It's perfect," Will agrees.

"It's like the final piece of the puzzle," you whisper. "Now our home feels complete."

You trace your fingers over the frame, overwhelmed with adoration for the four boys staring back at you.

"I love you all," you tell them, glancing around the table. "So much."

"Love you, hermosa."

"Love you too, cariño."

"Love ya, baby!"

"I love you, honey."

The chorus makes you beam so bright, you're convinced your smile can be seen from space.

@kmc1989 @modernperplexity @sia2raw @pimosworld

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grapejuicestyless · 10 months ago

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part 2 for so long london w/ a happy ending please I loved it sm😭😭

loml.

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: After nearly a year apart and an album later, turns out you and Harry aren’t doing as well as you let off to be. Part 2 to So Long, London

Seeing him across the room even after all this time sends chills down my spine. I recall the warm feeling of his hands against my spine and the smell of gunpowder as he aims his pistol at my heart.

It’s funny seeing him now that he’s written down his feelings and published them like a diary for the world to read. I know more about his heart than he led me on to know. I know how he claims to have felt shattered inside with the realization he lost the “love of his life” and how we walked the fine line between being perfect and violently broken. But really, what is perfect when it comes to us?

He wrote down some things I just can’t unabsorb. His songs turning me into more of an idea of sorts. It felt like watching the story of our love from afar. The details were there, but they weren’t quite right. He writes about how we danced in the kitchen listening to trash pop music, but he leaves out the way we always stumbled over the chipped tile by the counters. Does he remember how he’d lead us there purposely so he could wrap his arms around my cold body and save me?

Seeing him now I can feel his eyes drift to mine every couple seconds, his gaze burning into my side profile while I down another glass trying to shake the feeling.

I feel stupid now, seeing him at our best friend’s wedding. He’s in a suit and tie, his hair curled around his eye and a red tint from the sun on his cheeks. I feel even more stupid wearing a green dress on the opposite side of the alter, holding flowers and smiling at how the bride and groom promise themselves in sickness and in health.

I’m not stupid though, I can hear the whispers about how we almost had it all. The flowers picked out from the catalog dull in comparison to the ones we had picked out for each other by the third week together. When I sit with the bridesmaids, I hear their snickers at the bride, how lucky she is to be the first married, how they always thought it would have been me.

But I’m a good friend, and a damn good actress. I can paste on a smile and act like the jokes they sneak into their speeches about how they never saw it coming, telling stories about the newlyweds that should have been about us are funny. But I can’t help the way I start to sweat when they begin to quote the same words Harry had written down for me.

All of our love story written down for the public to use, words he penned on the paper with my face in mind belong to someone new now, “I love you’s” whispered between couples who once dreamed of having a love like ours.

“I remember meeting you in September of last year, you were wearing a yellow dress and red shoes. You didn’t match, but you made it look good. I thought you were beautiful, I just had to have you. And when you decided to go for a guy like me, I knew you were the one instantly. Just like our good friend Harry once said, ‘She’s an angel, my only angel.’” I don’t listen to his heartfelt speech anymore, I can’t even look at the smile on my friends face as he serenades her anymore, I feel like someones just ripped out my heart and claimed it as their own.

And like someone was praying for me to cry, to finally break and show everyone just how not okay I am, his eyes are on mine, and he’s not looking away. When my eyes catch his, I mentally curse myself, wishing I could sink into the seat beneath me. I excuse myself to use the bathroom, grabbing the bottom of my dress to make down the long hallways of the beautiful venue that should have been ours.

“Y/n.” His accent is thick in the foggy room, eyes dimmer than I remember. He runs after me, voices from the reception muffled by the walls put between us.

My eyes trace over his body, studying the way he sighs out my name. Can he hear my heart crashing down as I realize I’ve lost my touch? I cannot tell if he’s relieved or obligated to be standing so close.

I swallow hard, his english accent drawing me back to the place I once loved so much. My new home dulls in comparison to what we once had, and I can’t help but still hold a grudge for him taking that all away from me, for ruining a sacred city and crushing it between his fingers.

“You look good.” I break the awkward silence that falls between us, his lips parted like an idiot, like he ran without thinking and forgot how to talk.

“Me? God, you look breathtaking.”

I would have blushed not long ago, curtsying at his comment and kicking my feet beneath the table cloth, but now the compliment is empty and instead feels backhanded in some odd way.

“Oh…well thank you. I tried my best.” I laugh bitterly, and the shine in his eyes tells me he misses the unhappiness in my giggles.

When he doesn’t speak again, I swear I can feel my skin shifting over my bones every time I breathe.

“Well, it was good seeing you.” I lie through my teeth, turning on my heals and wiping away any tears gathering on my waterline.

“You don’t have to avoid me, you know.”

“What?”

“You don’t have to avoid me. I know things aren’t the same between us, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still look for you in every room I walk into. You’re the love of my life, even now.” He confesses, stepping closer.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t. I’m not in any rooms you’re in anymore.”

“But maybe I wish you were.” He says with a smirk, stepping closer and trying to slip his hand into mine, but it’s like needles stabbing into my skin, I cannot hold onto him, so I slip away.

“Goodbye, Harry.”

He grabs me again, a hold so desperate to keep me in his grasp, one I haven’t felt in a long time. Classic move from Mr. Steal Your Girl. The man who promised rings and cradles, the dame man who swooned over the small things and rolled his eyes as he turned his back. Mr. Make Her Cry.

“Y/n I don’t want this to be goodbye.”

“It’s not. It can’t be, we already did that right?” I turn to him teary eyed, my wrist burning under the grip of his cold rings decorated on his warm hands.

“No, that’s not what that was.”

“Then what was it?”

He swallows, but keeps looking me in the eyes like he means everything he’s preparing to say.

“We were so young. I was scared, and I pulled away. It was wrong, but I thought you’d be better off with someone who wasn’t afraid to grow up.”

“I would have waited. You know that.” He nods.

“I know. But it’s not fair.”

“No, whats not fair is you coming back to me after leaving me stranded in a place I can’t even fucking stand to be near anymore! God, you’re such an asshole, talking rings and talking cradles and then claiming to be scared for a future you planned. You don’t do that, not to the love of your life, and you sure as hell don’t leave them stranded and alone. How dare you think it was romantic to have done that to me?” I spit venom from my tongue, my eyes clouded with tears. “You promised to never leave, then what? Never mind? You think you’re such a hero for leaving me but in reality you’re a coward. Letting me think we had it all, we almost had it all and then you leave? What do I do with myself now that you’ve come back? Do you want me to forgive you? Harry, I might be the love of your life but you’re the loss of mine.”

“I know, I know.”

“Stop saying you know when you don’t!” I scream, quieting down as I remember where we stand, and I silently pray I haven’t spoiled such a beautiful wedding.

“I’m not claiming to have been a good partner, god knows about all my faults and I’ve gone away to fix them, and you’re here now, and I don’t know how I’ll ever find you again if I do not ask now, but I need you to listen to me now before it’s too late because I’ve never felt a hole in my chest like this, and I need you to see how badly I need you back in my life, I need you to trust me when I say I’m committed this time.” He pleads, his hands trembling in mine.

My lip trembles at the feeling of his skin on mine, my face colliding with his shoulder in a suffocating hug, I can feel myself falling back into his wicked grip, but when he holds me like this, it feels more like flying than falling, at least until the bone crush.

Standing in the hallway of a wedding built for us, but dedicated to another, I see us dancing in the kitchen again, the steps burned into my head as we waltz back into rekindled flames. His love is just so warm, fuck it if I get burned, if it falls apart again.

He’s the loss of my life, Mr. Writes Me Love Songs, Mr. Dances With Me In The Kitchen.

But for now, at least under the false illusion’s presented within this luxurious wedding, he’ll be the love of my life.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #fine line harry styles #harry x reader #harrystyles #harry styles

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