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jinwoosungs · 9 months ago

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09/01/24; 04:40pm

{ 18+ headcanons / drabbles }

[ when they’re too busy with work, but you’re needy for them ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

it was the middle of the night when you woke up with a start, eyes going blurry as you blindly reached out to the opposite side of the bed-

only to realize that the sheets were cold to touch.

your sleepiness dissolves in an instant, with a soft yawn coming from your parted lips as you carefully get out of bed. a shiver courses through you upon feeling the cold marble against your feet, but you ignore such icy sensations.

opening the door out of the master bedroom, you wrap your arms around your chest, trying to keep in as much warmth that you could manage while making your way towards sylus’s office. there was a bit of a drag in your steps, your slow movements serving as sole evidence of your exhaustion-

but you would not sleep without sylus by your side.

finally reaching his office, you give the rich, oak door a series of knock, alerting your lover of your presence before inviting yourself inside. yet the moment you saw sylus settled on the expensive leather couch, you could feel your mouth turn dry.

he was dressed in a suit colored in ebony and crimson, the colors matching his aesthetic as his rufescent eyes meet with your gaze. an achingly soft smile graces his features, and you felt a pang of heat running down your spine at the mere sight of him.

gripping at the sheer material of your nightgown, your breathing comes out in uneven breaths. your eyes darken, mirroring your desires for him before asking, “sylus, won’t you join me in bed? it’s getting late.”

sylus’s eyes flash, giving you a momentary glimpse of lust while letting out a string of curses. “sweetheart, as much as i’d like to join you and keep you warm while in bed, i can’t. i’ve got to get these orders ready for my client.”

you bite down on your bottom lip, already feeling the moisture collecting from between your legs. not daring to look away from him, you slowly lock the door to his office, earning a raised brow from the onychinus leader.

you remain silent, stepping out of your ruined panties as you allow the flimsy material to fall to the ground. hunger was seen in sylus’s gaze the moment you shed your body free of your nightgown, allowing it to flutter to the floor before sauntering towards your lover.

sylus wastes no time pulling you closer to him, allowing your soaked cunt to pulsate against his thighs as you gently rode him, allowing your sticky sweet arousal to coat his suit.

“thats it, babygirl. keep on riding me, just like that. let me work for a little while longer, then i’ll take care of you.”

your gasps end up filling at the room, with sylus steadily losing interest in cleaning the weapons the moment you began bouncing up and down his thigh. his eyes had long since lost its crimson shade, becoming so dilated and filled with desire for you that he could feel his sanity snap.

needless to say, when sylus tosses the gun back on the table before unbuckling his pants, freeing his erection as he harshly grips at your thighs before impaling your slick heat against his cock, you lost all of your senses. being so filled with him after riding his thighs created such a hedonistic friction that you quickly became addicted to, never once stopping as you rode him with a desperation.

meanwhile, as luke and kieran were ready to deliver the next round of weapons, they froze upon seeing the office door locked as sounds of your breathy moans and sylus’s grunts were heard coming from behind the door. both twins end up looking at each other, their flustered expression hidden beneath their masks as they slowly backed away from the door.

it was best not to disturb their boss and his queen while in the middle of their trysts, a lesson that they were all too familiar with.

it was early in the morning at akso hospital, and as the staff were prepared to switch out with their coworkers for the upcoming shift, they would remain blissfully unaware of how a certain cardiac surgeon was still tied up and locked in his office.

zayne tries to hide back his groans, having to force himself to bite down on his fist the moment you came into his office. he had simply been going over some patient profiles when you came into his office with an almost dazed expression on your face.

he was filled with concern for you, already taking off his glasses while shoving his patient files to the side. one moment, he was filled with guilt for neglecting you for a few days due to how he wasn’t coming home as much-

and the next, zayne found himself settling back against his chair, with you remaining hidden beneath his desk as his cock was in your mouth. he was already half-erect the moment you began kissing his inner thighs, so it came as no surprise when he became even harder when you unzipped his pants and freed his cock from the confines of his boxers.

“i’m not mad at you.” you continue speaking to him, already stroking his cock in a loving manner before licking away the beads of precum that leaked from his mushroom tip. “i know you’re working so hard to save so many lives, but i wish to spoil you, too.”

zayne’s eyes were screwed shut the moment you place your hot mouth against his cock, feeling your tongue tracing at his veins while letting out a gasp of your name. his large hands automatically go into your hair, gently moving your head back and forth over his cock.

you hummed in pleasure, feeling the familiar twitch within your mouth. you had every intention to take him in as far as you could, yet zayne doesn’t even give you a chance to taste his cum when he harshly pulls your mouth away from his cock.

with a strength you didn’t think zayne was even capable of, you feel your lover shove aside the items on his desk before placing you on it. not even looking down at you, he slides off your soaked panties before shoving it into the pockets of his pants. gripping at your thighs, he spreads your legs apart before sheathing himself inside of you in one swift thrust.

“i need to make up for lost time… for neglecting you…” with heavy pants of your name, zayne grips at your leg before tossing it over his shoulder, making your eyes roll to the back of your head the moment he reaches oh so deeper inside of you all while kissing at your ankles.

and when your moans were heard echoing across the department, no one dared to question it.

“you’re such a brat.”

xavier was heard hissing at you, trying to keep his voice even as he was on the phone with one of the higher ups at the hunters association. here he was, trying to gather information for his mission next week while you were trying to free his cock from the confines of his pants.

“i can’t help it. you’re telling me you’re going to be gone for two weeks, and you expect me to behave?” you scoff, finally shoving down his pants to reveal his half-hardened cock. a cheshire cat grin paints your pretty features as you made quick work of stroking him to full hardness.

xavier lets out a hiss of your name, but has to swallow his moans when a stern voice was heard coming from his phone. “xavier, are you ready to receive details for this mission?”

“yes sir…!” a low gasp escapes from xavier’s lips the moment you place your lips on his tip, giving it a light suck. it takes xavier a herculean effort not to moan into the phone, feeling your hands and hot mouth fully sending him into an almost painful erection.

he catches bits and pieces of information, but was solely focused on the way your mouth and tongue traces at every inch of his cock. his breathing becomes heavier, feeling his impending climax approaching when you suddenly removed your lips away from him. the young hunter was all too eager to shove your face back against his cock when you slowly began to undress in front of him-

and dammit to hell, you just had to wear that lacy set beneath your clothes!

your soft giggle echoes throughout the room, and as you straddle him, he saw the way you moved the material of your lace panties to the side, ready to mount yourself on his cock.

“you’ve got it sir, i’ll be there next week.” luckily, xavier had already ended the call the moment you sheath his cock inside of your wet pussy, the squelching sounds of you riding his cock echoing throughout the living room. with a growl of your name, xavier grabs a hold of your waist before proceeding to bounce you up and down his cock at an almost inhuman speed.

“is this what you want? for me to ruin you completely that you won’t be able to walk until i return?”

your mewls and eager nods were all that he needed to continue pounding mercilessly into you, eyes already going dilated as he had every intention of claiming you.

“i’m going to make sure that my cock is forever imprinted against your sweet little heat… so be prepared for it, little brat…” he finishes his statement with a particularly hard thrust, making you see stars as you had every intention to ride him for as long as you could manage.

rafayel had long forgotten about his commissioned painting the moment you began to eagerly bounce up and down his cock. the moment he felt your slickness wrapping so tightly around him was when he lost all train of thought.

you had come home from work late in the evening and wished to greet rafayel. however, when you saw the portrait he was working on, you began to feel envious of the gorgeous girl seen painted on the canvas. he tried to explain to you that a governor had commissioned him to paint a portrait of his daughter for her 23rd birthday, but you didn’t wish to hear it.

and now, he found that he could care less about finishing such a portrait with you bouncing up and down so eagerly against his cock. filled with his own desperation for you, rafayel tries to meet your downward thrusts with his own upward ones, panting as he begins to lose his breath.

being so captivated and drunk off of you, the young artist could feel a whimper being ripped from the confines of his throat when you began kissing him, swallowing his grunts and moans of your name. as you continued to bounce up and down his cock, he could feel the curve of your breasts and your hardened nipples against his own chest.

“am i prettier than her?” you ask in a breathless whisper, purposefully squeezing your cunt over his pulsating dick. it was no competition in rafayel’s eyes. “o-of course you are- fuck! you’re the prettiest girl in the entire universe. you’re my fucking princess.”

a pleased hum was heard coming from you when you lay back against his lap, moving your hips up and down his cock at this brand new angle that had the artist seeing stars. “f-fuck… princess… you’re squeezing me so tight! l-like you want to milk me dry.”

“hehe, that’s the plan…” feeling your legs and cunt tightening so sweetly around him makes rafayel gasp, stilling his hips before shooting ropes of his seed deep inside of you. with you remaining laid back, your back against his thighs, you allowed your release to wash over you, earning a grunt from rafayel.

as your honeyed arousal further wets his softening cock, your lover leans over to press a searing kiss against your lips all while returning your body closer to him. his tongue fights with yours for dominance, and he lets out a pleased hum the moment you yield for him.

when the need for air proved to be too much, rafayel was the first to pull away from you, giving you a gentle smile before asking, “did our copulation manage to ease you of your envy?”

you give him a thoughtful expression, placing your pointer finger against your lips before smirking at him. his eyes end up going wide when you began to bounce up and down his limp cock, stroking it back to full hardness with a determination seen deep within your eyes.

“not quite yet, rafe… i’m going to need this to go on the whole night to make me convinced that i am the only woman for you.”

and with one final groan of your name, rafayel knew better than to deny you of your needs.

end notes: i am still soooo thirsty for my lads men, so have this post 🫠

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

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peppermintkissesxoxo · 16 days ago

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Under the Desk

Poly!Wolfstar x GN!Reader

18+ smut

Cw: smut, blowjob, deepthroating, gagging, dom!remus, switch!sirius, sub!reader, exhibitionism

an: haven’t posted in forever sorry ya’ll 😅

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You swiftly maneuver yourself through the dark oak bookshelves that span of the Hogwarts library. You’re currently in search of your two lovely boyfriends.

You round the corner to the usual nook Remus prefers and your eyes light up at the sight of the sandy haired boy. His right hand is working over a piece of parchment, quill expertly handled as he writes out delicate cursive letters. His other hand is out of sight.

You venture closer, mouth parting to alert him of your presence, until you see his hips jut downwards and then your gaze catches on a mop of black hair nestled between Remus’s thighs.

You feel a zap of pleasure hit your navel and your cunt pulses on instinct when you realize what’s going on. Your lips open and close for a moment as you try to clear the sudden fog that has clouded all innocent thoughts. This sound of your throat clearing finally garner’s Remus’s attention.

His head snaps up, eyes catching on your form. He smiles, warm and loving. “Dove. Was wondering when you would get here,” he speaks casually, as if Sirius isn’t currently taking his big cock down his throat. His hips jut forward again and you hear the faint sound of Sirius trying to conceal a gag.

You swallow, your gaze darting under the table before swiftly meeting Remus again. He’s got a knowing smirk plastered on his face now.

“Uhm… Yeah… Hey.” You breathe out a short breath, shifting on your feet as you twiddle with your fingers.

Remus chuckles under his breath, looking down between his thighs to grab onto the silky black locks of Sirius’s hair. He gently tugs to pull the boys mouth off his cock.

Sirius coughs wetly, drool dripping from the sides of his pretty pink lips and his eyes wet. He heaves out a breath before peaking his head out from the table to greet you. His usual wolfish smirk is back in no time. “Hi, dolly. Don’t you look stellar.” He eyes you up with a salacious look.

Your cheeks heat, fixed on his messy expression. If anything he’s the one that looks stellar. Your eyes dart between the boys and then to behind you to make sure you’re alone. “Hi. H- Having fun?” You try and tease, but your breathy tone doesn’t do much to help.

Both boys smirk.

“Yeah, Dovey. Lots of fun. Siri was just helping me out here.”

Before Sirius can speak up again Remus is grabbing him by the nape, pushing his head back under the table and stuffing his face between his scarred thighs, nose pressed against the pubic hair under his cock.

A startled sound escaped Sirius but he quickly relaxes and tries to control his breathing with the little air he’s given. He’s used to this kind of behavior from Remus.

But you certainly never will be. An ache starts pulsing in your core and you try to subtly rub your thighs together. “Remus… you’re being… mean…” you mumble, a poor attempt at defending Sirius. All the while trying to put up the front that your panties aren’t getting wetter and wetter by the minute.

Remus squints at you like you said something funny. “And? You know he likes it. And so do you when you’re in his place. Should I put you between my thighs instead, dovey? Give you a reminder?” He taunts.

Your stomach flutters and you feel your body shiver with heat. “Um. That’s… It’s okay, Rem.” You swallow thickly, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. You deny wanting to help, even though the thought of taking him deep down your throat alights your nerves with pleasure.

He raises a brow, a cruel twinkle in his eyes, knowing. Always knowing. “Oh, it’s okay, is it? Says who? You?” He tilts his head, amused. “That’s cute, darling. Come now, I think it’s your turn.” He gestures to his lap, gently releasing the back of Sirius’s neck to let him come up for air.

Sirius gasps softly, greedily sucking in lungfuls of air. His watery eyes stare up at Remus.

Remus’s heart melts at his pouty expression. “Okay, baby?” He murmurs softly, checking in with Sirius’s state as he gently pets his hair.

Sirius is quick to nod. He’s most definitely okay, the pouting is just inevitable behavior from him. “M’good, moons. Really good,” he assures as he eagerly moves over to make space for you.

You’re still standing, wearily eyeing the open space Sirius has made for you and the lovey dovey eyes he’s giving you. It’s not that you don’t want to, you really do. You’re just… shy right now.

“Baby dove, that’s enough. On your knees, please.” Remus’s tone has morphed into something more stern. A tone he knows will catch your attention.

His voice cuts through your shyness and your eyes go wide. You don’t hesitate to drop to your knees and carefully crawl under the desk next to Sirius.

On your hands and knees, cute little skirt ridden up too far, Remus can clearly see the dark patch at the center of your underwear. He tongues at his molar to hold in his amusement but it’s futile. “Oh, dove,” he coos, ever so gently mocking you.

You freeze, eyes wide at the realization of what he’s pointing out. You quickly climb the rest of the way under the table and sit on your knees to hide the mess between your thighs.

Sirius chuckles from beside you. “Already, sweetness?”

Your cheeks are blazing. “Yes, already. S’not my fault,” you grumble. But then your eyes fixate on Remus’s cock hanging heavy between his thighs. You swallow, throat suddenly a lot more wet. Almost like it’s preparing itself.

Both boys chuckle.

“Alright now, Dovey. Why don’t you give Siri a kiss hello and then come here.” Remus directs as he pats his thigh.

You eagerly turn to Sirius. He cups the side of your face and brings you into a deep, sensual kiss. Your breath stutters when you taste Remus on his lips.

Sirius pulls back first and you try to chase him. He gives you a few more soft kisses until he grabs you by the waist and and all but lifts to the spot in between Remus’s thighs. “Show Moony how good you’re gonna take him, yeah?”

Your breath hitches at his manhandling, his body shuffling closer to press his chest against your back. You’re trapped now, nestled between Remus’s legs with no escape. Wide eyes catch on the throbbing length mere inches away from your face.

Remus has taken to languidly stroking up and down the length of his cock, eyes peering down at you with hunger. He almost laughs at the awe in your expression. “Need help, dove?” He inquires, releasing his cock and letting it hang heavy.

You shift on your knees, hesitant. But you shake your head. “M’not nervous. I-I can do it. I’ve done it… a bunch of times before…” you insist, but your breathy tone of voice and choice of words suggest otherwise.

Sirius chuckles from behind you. “We know you have dolly. And you’re so stellar at it,” he murmurs praises into the shell of your ear. All while cupping the back of your hand in his and guiding it to wrap around Remus’s cock.

Said boy groans at your soft touch, hips shifting forward as he languidly sinks in his seat. He gives you an encouraging smirk.

Your confidence rises once you’ve finally got a grip on Remus. His dick hot and heavy in your hand.

Sirius guides your hand up and down in soft strokes, spreading the saliva that still encompasses Remus’s length from his own sucking earlier.

“Give me a kiss, baby,” Remus instructs as he places a heavy hand on the back of your head, gently nudging you forward.

You shake off Sirius’s hand, leaning forward to press a soft, opened mouth kiss on the pretty vein, following up the length of his cock. Soft kisses up until you reach his aching tip.

Lips part and then you’re enveloping the flushed tip into the heat of your mouth.

Remus’s head knocks back, a soft strangled groan escaping his parted lips.

Soft sucks and your tongue swipes and lolls over him. Sirius working love bites and kisses against the bare skin of Remus’s hip while you do.

“Don’t be shy, baby.” Remus says then, hand a little heavier on your nape to encourage you to sink down further.

With a deep breath you relax your throat, letting him nudge at the soft palette of your mouth and sinking down until his tip hits the back of your throat. A soft gag emits and Sirius pets your hair to calm you.

“Shh, dolly. Gotta be quiet, yeah? You know better,” he quietly chastises.

You feel heat swell in your cheeks, embarassed at being scolded. You try to come off but Remus keeps you in place.

“No, darling. Breathe through your nose, you can do it. All the way down,” he murmurs.

White hot heat floods your navel, thighs clenching at the roughness of his tone and refusal to let you up. With a deep breath you let Remus push you down, holding you still once the prickly hairs at his base tickle your nose.

Distracted by the full feeling of Remus down your throat, your barely notice Sirius’s wandering hands until his deft fingers have slipped under your skirt and swirl at your clit through your panties.

You jump at the sensation, consequently gagging around Remus’s length.

He’s quick to pull you off, gentle but swift. Wet coughs sound from your mouth, though muffled as you try to keep quiet.

“Poor baby.” Sirius coos, kissing up the side of your neck as you catch your breath. The slightest hint of patronizing in his tone makes your belly roll. Not to mention his fingers haven’t stopped their toying.

Remus gazes down at you with lustful amusement, tugging at his cock as he stares down at your teary face. “Alright, Dovey?” Though amused his tone carries a hint of concern, always putting your wellbeing first.

You’re quick to nod your head, wiping your face of saliva and snot. “M’fine,” you croak, thighs trembling under Sirius’s administrations. “Can go again, promise.”

Remus tilts his head, smiling with a knowing gaze. “You sure? If you can’t I’m sure Sirius would have no problem finishing me off—“

“No!” You hastily interrupt. “N-No, please, please? Can do it, want to do it, Rem,” you plead.

Chuckles come from both boys, pleased at your desperation.

“Alright then, dove. Show me you can take it.” Remus releases his grasp on his cock, letting you guide it into your mouth once again. This time you’re down at the base in no time, swallowing thickly and letting your throat tighten up around him.

“Fuck—“ he hisses, hips jutting forward. The sensation is erotic, combined with the circles and lines Sirius rolls against your bud has you keening forward.

“Gods, dovey, take it.” Remus rocks forward, fucking into your throat with a vigor that has you resisting a gag. You sob around him, thighs tight around Sirius’s wrist and resisting the urge to cum before Remus has.

Sirius chuckles against your neck, speeding up his circles just to torture you further. “You know the rules, babydoll. Wait for Remus.”

You whine around his length, squeezing your eyes shut to try and hold back.

“Fuck baby- god. M’gonna—“ Remus bucks his hips once, twice, and then holds your head down tight as his cock throbs, pumping thick loads of cum down your throat. With a whine you follow him, cumming hard, throat tightening as you swallow him down.

After a few moments Remus lets you up, allowing you to swallow the rest of his cum and come up for a breather.

Sirius holds you tight to his chest, kissing anywhere he can reach and whispering praises. “So good for us, darling. Made Remus feel so good. Didn’t they, Rem?” He looks up to Remus with a knowing smile.

Remus smirks dopily down at you two as he tucks himself back into his trousers. “Course you did, dovey. M’so proud of you.

You smile wetly, leaning back into Sirius with an air of pleased exhaustion. Bliss. “That was fun…” you giggle.

The boys huff out soft laughs.

After a moment Remus ducks down, crawling under the table to hold both of you in his arms. “My best lovies…” he’s whispers, and the world disappears with you in their arms.

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lundenloves · 1 year ago

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“ 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 ” ¹

≔ in which simon’s son enlists behind his back. ceramics are smashed, threats are thrown and feelings are hurt behind nonchalant expressions.

⤷ *return of the mac in the background* i wasn’t really sure which route to go down with this so i just blind wrote it. if you don’t agree with any of the following actions or words, keep it to yourself because i really do not care. it’s been a long hibernation, troops.

∷ warnings of abusive dynamics if you squint but mainly just unnerving silence and abrupt shouting | 2.3k

masterlist | dad!simon masterlist | taglist | request info

Eight thirty.

Three hours into Simon’s habitually quiet morning routine with the rising sun pouring keenly through the kitchen window, and sparrows chirping a little too loud — the mail had slid through the door.

A modest fall of envelopes, taking each one with a crease between his brows after sifting through them, eyes glossing over each addressee while walking to the kitchen table with the stack. He liked it this way. He liked the known, finding a specific comfort in knowing that the mail would come on the same dot every, single, day.

Not that there was ever anything special. Only the usual, clubcard points, screwfix leaflets, disgusting bank statements and various military envelopes on his current pension plan. Christ.

He sat down, pulling a lip upward to disregard more than half of his own mail, tossing it to the counter behind him for the bin. “What a load of shit.” Came a grumble, kissing his teeth at the mere £3.40 discount he had received for spending over £300 in Tesco.

Though the pending sigh was lost for a singular stand out letter. One he seemed to still over, chest dipping in regret. Regret for nothing in particular, only a sinking feeling for the familiar Be The Best motto cast upon the right side of one envelope — different to his Who Dares Wins slogan. The envelope wasn’t for him.

The birds hadn’t paused their songs, an ambient morning now fuelling a slow anger. An inter boiling one, but for now simmering with long breaths. In and out. His shoulders broke inward with large palms leant on the counter, craning his neck side to side to release placebo tension.

The letter mocked him. A bit of paper that had permanently strained something, “Fucking hell, son.” He picked it up, flipping it backward to frontward as if the writing would change. As if his son's name would disappear from under the window of the envelope. Though it didn’t, and the paper was slid to the depth of the counter, prompting Simon to rub at his bottom lip.

It took three minutes of silence before he was being followed downstairs by his son. Few words exchanged, and surprisingly fewer questions. They both knew, and tension had already built, bringing Simon’s anger to a heavier simmer. The prior efforts of calmness were obliterated at the sight of the kitchen once more, the pad of his foot tapping against the vinyl flooring.

“What the fuck is this?” The letter was slid across the counter, branded and bred in the British military with the familiar crest proud in the top right. It looked sinful, like something exposing, illegal even. The boy's stare was one of tiredness, palms flat on the kitchen counter to stare down at the envelope on the oak.

Fatigue hadn’t quite left his eyes, squinted in the bright dawn. “What’s what?”

Though his words were met with silence and the birds chirping outside seemed wrong. The moment had forced a thicker, uglier tension into the room, and his son rounded the counter to pick up the letter. Brash and pasted, once again, in military branding.

His eyes fell to his father.

A picture of disappointment, veiled with frustration through a glare, one so strong it almost felt off-putting. Stress seemed evident via the way his hand had pushed toward the back of his neck, running upward and down the front of his face.

“What is it?” The same question, though this time quiet and sincere. His eyes had regrettably softened for all of two seconds before a leg had begun bouncing in compromise after taking a seat in pre-ceasefire.

“Nothing.” A teenage mumble.

Simon laughed dryly, shaking his head with a palm flat on the counter. “This.” He raised his hand, now only the tips of his fingers on the letter. “This isn’t nothing.” Eyes catching his mirror image, a lanky eighteen year old with next to no muscle. It was devastating, really.

“It’s just mail.”

“Open it.” A stern command, standing up and boring his eyes further into the boy before him. His height and build was much more significant, effectively towering over the six foot kid with all of his broadness.

“It’s none of your business, like.” The croaked words of a voice just woken were ones Simon raised brows at.

“Anything with that crest is my business.”

The similarities between his younger self and the boy before him was something Simon internally hated. He hated that his son had genetically taken not only his originally scrawny, defenceless build but also his raging attitude and temper issues. Dark eyes and accompanying circles, a rare smile and sigh of laughter.

Though not one bone had been broken in his body, his nose wasn’t squinted from various punches and his skin hadn’t been plagued by scars of battle. Something Simon could always draw a line between, though, he no longer held that power.

The kid begrudgingly opened the letter, hunching shoulders inward as if to shield it from his father. A congratulatory letter, one addressed to his name in bold letters with an offer to train at the military academy for a reserved cadetship upon completion.

The silence was loud.

Simon knew what it was before it had been opened. His fingers pinched at the bridge of his nose, and rubbed at his temples. “Fucking hell mate.” A deep breath was taken, chest puffing out with the inhale. “Fuck sake.”

His son felt like a child again, small and inwardly anxious for his fathers reaction. Not that Simon was ever violent, not ever, but he was a different kind of frightening. Silent. He gave you the option to take whatever you’d wanted from his step back, though fiery eyes only pushed you down one slope. Anxiety and paired overthinking, it came as part and parcel of the Riley name.

“I was goin’t tell you.”

Another laugh escaped Simon, “At what point?” The side of his lip curved upward, though there was no real amusement. “Look at me.”

There was a scoff from his son in response, shaking his head with eyes locking back to the letter. Ink printed in gratification. “Nothin’ to do with you though is it?” The second part came as a mumble for the internal struggle to hold back aggression. Though it slipped through, naturally.

“What did I say? Fuckin’ hell.” Simon growled, taking the envelope from the boy and skim-reading it. “Right.” He cleared his throat. “The fifth, next month, yeah?” Eyes flicking to his son who had shrugged, slinking off behind Simon to look through cupboards in evident dismissal.

“Dunno–”

“You’re out.”

They had spoken in unison, each person cancelling the other out to create a bout of eye contact. “What?” The quirk in his lip was a giveaway of building frustration, eyes cast directly across his father who stood just taller than him. “I’m out?”

“You’re out the house.” Simon slid the letter across the counter in finality, “As soon as you leave for that camp. You’re gone.”

“What the fuck.”

“Big enough to enlist?” His tone was venomous, something his son was unable to contest. “Big enough to fucking leave.” The letter had been picked up by the kid, eyes skimming it over, eyes darting across the page while familiar anger had slowly built.

“Fuck off.” He mumbled, brows pulled together in a foul mix of annoyance and evident upset over his fathers’ dismissal. “Any other dad would be proud of that.” The letter dropped to his abdomen, two shaky hands still clutching to the torn envelope. “Not you though, yeah, not fuckin’ you. ‘Course not.”

There was a pause before a crash.

A split decision of anger, one Simon mirrored at that age. A raging feeling of internal emotion that was only alleviated in bursts of aggression and breakage - punching holes in doors or smashing dishware. There was never a safe space to feel, therefore it came out unwillingly.

For his son, it was a failing on his behalf as a father. That space was never created for lack of recovery had never allowed real estate.

Multiple ceramics flown off the counter with one hand swoop, “Such a cunt.” His chest heaved and Simon’s eyes bore into his. Solemnity follows each and every moment with an unnerving silence, though it wasn’t continued when aggravated palms had landed on his chest, a teenage attempt to express.

“Don’t.” A bark, complete with snarling and a metaphorical showing of canines. A hand caught the boy's forearm, an admittedly tighter than required grip. “Don’t you fucking dare.” And for a moment, he feared he sounded like his father.

Though he did dare.

A rebellion as it was.

Again, a heavy palm had landed on his fathers’ chest - uncaught and if any stronger than the age of eighteen would’ve at least budged Simon. And, god, did he sound like his father with the promise of violence, a grip on his son’s shirt to hold him against the wall at the action alone.

A huff of air fell through his nose, head tilted, “If you enlist and you have this attitude,” The words were spoken through gritted teeth, eyes fixed to the wall he held the boy against to speak just above his ear. “They’ll send you right fucking back.” Though his son no longer recognised dad. This was someone else, someone he was never to meet. “Show some fucking respect.” A tone orchestrated of octaves reserved for Ghost.

You had come down with the crash of ceramics, fully aware that Simon was in knowing of your presence by the way his grip had rid, stepping back with hands to his head. “What the fuck is going on?” You scowled at your husband who was already lighting a cigarette.

After a short inhale, “He’s enlisting.” The smoke tumbled from his lip that turned upward to accommodate a low but amused chuckle. “He’s enlisting, lovie. Our boy.” The cigarette was then pointed to the teenager. “He’s enlisting so he can run around with a fucking rifle, kill one or two people because it's what? It’s a laugh is it? A fucking game?” Though the words were intensely directed to you, waving the smoke around before taking another inhale and shaking his head.

“It’s not that serious, fucking-”

The words were cut off by a harsh slap of the counter and a rumble of a scold. “Not that serious?” It could only have woken the whole house and Simon ditched the cigarette to lift his shirt up, various scars and burn marks stretched across his front and back. “What's this? Eh?”

“Calm down.” You warned, or at least attempted to.

“Calm down? He’s going to get himself fucking killed.” A bite, one without intention of ceasing.

“You’re not dead.” The kid provided.

“I died years ago, son.” His eyes were naturally narrowed in their frustration, slow on the look-up, and shoulders tense through chest heaving. Up and down, and up and down.

The kid mirrored his fathers’ lost expressions.

“Right.” You then interrupted, placing delicate hands on the shoulders of your boy to steer him out of the room, letter still in his hands.

“Coddle him. Tell him he’ll be fine,” The smoke from the cigarette danced around his hand, lifted back upward for a long, slow inhale, eyes burnt to your back. “That the world is a safe place and he won’t get hurt.” His voice had lowered.

But there was a mutual understanding of the lie, that nothing was fine and he wasn’t going to come out unscathed. Mentally, if not physically.

It had bled into an argument between the two of you after, pointed fingers of accusation and bursts of tears had split from your eyes. His frustration turned into ready anger, then dismissal, refusing to believe the reality.

“What’s your fucking issue?” Was the question you had barked once downstairs, four words that seemed obvious in their asking though Simon still quirked a brow. “There’s no need. No fucking need at all for that.”

He shook his head, looking down at you over his cigarette while you swept up smashed ceramics. “Don’t act like you don’t know.” His voice low, cigarette mumbling the words with an inhale.

You dropped arms to your sides, pointedly tapping the foot of the brush against the floor. “Like I don’t know what?” The accompanied scowl was one Simon’s eyes darted back and forth from, looking away out the window before tipping his cigarette. “It’s something he wants.”

“He’s going to get himself killed.”

“Ever the fucking pessimist.”

“Once he leaves,” The cigarette was acting as punctuation, pointed toward the door in far gesture. “He’s out.” Tone unnervingly quiet. One that warned any other argument off, though not yours.

“Do me a favour, yeah?” You continued to sweep the ceramics. “Realise this isn’t about you.” Looking up at the way he had shifted in his stance, arm now crossed over his chest to tuck under his opposing armpit.

“Fuck—“ He laughed. “It’s not about me.”

“You just kick off immediately.”

“Hardly.”

“The fucking state of the floor, Simon.” You scorned, raising your voice to take his attention from the mindless cigarette smoking. “He’s your son. Treat him like it.”

“When he learns respect-”

“He doesn’t respect you for that fucking attitude. It’s a battle, let it go.”

His eyes met yours to stand down, ditching the cigarette before nodding absently. His silence was telling of an awful mood, one he would carry for the next few days if uninterrupted.

Tension grew thicker than a rope knot dramatically fast in the Riley household, and whether granted or not, there was only the one man to blame. Walking on eggshells whenever he would come home from a bad deployment was only fit to last so long, and you couldn’t change him.

But he didn’t want to change himself either.

≔ unedited, and the tags probably won’t work. this is all i got and i’ll slam my fist on an ikea desk, this. is. all. i. got.

simon 'ghost' riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @iluvoaldmen @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @spencerreidisbae123 @paperbag-prncss @cookiecutta @sluttyforsimon @loveangelic @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen @hayleybarnesx

@bunthebunny23

song of the day (time of writing)

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw fanfiction #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw3 #cod mwiii #call of duty #ghost call of duty #Spotify

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unboundprompts · 1 month ago

Note

Hi there!

Do you have any prompts for the Prohibition Era? I wanna write a story about it with a group of six friends being bootleggers for a speakeasy, but I’m not sure how to go about it because I don’t have a plot and can’t think of one, lol.

If you don’t, that’s ok! Thanks for your time!! 💙

Prohibition Era Prompts

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

The floorboards groaned as a trapdoor was eased open behind the bar, revealing the dim stairwell beneath. One of them climbed out, dusting off their coat, the scent of oak barrels clinging to their collar. "Thirty bottles of rye, four crates of gin. Still sweating, but the ice held." Another handed over a rag to wipe the blood from a split knuckle. No one asked where it came from. Upstairs, the jazz band picked up tempo.

Two figures stepped off the truck as the city dimmed into dusk, careful to keep the crates between them and the streetlight. Laughter echoed from a nearby diner, but they moved silent, efficient, all business. One cracked a joke under their breath, drawing a snort from the other as they slid the crates behind the alley’s false wall.

The speakeasy was loud tonight. Glasses clinked, dresses swirled, saxophones howled like sirens. At the corner table, one of them watched the crowd beneath lowered lashes, fingers tracing the pistol hidden beneath the tablecloth. Another worked the room, laughing too easily, slipping a folded note into a bootlegger’s vest. The third ran the till, keeping one eye on the money, the other on the back door. In this business, the dance was never just for show.

The siren blared before the front door splintered. A shout—"Feds!"—echoed through the smoke-filled air, and the dancers screamed as bottles shattered underfoot. One of them flipped the bar shelf, revealing a tunnel hatch, while another grabbed the cashbox and kicked open the cellar door. Behind them, someone threw a bottle at a fed’s head. It missed, but the flames caught on the curtains. No time to put it out. Just run. Run and pray no one saw your face.

The rain soaked through their coats as they hauled the last crate from the boat, mud sucking at their boots. One cursed and nearly slipped, catching themselves on the hull. "Next time, we wait for dry weather." "Next time, we don’t get caught on the wrong side of the river." The lantern flickered as they stacked the last of it in the hidden hatch beneath the church’s basement.

After the final customer left and the doors were bolted, they gathered around the bar in the dark. A single candle lit the space. No one spoke for a moment, just breathed it in. Relief, exhaustion, safety. One poured a round of their own gin, still warm from the distillery. They raised glasses, no toast needed. Just six shadows clinking stolen liquor in the dark, bound by trust, grime, and the understanding that this could all go to hell by morning.

#writing prompts #creative writing #writeblr #dialogue prompt #story prompt #prompt list #ask box prompts #history prompts #prohibition era #prohibition era prompts #historical writing prompts #prompts

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moonsglare · 8 months ago

Text

“you’re home early.”

shalom’s soft voice carries across the living room from where she’s sat on the couch, a thick novel in her lap. the fading sunlight filters in through the open windows, painting her pretty face in shades of gold. the vase of lillies on the side table cast delicate shadows on the marbled oak. you barely mumble a reply, and by the slump of your shoulders and the sullen look on your face, shalom knows immediately that something’s wrong. she doesn’t get to say it in time, however, because you round the couch and immediately collapse into her lap, plucking the book out of her hands to place it on the side table and all her other finished books. shalom blinks, then chuckles, running her hands through your hair as you wrap your arms around her waist and press your face into the crook of her neck.

“bad day, i take it?” she asks, smoothing down your hair and toying with the downy strands near the nape of your neck. you groan in reply, squeezing her a little tighter.

“there was… someone. she kept…” you say, biting the words like it physically pained you to get them out. you shift a little restlessly, sighing again and breathing in deeply, nosing under her jaw. “she kept flirting with me.”

ah. shalom hums, not stopping her idle touches. “i see. and what did you do?”

“i told her i was married,” you say stubbornly, almost indignant. you draw back to give her a look halfway between incredulous and pleading—as if to say, did you think i’d say anything else? she almost chuckles again, but tamps it down for your sake, since you do seem genuinely unsettled by the whole thing. her hand cups your face, encouraging you to continue. you lean into her touch, and huff again. “and i was not interested.”

“and how did this person handle that?” she asks. her expression is perfectly impassive—though she can hear rebel screech and roar in the back of her mind, outraged at the idea someone else would dare approach what’s hers. and she’s inclined to agree with it, though for now she’ll settle for holding you close.

you deflate against her chest at the question, head flopping back down onto her shoulder. “it’s like she didn’t hear it at all. she kept going—nothing too serious—but i still had to help her, and i just…”

shalom presses a chaste kiss to your temple. “you just…?”

“i feel guilty,” you admit, and she has to resist the urge to coo at you. what a sweet thing you are, to be so distraught even if you were barely a willing participant in the whole mess. shalom lifts your face from her shoulder to look you in the eyes, her lips pulled into an amused yet fond smile. her thumbs brush along your cheekbones, and your lashes flutter as you react to the tender touch. shalom swears she sees your eyes dilate too. it makes something spark in her chest, seeing the way even your physiology responds so sweetly to her.

“is that so, sweetheart?” she muses, and you nod, an almost kicked puppy expression crossing your face. “well, i believe i know the perfect solution for you to make it up to me—the option with the lowest cost, and highest rewards.”

you lean forward almost imperceptibly, eagerness and anticipation overwriting any guilt you might have felt prior. shalom lets out a breezy laugh at that, and then draws close, close enough that her breath spills warm from her lips and mingles with yours.

“kiss me.”

ahalom’s smiling before you even kiss her—there is not a beat of hesitation from you.

#sev.scribbles #sevlomi #shalom #shalom x reader #glitchwave got me feeling some typa way #zero specifically 😭😭😭#i feel so horrendously uncomfortable when she comes onto me #like im trying to like her genuinely but ousgxjdhfh girl im a taken woman. im married

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pankowcrumbs · 1 month ago

Text

PR relationship X Will Poulter

MasterList

Will Poulter Masterlist

The first time I met Will Poulter, he didn’t look at me. Not properly, anyway. He nodded in my direction, murmured a hello, and turned back to the publicist mid-sentence like I wasn’t even in the room. Charming.

I tried not to take it personally. I’d been warned this was all for show a bit of strategic matchmaking. Our teams had cooked up the idea after the first round of press photos for our upcoming project looked “a little too professional” and “not enough spark.” Translation: we didn’t look like people anyone wanted to write fanfiction about.

So now, here we were, sitting at a long oak table in a private conference room, across from each other like two actors at a chemistry read neither of us had signed up for.

“They just want a bit of buzz,” my agent had said that morning, like it was a weather forecast. “Some hand-holding here, a few candid coffee runs. It’ll help sell the film. You don’t actually have to like him.”

Perfect. Because I didn’t.

Or rather, I didn’t know him. But Will had this aloof thing going on that instantly put my guard up. Tall, confident, vaguely distracted like his brain was always somewhere else. Maybe I reminded him of someone he didn’t like, or maybe he simply didn’t care to charm people off-camera.

Fine by me.

The first few outings were textbook PR fluff. We were papped sipping iced lattes on a park bench that may as well have had Please Photograph Us carved into the wood. He’d touch my hand for exactly 1.5 seconds, then retreat as if I were on fire. In interviews, we gave the usual lines 'We get on so well'. 'It’s such a joy working together.' Lies. Not malicious ones, just... necessary ones.

Behind the scenes, we barely spoke unless prompted. Our trailers were side-by-side on set, but he always closed his door. I told myself I didn’t care.

Then one afternoon, the director called for a break mid-scene. I stepped off set, rubbing at my temple, and Will appeared beside me out of nowhere. He didn’t say anything. Just gently took the water bottle from my hand, unscrewed the cap, and handed it back.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

I blinked. “Yeah. Headache.”

He nodded. “You were squinting in the last few takes.”

It was such a small thing. Insignificant, really. But no one else had noticed. I didn’t know what to do with that.

After that, something shifted.

Not publicly. We still played our parts holding hands at premieres, letting our fingers linger just long enough to make headlines. But the difference came in the quieter moments.

Like the time we were ushered through the back door of a hotel, dodging fans and camera flashes, and his hand pressed gently to the small of my back to guide me through the chaos. There were no photographers inside. No one to perform for. But he didn’t move his hand. Not for several seconds.

Or the way we started sitting closer during breaks on set, our shoulders brushing as we looked over lines or shared snacks from the craft table. It wasn’t romantic. Not really. Just… easy.

We stopped pretending to be chatty in public and started actually having real conversations in private. Like how he missed London and couldn’t find a decent sausage roll in L.A. Or how he got into acting because of a school play he didn’t even audition for his teacher had just written his name down.

I told him about my mum. About how she used to record every show I was in and make my siblings watch them at dinner. Will had laughed softly, eyes crinkling, and said, “I’d love to meet her.”

Something about the way he’d said it made my stomach flip.

One night, after a long day of filming, we ended up in the same car on the way back to the hotel. His head lolled against the window. My shoes were off, legs curled beneath me, still buzzing from the adrenaline of a particularly emotional scene.

“You were brilliant today,” he said suddenly.

I turned. “Thanks. So were you.”

He looked at me properly then. “You’re not as guarded as I thought.”

I raised a brow. “You thought I was guarded?”

“I think we both were,” he admitted. “At first.”

There was a pause. A comfortable one, surprisingly.

He added, “It’s strange, isn’t it? Faking something for long enough that it doesn’t feel fake anymore.”

I didn’t reply. Just looked out the window, hiding the smile tugging at my lips.

A few weeks later, we were sitting backstage before a press junket. I was flipping through cue cards while he scrolled on his phone, humming some unfamiliar tune under his breath. One of the assistants popped her head in and told us we’d be mic’d up in five.

He stood, stretched, then held out his hand to me. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” I said, waving him off.

But he stepped closer, gently tugged the sleeve of my jumper back down my arm where it had bunched at the elbow. His fingers lingered for a moment.

“You’ve got that scrunchy forehead again,” he said, smiling.

“I do not have a scrunchy forehead.”

“You do when you’re nervous.”

I rolled my eyes, but the truth was I was nervous. Not about the press. About the fact that he noticed. Again.

By the time we were halfway through the press tour, I stopped flinching every time someone called him “your boyfriend” in interviews. Sometimes I didn’t even correct them.

We started spending time together outside of the film bubble. Real time. Lazy breakfasts in the hotel cafe. Walks that weren’t scheduled by publicists. Movie nights in my suite that always ended with us asleep on opposite ends of the couch, our legs tangled somewhere in the middle.

There were still no labels. No confessions.

But one night, after a gala, we stumbled into the quiet hallway of our floor still laughing about something ridiculous a reporter had asked. I fumbled for my key card. He stood beside me, his tie loose around his neck, hair messier than usual.

I unlocked the door, but didn’t go in.

Neither did he.

“Do you think,” I began slowly, “that maybe… we’re not faking it anymore?”

Will looked at me. Really looked.

“I was never that good of an actor,” he said, barely above a whisper.

My heart did that stupid fluttering thing. I wanted to kiss him. I almost did.

Instead, I smiled. “Me neither.”

He leaned forward, pressed a kiss to my cheek, and whispered goodnight.

And maybe it was the softness of it. The restraint. The way it felt more intimate than anything we’d been forced to do in public.

But that was the moment I knew I was properly in trouble.

The next morning, the tabloids were filled with blurry photos of us exiting the gala hand-in-hand. The captions were predictable. The chemistry is real. Co-stars or couple?

Will sent me a screenshot with a voice note that simply said, “Told you they’d run with it.”

I replied with a heart emoji. Then: Dinner tonight? No cameras.

He replied in three seconds flat: Absolutely.

Maybe it didn’t start real. Maybe we weren’t even meant to like each other.

But I’ll never forget the first time he reached for my hand when we were alone. Not for show. Not for press.

Just for me.

And I held on tight.

Because suddenly, it didn’t feel forced at all.

#fanfiction #reader #x reader #one shot #requested #will poulter imagine #will poulter one shot #will poulter fanfic #will poulter x reader #will poulter #will #poulter

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pinksatinpanties · 2 months ago

Text

HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO² — misha collins

summary. The 90th day...

pairing. boyfriend!Misha/not-so-celibate-anymore!reader

word count. 2k

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⎯⎯ warning(s) SMUT FINALLY | love confession | oral sex (f receiving) | p in v

author’s note. omgomgomgomgomgomg I'm so sorry for the delay. My living situation is fucked right now and I haven't had access to wifi where I'm staying and it's REALLY difficult to write smut at the crowded public library. I have so much on my plate right now and it's preventing me from being the writer I want to be, so please give me some grace for the lazy writing you're about to witness. The end was rushed because I could not let another day go by without posting this (after already delaying it for 3 days). This might be my last fic post for a while until my living situation improves, but I WILL BE BACK and smuttier than ever. Thanks for your patience. I love each and every one of you.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3?

Misha insisted on taking you to dinner like a gentleman, but you honestly would have been happy with him just coming over to your place and fucking your brains out. His chivalry continued to touch your heart as well as your nethers.

“This is a very fancy, classy place,” your eyes were big as saucers as you scanned the gorgeous Lebanese restaurant from left to right then right to left again as the hostess led you to your table. Misha followed behind you. Too rich for my blood, you thought, and tried to suppress the feeling that you weren't worth a place this opulent.

Almost as if he read your mind, he said “You’re worth it. Besides, this is one of my favorite spots. It’s selfish, really. The muhammara is amazing.”

“What’s muhammara?”

“It’s a red pepper, pomegranate molasses paste. Kind of like hummus without the chickpeas.”

“Here you are,” the hostess gestured to the table like a Disney princess.

“Thank you,” you and Misha said in unison. He pulled out a chair for you.

“Enjoy!” With that, she glided back to the hostess stand.

After sitting, you watched him round the table to get to his seat. He wore a tailored dark blue button down with the top two buttons unfastened, tucked into his black slacks. He wore one of his cowboy-ish belts with a gigantic silver buckle. Black leather penny loafers for the shoes. And you couldn’t stop your gaze from lingering on his perky butt.

Misha insisted on ordering for the table and you had no objections. When the server came around, he ordered the entire meal at once - along with the side dishes and two bottles of champagne. Then he excused himself to the men’s room.

When he returned to the dining area, you were taking in the beautiful ambience of the restaurant again. He paused halfway to the table just to watch you looking up at the decorative wooden slats on the ceiling, scrunching your brows just a bit as you tried to classify the kind of wood. Acacia? Or oak with an orange-ish coat of lacquer?

You wore a dark red silk dress with thin straps and a slight cowl over the chest - showing just a bit of cleavage. It hugged your body in all the right places, Misha thought to himself. You had spent thirty whole minutes flat-ironing your curly hair into pin straight submission and now it cascaded over your right shoulder, revealing the vintage golden earrings you had found at a market in Manhattan so many years ago. And you wore the matching necklace. They were part of your special occasion armor.

Despite being able to watch you like this all day, Misha decided he had been standing in the middle of the dining area for too long and made his way back to your table to sit down. “You are so beautiful, you know that?”

“I clean up alright, I guess,” you beamed.

The sommelier approached the table with the first bottle of champagne soon after, presenting the bottle and expertly popping the cork before pouring two glasses and leaving the bottle in an ice bucket stand by the table.

“What should we cheers to?” You asked as you raised your glass.

“I have something to say first.”

“Okay…” you placed the glass back on the table.

“These past few months we’ve spent together have been amazing for me and I hope it’s been the same for you.”

“It has been! I have never been more glad to have entered a Whole Foods,” you smiled at him. What a relief.

“Me neither,” he chuckled. “But um… it’s more than that… for me… I’ve… fallen in love with you. I love you… and um… that’s all I wanted to say really, but I’m afraid to stop talking because I’m nervous about what you’re going to say when I do stop talking. So I’ll stop… talking… now.” You had never seen him so bashful. It was adorable.

“I love you too, Misha.”

Misha’s worried expression dissolved into one of pure joy. He smiled that million dollar smile of his.

You raised your glass again. “To love!”

He did the same. “To love!”

Your glasses clinked against each other and you both took a sip.

The food was delicious. The conversation was intellectually stimulating. The champagne had you both feeling nice. You were just about to ask Misha if he was ready to blow this popsicle stand. Then his gaze went over your shoulder.

“HAAAAPPY BIIIIRTHDAAAY TOOO YOUUU!” You jolted in your seat and looked around to see who’s birthday it was until you noticed that the restaurant staff was headed to your table.

“HAPPY BIIIIRTHDAY TO YOUUU!”

Misha was beaming with pride watching his little prank unfold. After your dessert was finished, you finally asked the question you’d been waiting for all night.

“Your place or mine?”

“Worse,” Misha grinned.

***

The two of you walked down the gorgeous hotel hallway, tinfoil swan full of leftovers in hand.

He stopped you right in front of your room.

“We don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Misha, shut up,” you giggled and pecked him on the lips.

“I’m serious,” he said with a straight face. “We don’t have to have sex tonight - or ever - if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, I want to. Was my constant begging too subtle?”

“I just want to make sure this is what you want. I don’t want you to feel pressured to do anything just because there’s all this anticipation built up.”

“No pressure at all. Do you feel pressured?”

“Nope.”

“Good,” you smiled. “Ready to go in?”

“Don’t look yet,” Misha scanned the key card and turned the doorknob, opening the door just far enough for him to slip inside and immediately closing it behind him.

You waited in the hall for a second, then the door re-opened. The scene Misha revealed to you was the most romantic set up you had ever seen. You slowly entered the love nest.

The room was dimly lit by candles all over the dresser, nightstand, and table. There were rose petals scattered in the shape of a heart on the bed.

He had gotten you a bouquet of red roses along with a card that he’d personalized. It had originally said ‘HAPPY ANNIVERSARY’ in pink bubble letters, but Misha had glued a small piece of red construction paper with custom lettering - so now it read ‘HAPPY three months and seventeen days-AVERSARY’.

“Misha,” you cooed in awe. “This is… gorgeous.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it? This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me!”

You advanced towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck and peppering his face with kisses all over. You couldn’t tell when the innocent pecks ended and the french kissing began, but soon you were breaking the kiss to catch your breath. Your heart was racing and you sat on the bed to steady it.

“I’m nervous,” you blurted. “I still want to, but I’m suddenly really nervous.”

“That’s okay.” He sat down on the bed beside you. “What’s making you nervous?”

“What if I forgot how to have sex? After six years, what if I’m like… a virgin again?”

“Is this supposed to be turning me on? Because it is.”

“Seriously,” you nudged him in the shoulder. “What if I’m no good at it? And you waited all this time only to be disappointed…”

“Hey,” he placed a finger under your chin and used it to make you look up at him. “You could never disappoint me. Get that outta your head. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now if you care what I think… I think it would be super hot,” he scrunched up his face as he emphasized. “If you were a completely inexperienced virgin. It’d also be super hot if it all came back to you like riding a bike. Either way, I’m happy… just to have the chance to touch you…” he placed a hand on your shoulder and slipped the red strap off. “Kiss you…” he pressed his lips to your shoulder with a soft smooch. “Lick you…” his tongue brushed against your neck like a paint stroke.

“Well, when you put it like that,” you exhaled.

“Tell me what you like,” he pressed a kiss to your neck. “What you want me to do to you.”

“Oh… um… well, you know…” your cheeks burned as you failed miserably at hiding your embarrassment.

“I have an idea, but I wanna hear you say it. Don’t get all shy on me now.”

The laundry list of kinky things you fantasized about Misha doing to you scrolled through your mind like the introduction to the Star Wars movies: smacking, spanking with belts, choking, degrading you, restraining you, and other rough things you’d subjected yourself to in the past. At this moment, you didn’t want any of that. Misha’s love had lobotomized you.

“I want you to… make love to me.”

The sin in Misha’s eyes seemed to dissipate. His lips parted with the intent to say something, but he leaned in to kiss you instead. You slipped the other strap off of your shoulder and broke the kiss to stand so the dress would drop to the maroon carpet. Before you could toss yourself onto the mattress, Misha had his hands on your body. He started at your waist before sliding his hands up to cup and massage your breasts. His eyes were glued onto your nipples as he started to rub circles into them with his thumbs. You did your best to keep from whimpering, but your ‘best’ was not so great. It had been so long since someone touched you like this. Tiny gasps and whines escaped your lips despite your will to stay silent. He wasn’t even inside you yet. You had to maintain some semblance of dignity. You couldn’t just let yourself give it all away now.

Misha looked up at you with some kind of cross between a pout and a frown. He needed to hear you. He confiscated his warm hands and used them to unbutton his shirt instead. When all the buttons were set free, he grabbed you and tossed you onto the bed on your back in one swift motion. Then he was on top of you with his tongue in your mouth, rolling it over yours. He removed the shirt and threw it off to the side somewhere.

Misha kissed a beeline down to your neck and off to the side where he sucked and nibbled at the sensitive skin. You were gasping and moaning loudly at this point - all self control had flown out the window. He smiled against your neck, smug with satisfaction. His kisses traveled down to your nipple while he pinched the other between his fingertips. Just when you thought you couldn’t get any louder, his tongue swirled circles around your areola. Then he showed some oral love to your other nipple until you were squirming beneath him from the overstimulation.

He hooked his fingers into the thin elastic straps of your red, lacy thong and pulled down, revealing your glistening sex.

“Fuck, you’re so wet already. All this for me?”

“It’s all yours. Take it.”

With that, he slid back enough to put his face between your legs and kissed across your thighs - causing you to buck your hips up. He pulled back, teasing you even more. As if the 90 days wasn’t torture enough.

“I think the swan is watching us.”

You turned to see that the tinfoil swan was coincidentally positioned and definitely staring in your direction before turning back to Misha. “I want her to see.”

“Smart, funny, beautiful, and a freak. How did I get so lucky?” His eyes locked on yours as he licked a stripe along the length of your cunt. The noise you made was absolutely pathetic.

“You taste even better than I imagined, honey,” he murmured into your cunt. “So sweet.” He licked, sucked, and fingered your pussy for what seemed like hours, whispering words of encouragement throughout.

“One more, baby. Cum for me one more time. Please, I need it.”

He pounded you into the mattress three separate times in three different positions before the two of you collapsed in exhaustion: missionary, doggy, missionary again with your legs behind your head.

“Say it again,” you purred, relishing in your role as the little spoon.

“I love you.”

“Mmm… again.”

“I love you.”

“One more time.”

“I.” Kiss. “Love.” Kiss. “You.” Kiss.

#supernatural rpf #supernatural fan fiction #misha collins #misha collins fan fiction #castiel #castiel fan fiction #rpf fan fiction #misha collins smut #misha collins x reader #kat's originals ⋆♰❦♰⋆

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risingoftime · 2 years ago

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AGAINST ALL ODDS | CORIOLANUS SNOW X PLINTH!READER | CHAPTER TWO

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The air in the vehicle was thick with tension, and Noll had yet to round the corner away from the industrial side of Panem, where the Academy resided. You knew it was coming before Coriolanus opened his mouth to speak.

“Do you have feelings for Romulus?” He asked.

His breath was steady as he waited for your response. Coriolanus was meticulous when displaying his emotions, and he wouldn't expose his hand if not necessary. You sighed exasperated, “I like him, as any friend would.” Choosing your words carefully, although there were no lingering ears, Coriolanus would hold onto any admission you gave him.

“Well then, I advise you to reconsider the company you keep.” Was that a threat? Coriolanus wouldn't bring him harm for being your friend, would he? Unsure if you should challenge his abilities to do so. Sejanus once told you of Coriolanus's proficiency in influence in a letter, and you were conscious of your lack thereof. He was not a person that you wished to have as a rival. Although Coriolanus and you were not yet enemies, you weren't friends either.

"He's my only friend, Coriolanus. Do you truly wish for me to be a recluse? I don't want to be seen as a lone wolf, too.” Your voice was docile enough, a silent plea for him to let this one go. And he did, for now, at least.

Of course, it would be great to have more friends, but as of late, it was hard to decipher who truly wanted to know you for you or as “Snow's fiancee and Sejanus’ sister.” The students of the Academy are captivated by secrets and use them as currency to push their agendas. Your association with Coriolanus Snow made yours even more expensive. Especially now that he had made quite the name for himself as the young apprentice learning underneath the infamous Dr. Volumnia Gaul. Coriolanus was one of the few mentors who survived the 10th Hunger Games, and District 12 as a Peacekeeper at eighteen was not an easy feat.

The vehicle halted to a stop in front of the building that you called home. Before Coriolanus exited, he turned to you and said, “If Romulus touches you, even once, he may as well be as good as dead.” You jumped at the impact of the door slamming as you watched Coriolanus retreat to the penthouse. He hadn't bothered to turn to see your reaction. When the day was all said and done, Coriolanus didn’t care to maintain the illusion of being in love if no one could witness it.

Coriolanus didn’t enjoy the thought of another having access to what he deemed rightfully his, and that is you. As a child, you thought Coriolanus to be self-indulgent. He’d never bothered to keep others close to him unless they proved themselves beneficial somehow. When you learned that the Snow family was practically penniless, you assumed that Coriolanus was being protective over Tigris and Grandma’am. But it was now revealed that he is egotistic and maybe jealous.

Noll offered you a half-smile while ushering you inside the penthouse. He had most likely heard what was said in the vehicle. Noll hadn’t been your assigned driver for long. Looking closer, you could see the signs of his aging. His curly ginger hair now had more gray hairs, and his brown eyes revealed crow's feet when he smiled. He’d come from District Four, leaving behind his wife and daughter, and that was all you knew about him, given his limited communication ability.

“Ma, I’m home!” you yelled out.

The luxurious condo smelled of baked goods. Ma came around the corner and walked to the grand mahogany oak and gold dining table with sugar cookies and pie in hand.

“I missed you! You’ve been gone for so long.”

She set the dishes down and wiped her hands on her apron before cradling your face. “No need to worry, Ma. I was just at the Academy.” She pulled you in closer for a hug and took a deep breath, grounding herself. “I know, it’s just– after… everything. I’m glad you’re home.” Ma choked on her words. Ma was one of the main reasons you went along with the marriage. She became like this often, holding on to a thread, hoping it won’t snap.

“Did you make these for me?” Desperate to lighten the mood and give a distraction to your mother.

“Yeah, thought you ought to have a snack while you do your homework. Don’t touch the pie, though!” Ma readjusted her apron, which she wore when you were a child in the Districts. The kitchen had always been her safe space, and Pa hadn’t bothered to argue when she packed her culinary decor from our childhood home.

“Why? Does it still need to settle?” you asked.

“The Snows are coming for dinner tonight. Didn’t your father tell you? I told him to.”

Ma was summoned by the chirp of her alarm in the kitchen, signalling her to base and tend to the turkey. Leaving you to begin your work in the dining room. Pondering on the essay assignment by Professor Satyria, “How is all of Panem complicit in the Games?” You began writing:

A sickening hierarchy is ingrained within Panem’s complicity—compliance, driven by a control system, infiltrating every corner of our nation. Dismally, as long as we remain compliant with the spectacle of the Games, we come to be complicit, in varying degrees, in the horrors that unfold. The Capitolites, the privileged few who reside in the opulent heart of Panem, are the profiteers of this labyrinthine system. They revel in the grotesque mockery made of the district Deaths, reaping the benefits of this cadaverous entertainment.

The pen moved swiftly across your notebook as your thoughts moved faster than you could write. The essay could’ve been completed in one night if given more time. The dinner with the Snow family would take up the rest of the evening, and with everyone in attendance, it must be due to something of importance.

𓇢𓆸

The dress that you chose was tighter than you had remembered. It’s been a while since you’ve had to get ready to socialize due to the Academy requiring their students to wear uniforms, and your father was invited to fewer gatherings than before. Knowing the Snow family, they would come wearing their Sunday best, especially with Tigris’ promotion as one of Fabricia‘s stylists at her storefront. She had access to a plethora of fabrics and textures.

Walking down the grand staircase in heels posed a threat to your safety, given the fact that the dress felt snug around the knees. You have been so focused on your feet that you hadn’t noticed Coriolanus lounging in the living room. He held your schoolbook in his hand, deep in thought as he read.

“Hasn’t your mother taught you that it’s impolite to search through other people's things?” you cleared your throat and raised your eyebrows as he continued to finish the last sentence.

“You left it open on the dining table. I would hardly call that searching,” Coriolanus scoffed. Turning around to look down the hall, you could see that your school supplies had been moved as the Avox housekeeper set the dining table for dinner.

“Where is Grandma’am and Tigris?” Ma remained upstairs, still composing herself for the evening, and Pa was surely in his study. Yet, Coriolanus had made himself at home on the couch.

“You don’t see yourself as a part of the Capitol? You confuse those from the Districts as Martyrs,” answering your question with his own.

“I’m not from the Capitol. Isn’t that the point of our matrimony? For the Plinths— my father, to successfully assimilate into your world. I’m not confused. The districts are martyrs, in my eyes; their only crime was rebelling against the Capitol during the dark days.” Your voice was slightly raised and laced with conviction. The anger you had swallowed earlier in the day had arisen again and was harder to conceal.

“Careful, you’re beginning to sound like Sejanus.” Confirming the mistake you had made to disclose that to Coriolanus.

“I am his sister after all.” Consequently, you should’ve known better, but it felt good. Your eyes challenged him to speak, to say anything indecent about Sejanus. Coriolanus did not grieve your brother in the way that you had, and maybe it’s juvenile, but you would’ve wished for your brother’s best friend to be more distraught.

Cogs turned Coriolanus’s mind to how to settle the dispute without escalating further. His gaze roamed over your stature, only now taking in the way the garment hugged your figure, not leaving much to the imagination, unlike the uniform he's used to seeing you in. Pfft, typical.

Strabo Plinth entered the living room from his study. “Ah, Coriolanus, you’ve found her.” He said this as if he had gone searching for you. Your father only sought you out if he needed something. The relationship was purely transactional.

“Yes, I was telling your daughter the good news.” The lie came easily to him.

“Marvellous! Let me fetch my wife, please, both of you make your way to the table. I’m sure Tigris will be here any minute with your grandmother.” Your father offered a tight-lip smile before retreating to the main bedroom.

“Good news?” You asked.

“Dr. Gaul would like me to be a game maker in the 11th Hunger Games, and she’s tasked me with the opportunity to implement new reforms.” Coriolanus smiled wide, flashing his white teeth. He was beaming with pride from the decision. He would be one of the youngest ever to do so. Your stomach turned at the vision of Coriolanus subjecting another generation of tributes to his advanced military strategies.

𓇢𓆸

The sound of scraping utensils and chewing was all that you could hear as you all silently ate the feast that Ma had prepared for supper. The table was filled with food; knowing Ma, she would have the Snow’s leave with plenty of leftovers. Ma and Pa sat at the head of the table while Coriolanus sat beside you, with Tigris and Grandma’am sitting across. Grandma’am had not said much throughout the evening. The woman was in her private world and often muttered incoherently under her breath. Tigris remained polite and entertained Ma’s attempts to make small talk.

“Oh, Tigris, I had forgotten to ask! Would you be willing to help me with some of the decor for the wedding shower?” Ma exclaimed. You stopped chewing your food and found it difficult to swallow. This dinner was about the wedding. You and Tigris met eyes briefly. The two of you hadn’t many conversations, but she was the closest you’ll ever have to a sister.

“Why is the maid talking?” Grandma’am said.

You looked at the older woman, unsure if you were to pity Grandma’am or set her straight once and for all. The sickness of old age overtook her mind, but she never forgot to turn up her nose at anyone she presumed to be beneath her.

Tigris cleared her throat and corrected her, “Grandma’am, that’s Mrs. Plinth, remember? Coriolanus is getting married to her daughter.”

“Coriolanus is getting married! It should happen on top of the penthouse that overlooks the city of Panem, with my rose garden surrounding it. Beautiful, isn’t it?” she exclaimed.

“I think that would be a lovely idea, Mrs. Snow.” Stabo’s facial expression was rigid, his voice void of emotion. He’d only talk like that when he was displeased. Sejanus was usually on the receiving end of this, and it was bittersweet that for once, he wasn’t.

Ma’s face was slightly tinged pink from embarrassment, but she hid it well, unlike Coriolanus, who looked agitated by Grandma’am’s condition. There was no trace of empathy on his face.

“When will the wedding shower be?” you asked.

“In two weeks, your eighteenth birthday will be a grand celebration.”

“My birthday! Out of all dates, Pa, please.”

“We’ve already sent out the invitations; don’t be crass. Three events within the next month are overkill, and your mother has already booked the venue.” Your father took another sip of his white liquor, dismissing you.

Tigris tried to lift your spirits, “I’ve been daydreaming of the most breathtaking dress that would be perfect. It’ll be the talk of Panem.” You offered her a small smile.

“If anyone could turn rags to riches, it’s Tigris,” Coriolanus added.

Tigris's eyes narrowed at the comment, but Coriolanus hadn’t noticed, taking more food on his plate. It didn’t matter how much he’d eaten. There was always an insatiable hunger for more. He ate as if any meal could be his last. And like that, the dinner commenced as it had before.

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corvidfeathers · 6 months ago

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Mordred’s monologue - Grail Knight

This is from my thesis play, a grail quest story where Galahad is a trans girl and the world of Logres is slowly dying as a mirror of climate crisis. Me and a theater collective adapted into an immersive play in the summer of 2022, which is still one of the most amazing experiences I’ve ever had the privilege to have. This is one of my favorite pieces of the play, and one that I think can stand on its own.

Image transcript:

MORDRED

I travel three days with Sir Lancelot, which is time enough to remember why I seldom do that. Brave Sir Lancelot, honorable Sir Lancelot, obedient Sir Lancelot; the flower of chivalry, the king’s favorite knight. Arthur and Gwynefer may see no flaw in him, but I know otherwise. He keeps his mask of courtly courtesy, but I feel his eyes on me when he thinks I’m not looking. Waiting for me to show some sign of treachery. Maybe this is why he stayed at my side; every mile we go from Camelot is a mile between me and the king he so loves.

Or maybe he considers it some sort of kindness, to his former squire. Sir Lancelot thinks he will find the Grail with all haste, and return in all glory, and if I remain at his side, a little of it may be left for me.

Or maybe he was just trying to escape Sir Galahad.

On the fourth morning, I wake with a strange certainty ringing in my ears. It calls me to rise and dress as the mist creeps from up the grass and the night bleeds away; there’s something in the mist waiting for me. Lancelot tries to call me back, to warn me from leaving, but why should I pay him mind? We’re all equal on the quest, Sir Galahad said, and it’s not as if the flower of chivalry knows where he’s going. Let him chase after me for once.

Maybe this is the certainty Sir Galahad felt; maybe this is the Grail. The mist thickens as I go onward, until I reach a wide black river.

My mother always told me to mind my wits when I cross water; cross a river without heed, and you may find yourself farther than the other bank. Unlike some, she knew of what she spoke; she knew all the old magics of the land; she whispered of them to me every night, and when I left home she wove spells into my cloak, to keep her youngest son from harm. But that cloak is as tattered as my vows, so I don’t think of her advice when I am knee-deep in the black water, the rush of it all around me.

It sounds like a battle, like a cataclysm, like the crash of the sea against the isle of Orkney, it sounds like death and fate, a cold force that drives onward like the tide that sweeps a ship to the rocks, closer and closer and closer. The current pulls at my feet, at my chest, at my chin until I am like to drown.

Any death but this. Any death but this. A coward’s prayer.

I drag myself out onto the far bank, spitting water, and lie there and let my foolish certainty die. Let Sir Galahad have her quest. Let Sir Lancelot find the Grail- I’m fitted for one fate only, and it isn’t going to be found in this misty forest.

Cross a river without heed, my mother said, and you may find yourself in a kingdom of shadows and lies, a land of ghosts and fae. I don’t think of her advice when I lift my head, and for a moment I think I am back in Camelot; here is the round table, and here the king. A bone-white table, laid out beneath the mist-strung trees, and a king that is monstrous to look upon, a desiccated creature sitting alone at an empty table, with wounds that weep bubbling seafoam and eyes that burn like the bleeding sky, and a crown wrought of stone and oak.

His head hangs with the weight of it. I cannot tear my eyes away, and I know that it is this, this is the tide that pulled me here, not the grail, not the pull of glory or duty but the fate I cannot escape.

Cross a river without heed, my mother said, and you may find that you, yourself, are a shade. I don’t think of her advice when I draw my sword, and drive it into the creature’s chest.

#since it’s my birthday have a little grail knight #mordred #arthurian literature #sir mordred #grail quest #corvid rambles #my writing

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scarletwinterxx · 5 months ago

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thank my lucky stars for that night - hong joshua imagine

to start this special day, i'm just going to say a few things about my favorite person aka Jisoo Hong🥺 through the years i've known svt, whenever someone asks me who my bias was I'd always say Joshua (this was way back when I was just a casual fan) now we're here. I like to believe there's this invisible string that's tied between us, my heart knew i would love him before my mind ever did. happy happy birthday My Josh🤍 you brought so much happiness and light in my life.

ANYWAYS OKAY SO i was just thinking what if... i make more of the members x proposal scene😅 turns out i really like making these. this will also probably my last post for this year, thank you all so much for being part of my year. for those who has shown love to my blog, for loving my stories thank you all so much from all 13 parts of my heart🤍

see you all next year!!! here's to many more fluff moments💛 - A.N🌻

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The soft hum of anticipation fills the air as you pace around the garden, making last-minute adjustments to the decorations. The fairy lights you meticulously strung through the branches of the oak trees twinkle like tiny stars, casting a warm glow over the carefully arranged tables.

You’ve been planning this evening for months, pouring over every detail to make it perfect for Joshua’s birthday and New Year’s Eve.

The garden is a symphony of colors and fragrances, with flowers blooming in soft pastels, their petals illuminated by the golden light of lanterns. This night isn’t just a celebration of his birthday but also of the love you’ve shared for the past four years.

Guests begin to arrive, their laughter and chatter adding life to the serene setting. Seungcheol, ever the charismatic presence, gives you a knowing grin as he takes in the ambiance. Jeonghan and Mingyu flank him, one carrying a bottle of wine and the other balancing a tray of appetizers. Seungkwan’s energetic voice cuts through the air as he jokes with Vernon, who’s capturing candid moments with his camera.

As the clock ticks closer to the moment Joshua is supposed to arrive, your nerves bubble to the surface.

You’ve gone to great lengths to keep this celebration a secret from him, and the thought of seeing his reaction fills you with both excitement and trepidation.

The garden fills with the hum of conversation, the sound of glasses clinking, and the occasional burst of laughter. Everything is ready.

When Joshua finally walks in, guided by Seungcheol, your heart skips a beat. Dressed in a sleek suit, he looks effortlessly handsome, his warm brown eyes scanning the scene before landing on you. His face lights up in surprise, his lips parting in a soft, astonished laugh.

“You did all this?” he asks, his voice tinged with awe as he takes in the decorations, the guests, and the love infused into every detail of the evening.

You nod, your cheeks flushing. “Happy birthday, Josh”

He pulls you into a hug, his arms enveloping you in a warmth that feels like home. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

You feel him kiss the top of head, hugging you tighter to his side as he takes in the scene in front of him. You really have outdone yourself.

Seungcheol, never one to miss a moment to tease, strolls over. “Alright, birthday boy, how does it feel to have someone who loves you enough to orchestrate this masterpiece?”

Joshua grins, holding you closer. “It feels pretty incredible. But I think I’ll reserve my final judgment until I see the dessert.”

“Oh, don’t worry, the dessert’s good. Mingyu didn’t touch it.” Jeonghan smirks, chiming in

“Hey!” Mingyu protests, looking genuinely offended. “I helped decorate the cake!”

“Sure you did,” Seungkwan quips, earning a round of laughter from everyone.

The evening unfolds like a dream. You watch as Joshua mingles with friends and family, his laughter blending seamlessly with theirs. The food, which you carefully curated to include his favorite dishes, is a hit. The cake—a decadent creation adorned with fresh flowers—is met with gasps of admiration. Every moment feels like a snapshot of joy, a testament to the life you’ve built together.

At one point, Joshua finds you by the dessert table, sneaking a second slice of cake. “Caught red-handed,” you tease, crossing your arms.

He shrugs, grinning mischievously. “What can I say? It’s my birthday. Besides, you can’t expect me to resist this. Did you try the frosting? It’s like happiness in edible form.”

“I did,” you reply, leaning closer. “And I’m starting to think I should’ve just given you a giant tub of it instead of planning all this.”

He laughs, pulling you into a quick kiss. “Don’t be ridiculous. This is perfect.”

But as the night progresses, you can’t shake the feeling that Joshua knows something you don’t. There’s a glimmer in his eyes, a secret he seems to be guarding with playful ease.

When the clock strikes ten, Joshua takes your hand. “Come with me,” he says, his voice soft but insistent.

You raise an eyebrow, feigning suspicion. “Should I be worried? You’re not going to prank me, are you?”

He chuckles. “Just trust me.”

He leads you to a secluded part of the garden, away from the laughter and clinking glasses. The path is lined with lanterns, their light casting dancing shadows on the cobblestone. When you reach the clearing, your breath catches in your throat.

Before you lies a scene straight out of a fairy tale. Hundreds of flowers blanket the ground, their vibrant colors glowing under the soft light of stringed bulbs overhead.

The air is thick with their sweet fragrance, mingling with the crispness of the night. The lights seem to stretch endlessly, creating a canopy of stars just for the two of you.

You turn to Joshua, your voice barely above a whisper.

“What is this?”

He smiles at you, guiding you right at the center of it all. You look around, it looked like he had this planned all along. But if he did, then that means he knew about your surprise.

All of this question swirling in your head, you look over at your boyfriend once again. His eyes watching you with adoration and love, a look you've seen through the years you've known him.

He takes both your hands in his, his gaze steady and full of affection. “I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment,” he begins, his voice tinged with emotion. “These past four years with you have been the happiest of my life. You’ve shown me what it means to love and be loved, and I can’t imagine spending my future without you in it”

Your heart races as he drops to one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. When he opens it, the ring inside catches the light, its brilliance rivaled only by the look in his eyes.

“Will you marry me?” he asks, his voice steady despite the emotion brimming in his eyes.

You blink back tears, a laugh bubbling out amidst your astonishment. “Are you serious? You’re proposing on your birthday?”

“Yes, so be nice to me and technically, it’s almost New Year’s Eve. I figured it’d make it impossible for you to ever forget the date.”

Tears blur your vision as you nod, your voice trembling with joy. “Yes, Joshua. A thousand times, yes.”

As he slips the ring onto your finger, a burst of color fills the sky. Fireworks explode overhead, painting the night with dazzling hues of red, blue, and gold.

The sound is thunderous, yet it only amplifies the heartbeat of the moment. Joshua’s arms wrap around you, his laughter mingling with yours as you both look up at the sky.

When the fireworks fade and the garden is bathed once more in the gentle glow of the lights, your friends rush in, their cheers filling the air. Seungcheol claps Joshua on the back, Jeonghan pulls you into a tight hug, and Seungkwan’s voice carries above the rest as he dramatically wipes away a nonexistent tear. Vernon captures every moment, his camera clicking away as Mingyu lifts you off the ground in celebration.

“You know,” Mingyu says, setting you down, “this means we get to plan a wedding now. I call dibs on being the taste tester for the cake.”

“In your dreams,” Seungkwan retorts. “I’m the best judge of flavors here.”

“Not if I get to the bakery first,” Vernon mutters, earning a round of laughter.

The night is a whirlwind of congratulations, laughter, and promises for the future. The new year have yet to begin but here you are celebrating a new beginning of your relationship, you find yourself in Joshua’s arms, surrounded by the people you love most. The garden, now quieter, feels like a sanctuary, a place where one chapter of your life ended and another began.

And as Joshua leans in to kiss you, the world fades away, leaving only the two of you and the love that brought you here.

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thetravelingtyper · 4 months ago

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On the same page...Pt 14 (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Author! Reader Bookshop Au!)

At the sea, you both find a new sense of peace

WC: 2.4k

Part 13, Part 15, Masterlist

Welcome back :D

As you drift away you feel Simon tighten his hold on you. He feels you nodding off in his warmth and he curls around you, arms coming around your middle You wake a little with a hum and Simon shushes you.

“Easy love.”

He tucks his forehead next to yours, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as his composure resettles. Something locked away in his chest dissipates and a fierce care flow pulses through him. You were now, cradled against this chest like a spark of light in the night. Some small part of him mourns now, allowing himself to feel this is a shimmer of freedom. He too had run, drowning himself in work and missions to cover the loss, the heartbreak. It was Price who finally had sat him down and smacked some sense into the man.

But, finding you? You had rounded his heart up from its wander. To protect himself perhaps, but be it fate or curiosity here he was. You moving in his arms sobers him up, and a silent resolution settles in him then, here he would remain.

You stretch then, a soft sound escaping your throat as your knees pop in the chill. You go to move but Simon is steel, and you call his name as he tucks his face into the crook of your neck.

“Si-”

His hum reverberates through you like a force of nature. The rumble of oak or thunder.

“I’m starting to get hungry.”

He chuckles then, loosening his arms before pulling away from you to stand. He reaches down to collect his boots with socks tucked into them. You follow his movement, collecting yours before an arm collects your backpack, shouldering it before winding around your middle.

“Let’s go see what is in town.”

You nod before allowing him to lead you towards the car. You pause a moment, turning back to the wild sea. The ocean, you realize then, would always remain, a collection of stories and the falling of stars, and as you turn away you see the fox kit following after you.

The small cafe you find is quaint in the sea side town. Bay windows sit open, letting in the rising sun and the rustling of long sea grasses sound out in the breeze. You kick the sand off your shoes at the step up for the porch and Simon opens the door to let you in. You step through the doorway to be met with the smell of pastries and fresh fruit. Straight ahead behind the counter an older woman works decorating a cake at a table. She looks up through her glasses as the door shuts quietly and smiles.

“Take a seat anywhere loves, I'll be with you in a moment.”

You nod and pull Simon to a booth overlooking the ocean. He slides in across from you, setting your bag aside. You sit down as well, and in a few minutes the same lady comes over to take your orders. When your food is delivered you begin to slowly eat in quiet, taking in the atmosphere around you. The sound of the waves gives good company to your racing thoughts.

Simon’s confession seemed to be a weight off of his shoulders, he even eats the meal in front of him with energy. You watch his form then and his eyes look into yours with a light of interest. You pause eating, and he mirrors the action,

“Problem dove?”

His voice is like polished sea glass, renewed by the waves.

You sigh, ideas pulling at your fingertips but they are unfocused now, the rush of elation of the ocean simmering low now into passion again. You played around with your thoughts.

“It’s just…” the thought is drawn out, “it’s been so much.”

Simon sets his fork down, focusing on you and you find his attention reassuring. He doesn’t reply with words, only humming lowly, allowing you a moment to continue if you’d like, something you are grateful for as you find yourself reminiscing.

“Simon I loved him, I trusted him. Just,” Your put your head in your hands,

“Did I do-”

“Absolutely not.”

Simon cuts you off firmly, and you look to find him sitting up and leaning forward, a sense of duty in his face.

“He made the decision to do what he did. While he was coerced into action he still chose not to fight it Dove.”

“I still love him in some ways, Simon.”

It comes out in an ashamed whisper, head turning down.

Simon calls your name then, and you just stare down at your plate, some mixed feelings of shame and hurt stirring in your chest. James had done everything to protect you, or attempt to which is not lost on you. But he had broken your heart in the process.

He calls your name tenderly this time and you finally look up so see Simon look at you, his eyebrows drawn in concern.

“You cannot blame yourself, love. Not after he lied and how he acted towards the end of your relationship. He was possessive, and I won’t stand for you doubting yourself. He could’ve fought harder for you, love. Why did he wait to tell you for this long?”

He takes your following silence as room to continue, he leans forward on his elbows, a sharp look in his eyes.

“The bloke handled the entire situation poorly. He lied for months, laid his fucking hands on you, and still had the fucking audacity to show his face-”

You reach a hand as you can sense Simon growing angry, your touch breaking his rant and acting as a balm to the tension in his shoulders. Your hand spread over his and he loosens. His mind seems to fumble at the look you give him, eyes pooling with emotion that stretches languidly around your heart, something warming at his defense of you.

His hand is rough, fingers flexing under yours as he just watches you, seemingly surprised with himself and he reacts a moment later, hand flipping before his fingers curl around yours. You look up to his and the small rising smile on his face warms yours as he regards you.

He looks sheepish then,

“Sorry Love.”

You laugh at him, something deep and mellow, it dissolves into a fit of giggles. You lift his hand and he looks at yor curiously before you place a kiss to his palm, simon’s pale face dusts with pink as you release his hand and turn back to your food without another word but with a steady smile on your face.

In the corner of the cafe there is a cleared-out area, chairs set aside and a few tables boxing in an area next to a radio. As you eat soft notes play along the air, the few groups who had wandered in after you chat quietly, keeping a restful peace. You had pulled out your notebook to start writing but as SImon eats you find yourself sketching visions of a cliffside, a lone bystander there calling out with arms held open to the sea. It is then familiar notes played.

Your head perks up as Vance Joy’s voice filters through the calm cafe.

I was only walking through your neighborhood

Saw your light on honey in the cold I stood

Anywhere I go there you are

Your heart stirs from its rest, emotion threatening to well up in tears. Here you were in the world. Bare to the elements, you hear the crashing of waves in your ears-but then there is warmth. Simon's hand comes to cover yours as you drop your notebook.

I been getting used to waking up with you

I been getting used to waking up here

Anywhere I go there you are

Simon is in your mind then as he looks into your eyes, seeing the cusp of new tears. He then surprises you by sliding out of the booth, setting your stuff aside and pulling you gently towards him. The area you chose was open so he makes use of the space to hold you close.

There you are

There you are, hmm

You are startled when he drops a hand to your waist in a practiced motion, his other going to your shoulder blade to guide you. Then with skill he steps into a slow dance.

You're the fire and the flood

And I'll always feel you in my blood

Everything is fine

When your hands resting next to mine

Next to mine

You're the fire and the flood

He moves in quarters, slow sweeping lines, keeping you close, shielded from the looks of the other patrons of the cafe by his broad form. Your feet fumble at first but with a gentle squeeze of your waist, strong arms pull you back into step.

Since we met I feel a lightness in my step

You're miles away but I still feel you

Anywhere I go there you are

Late at night when you can't fall asleep

I'll be lying right beside you counting sheep

Anywhere I go there you are

Memories of dancing long nights by the sea surface in your mind, you clench your teeth and shake them away before working to fall into step as Simon makes another sweeping turn. He looks out, always observing, always guarding.

There you are

His fingers sprawl against your clothes, the warmth of him seeping into your soul.

You're the fire and the flood

And I'll always feel you in my blood

Everything is fine

When your hand is resting next to mine

Next to mine

You're the fire and the flood

As he makes another turn, back to the booth he guides you out into a spin, which you twirl into on steady feet, his hands hovering. It is when you return when he meets your eyes with his. The depth of them makes you stumble, caught off guard by the emotion in his eyes.

Now listen here she said

Boy when you know you'll know

And I know

You're the fire and the flood

And I'll always feel you in my blood

Everything is fine

When your hand is resting next to mine

Next to mine

You're the fire and the flood

As the song ends his arms catch you effortlessly as you stumble back, overcomed with new emotions that burn your heart. Your hands fall to his chest as he breaks out of the dance, head cocking in question. But his eyes never leave yours and the breath is stolen from you by the warmth in them. You can't look away, even as a new song starts, as the other patrons clap, even as the fox kit dances in the air.

At that moment there is nothing else in your mind but his arms wrapping around you, he pulls you closer and dips his head down before kissing you anew. Your hands shoot to his arms as he pulls you closer until there is no space between you two. His head turns, hand coming to your neck to kiss you deeper. A moment later he parts with blow pupils, mouth slightly agape in wonder as his eyes shine down into yours.

You feel a sudden shyness then, you bury your head into his chest and he laughs. It's light, boyish even and despite all of the muscle and scars of him you feel his shoulders lighten and grief melt away as he pulls you to him in a sturdy embrace.

Something has shifted then, in this key moment. Two stings tangled together with the force of the sea. You see it as he lingers, releasing you to slid back into the booth. You see it as he smiles at the other patrons, an abashed grin with light eyes.

You sense it as you return to your sketching, a leg pressed against yours, making you smile to yourself. He sticks close to you you move, taking his and your dishes to the counter where the woman smiles at you, Simon lingering behind with your stuff. You move to pay but he is quicker, card in hand as the woman chuckles at his antics. She makes the payment before murmuring a “just a moment” before turning into the back room. In a minute she returns with a thick brown paper bag smelling of berry and vanilla.

“Here you are love, something for the road.”

You take the bag and offer a thanks with a smile, the woman nods and then turns back to her work as you both turn towards the door. Simon stays close enough to chase off the cold as you reach the steps, his hand taking yours before stepping down and heading to the car. He sets your stuff in the back before opening your door and helping you into the car. He then takes the driver's seat and pulls out onto the road.

As he drives you watch the sea begin to awaken in the gusts of the morning as the sun takes its crown. The window is cold but the warmth of the sun settles into your lap as the fox kit snuggles in. As he finally turns away from the sea, Simon’s hand moves, lifting from its rest at the center console to seek you out. You move then, taking his hand in yours you lift it and press a tender kiss to his knuckles, finding them cold underneath your lips.

“Your cold Si.”

He seems caught off guard in that moment, glancing at you before clearing his throat and looking back to the road with a dusting of pink on his pale cheeks.

“Right.” It's quiet and your heart melts when his hand grips yours, coming to rest in your lap. You reach and turn the heat on a little more before pulling Simon’s jacket over you to keep in the warmth.

The next minutes pass in comfortable silence as Simon drives, his hand occasionally squeezing yours as you feel the warmth seep into his skin. When you are pleased you release his hand and he looks at you through the corner of his eyes. Despite his newfound freedom his hand lingers. Fingertips brush over your wrist before his hand settles on your knee. You chuckle when a pleasant smile curls onto his face and he looks back to the road in non-acknowledgement.

Taglist:

@ghostlythots, @tapioca-milktea1978, @cmbghost, @nexthyperfix, @feedthefandoms995

@blubearxy

#cod mw2 2022 fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #soap and reader #simon riley fluff #fanfiction #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #on the same page #Simon riley x you #Simon riley #cod mw2 2022 #john soap mactavish #Protective ghost #simon riley angst #simon x reader #ghost x you

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whumpdoyoumean · 26 days ago

Note

2 for Twisters if you’re up for it!! I loveddddd your White Christmas story!!

xxx "You're burning up."

Tyler has helped with more tornado clean ups than he can count. He's not new to physical labor--moving debris out of the road and loading it into pickups and trailers to be hauled off, cutting up downed limbs and trees. Not to mention the summers he spent working as a ranch hand as a teen. So he's not sure why today, when all he's done so far is sit at the table where volunteers check in and hand out water bottles, he feels like he's just been trampled by a bull. His whole body is aching and there's a heavy, unrelenting pressure behind his eyes that makes it feel like they might just pop out of his head at any second.

It's gonna be a long day.

"Yo, Tyler!"

Tyler looks up at Boone's greeting, squinting against the sunlight, and gives a half-hearted wave. "Hey."

Boone frowns at him, a quizzical half-smile on his face.

"What?" Tyler says.

"You okay?" Boone asks. "I was gonna see if you could come help with some heavy lifting but not gonna lie, you're, uh. You're lookin' kinda rough. Late night?"

Tyler's brow furrows. Rude."No. I'm fine, Boone. What'd you need help with?"

"Really, I can find someone else--"

"Boone!" Tyler says, pushing himself up from the teal plastic Adirondack chair. Immediately, his vision goes staticky, ears ringing, and he forces himself to stay upright, taking measured breaths until the dizzy spell passes. Boone is watching him closely when his vision clears. Tyler flashes him a fake grin. "I said I got this."

Boone doesn't look convinced, but just shrugs. "Whatever. Come on. We're gonna need to take my truck."

"What's wrong with mine?" Tyler says in (mostly) mock offense.

"Nothing's wrong with it, except you've got so much gear in the back that it's not gonna be that helpful for hauling shit off."

Tyler opens his mouth, then shuts it. He really can't argue with that. He follows wordlessly as Boone leads him over to his pickup, a beat up old 1970 Ford that's either yellow or some sort of pale green. The paint job is so faded it's hard to tell exactly what color it's supposed to be.

"I pay you enough that you can afford to replace this thing," Tyler says, grimacing at the loud groan of the passenger side door as he forces it open.

"Not a chance in hell, Owens," Boone says, giving the dinged up hood a fond pat. "Smokey has been very good to me."

Tyler's not feeling very chatty, but Boone is more than happy to fill the air space as they drive a few minutes to the other side of town to the old church building. The church itself appears to be in surprisingly good shape; the same cannot be said for the giant oak tree in front of it. The whole thing has toppled over, its roots pulled clean out of the ground. Someone has already cut off the limbs and cut the trunk into lengths, and the smell of sawdust and gasoline is almost overwhelming.

"We're moving the tree?" Tyler says.

"Mmhm," Boone confirms. "Apparently it was diseased, so it's pretty much only good for firewood. There's a guy with a fancy hydraulic splitter that'll cut it to size, but it's not mobile. So we're gonna get the rounds to him."

Great. Oak is a heavy wood, and the tree is big enough that the logs toward the base of the trunk are probably going to take two people to get into the back of the pickup.

"You sure Smokey can take it?" Tyler says.

"Of course he can!" Boone looks Tyler over again, scrutinizing. "Can you take it?"

"Let's just get this done," Tyler says.

It's hard work. Even if he were feeling his best, it would be hard work, and Tyler is definitely not feeling his best. Besides Tyler and Boone, there are four other people over here helping with the tree. They're all obviously capable people, and honestly could've gotten it done almost as quickly without Tyler's help – except that two of them recognized him. So it's not like he can just quit. Even if his muscles are burning, and his head is pounding, and his lungs ache, and the sweat he's working up definitely does not feel like the healthy kind. He's getting a little lightheaded, too. Not as bad as when he stood up earlier, but it's headed that direction. Luckily, they're almost done loading up the downed oak. He just has to last a little bit longer.

It's not much later that Boone says, triumphantly, "That's the last one!"

A small cheer goes up, but Tyler doesn't join in. He feels a little like he's gonna be sick.

"Hey, Owens," one of the other men says. Tyler doesn't remember his name, but he turns to him with a polite smile. The man looks worried. "You okay?"

Tyler opens his mouth with the intention of says, "Yeah." What happens instead is that, dizzy and feeling all-around shitty, he bends at the middle and pukes. He doesn't even have time to be embarrassed about it before the world spins wildly and everything goes black.

"Tyler?"

Tyler frowns. That sounds like... "Kate?" He opens his eyes to see her watching him, eyebrows all pinched up in worry. "What're you doin' here?"

"I came to see if any of you needed water. Got here just in time to see you pass out. What were you thinking volunteering sick?"

"Sick?" Tyler repeats drowsily. He feels odd.

"You're burning up," Kate says.

"Oh."

"'Oh'? That's all you have to say?"

Tyler squints at her, trying to puzzle out what else he's supposed to say here. The fuzziness of his brain is not helping on that front. So he says "Uh...Sorry?"

Kate sighs and shakes her head. "Yeah, I'm sure. Boone drove back to get someone from the medical tent to come check you out."

"There's no need for that," Tyler tries to say, but the words are all slurred together and it comes out in a jumbled mess. His head hurts. He closes his eyes. A second later he feels a thin trickle cool water being poured gently over his forehead, and then Kate's fingers are running through his hair. He lets out a low, contented hum. "Tha's nice."

He can hear the smile in Kate's voice, underneath all the irritation and worry, when she says, "You're an idiot, Tyler Owens."

Yeah, he thinks. What else is new.

xxx

#another fun request!#already wrote a cold tyler sickfic #it was time for a hot tyler sickfic #my writing #my fic #whump fic #whump #sickfic #fever #twisters #tyler owens #tyler owens whump

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stusbunker · 6 months ago

Text

Spotless: Patetico

Chapter Thirty Eight

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader

Other characters:

Word Count: ~2700

Warnings, etc: Flashbacks are in italics. They've had a long road to get to this moment. Talk of shared grief, vomit, Lisa, Dean being a pushover as a landlord, the aftermath of breaking Cas' nose, and the end of the slowest of burns. xoxo Stu

Much love to @lastactiontricia for patting my head and lying enough to inflate my ego.

Series Masterlist

April 2005

Dean did not want to be walking through the Roadhouse doors, but the heavy oak swung wide all the same. It was his first time back since the funeral. Hell, it had been nearly a year since he had been home at all, and even longer since he had been to see Ellen.

But when she called and told him she needed him here this year, he cut a deal with his manager and got his ass back to Nebraska.

It was like walking into a time capsule. Everything was the same. It even smelled the same, wood polish met with beer stale cigar smoke. But there was no Jo there to greet him with her brusk appraisal and her hidden playfulness. She was gone and the pit inside his stomach reopened in the blink of an eye.

“You good?” Sam murmured, the sound making Dean realize he had stopped walking, eyes still scanning the bar for someone who wasn’t there.

“Yeah, gonna hit the head— find us a seat will ya?”

Sam’s face told him he didn’t buy it, but Dean didn’t wait around for pity. He disappeared into the dark hallway that led to the bathrooms, which was another mistake. Because even there he had memories of Jo.

It was like the guilt had finally caught up with him, making him rush into a stall and wretch into the toilet. Stomach acid and grief burned his insides, leaving him more hollowed out than relieved.

But this wasn’t about him. It was about being there for Ellen. And so he spit out what he could and got himself cleaned up at the sinks before Sam came looking for him. By the time Dean made it back to the front of house, Ellen had found Sam. All five and a half feet of her had latched onto the overgrown mop and was squeezing him for all he was worth.

“Hey, Ellen,” Dean said, voice still rough from throwing up. But he, at least, had the sense to shove a stick of gum into his mouth in the meantime.

“Come here, you too,” Ellen insisted, practically shoving Sam out of the way as she brought Dean down to her level. “It’s so good to have you home.”

“Yeah. Sorry—.” Dean swallowed, unable to find words big enough for what he was feeling.

Ellen held on tighter. “None of that. Today is for celebrating. Not feeling sorry for ourselves, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She pulled back, but kept him in her grasp, her dark eyes searched his face for everything he couldn’t say. Or wouldn’t admit. She sighed, but let him go in the end.

“Okay, Garth will be here any minute to get things set up, but if you two want to make yourselves useful, start by hauling the long tables out of the storeroom after the bathrooms.”

“Sounds good.” Sam nodded.

“How many?” Dean asked.

Ellen smiled sadly, just one side of her face showing any emotion. “All of them.”

Dean didn’t even notice as the bar started to fill up, he was too busy with the manual labor to press the flesh. He was also hesitant to update anybody from his hometown on his music career which was hanging on by a thread at any given moment. He was in no mood for small talk, no matter how earnest the initiator.

“I’m gonna get something to drink, want anything?” Sam asked as they locked the legs of the last table into place.

“Just grab a pitcher of whatevers on tap.” Dean wiped his forehead off with the back of his forearm and looked around for a booth to hide in. But there were people everywhere now and he really didn’t know what to do with himself. It was the funeral all over again, people looking at him with worry or pity, even suspicion.

He needed out.

With no sense of direction or health code ordinances, Dean rounded the bar and headed into the kitchen. Ellen wasn’t at the grill, she had outsourced the meal preparations to a local caterer. The blur of their yellow polo uniforms was all Dean saw as he searched for an escape.

He stepped out the employee exit and almost ran right into you. Pacing and smoking up a storm in the damp spring air, Dean almost didn't recognize you. He had only really met you the one time. Besides that you had still been in the hospital for the funeral.

“Sorry!”

“It’s fine. Just getting some air.”

“Yeah, me too.” You held up your cigarette ruefully.

Dean surprised you both and laughed at your twisted joke.

“Can I bum one? It’ll give me an excuse to be out here.”

You handed over your pack with the lighter inside. He took one and lit it, then handed the bundle back. It was quiet and it took a couple minutes for either of you to disrupt it.

“She’d rip us both a new one if she knew what we were doing.” You didn’t have to specify who you meant, Dean knew.

He nodded, blowing smoke rings and watching them float up to the sky.

“She was always so easy to piss off.”

You sighed. “For real.”

“I miss that.”

“Yeah.”

Dean didn’t say another word, you finished your square and left him out there on his own. A long look and regretful nod was the only thing you shared for some time.

February 2010

“Look, I mean we definitely had some fun. But— there’s no way the kid is mine. I always wrap it up, okay?”

Dean felt like he was going insane. You had barely gotten into the swing of things as Phantom Traveler’s publicist and then Lisa came crawling out of the woodwork with a baby and an open palm.

“Condoms aren't 100 percent effective. But we will continue with a firm line of denial until you’re proven innocent.”

Dean felt your doubt loud and clear. “Wow, gee thanks.”

“Don’t be like that, it is my job to prepare for anything.”

Dean held your gaze. You were wearing your hair just above your shoulders now, a professional bob if he ever saw one. He thought you were overcompensating or at least trying too hard to be taken seriously. It was rock n roll, no one should take themselves that seriously.

“Okay, Trouble, we will just have to wait and see who's right in the end.”

“Please, don't call me that.”

“Nuh-uh, I think Ellen was right. You're trouble and people should be warned about you up front.”

You rolled your eyes. “Real mature.”

Dean smacked his lips and batted his eyelashes at you. “I think I’m adorable.”

“You’re a real beauty queen alright. Anything else you need from us? Or can I take this idjit back to rehearsal?” Bobby cut the banter off before Dean could really get under your skin.

“He’s all yours,” you said knowingly.

Dean wanted to have the last word, but sometimes the words wouldn’t come out when he needed them most. Instead he watched you gather your messenger bag and your phone before heading outside to find yourself a ride. He almost didn’t believe it when Sam told him you still wouldn’t drive. But after a few months, and probably a third of your income spent on transportation, Dean knew you’d made your peace with it.

Maybe he shouldn’t be such a dick so often.

September 2013

Dean handed you the keys.

“Rent’s due first of the month?” you asked.

“Whenever, honestly, I’m not that much of a stickler and what’s Sam’s is mine.”

You both didn’t mention that Dean and Charlie had been monitoring Sam’s spending closer than Ebenezer Scrooge since he got out of rehab.

“Anything else I should know?” you asked, clearly nervous to have the responsibility of a whole house on your own.

“Uh, Malcolm and Tamara next door are great, think they introduced themselves when we first backed the truck in.” Dean tried to think. “Garbage schedule is still on the fridge. And, yeah, don’t burn the place down.”

“I’ll do my best.” You held up your hand in the scout’s pledge.

“Is there anything else you need help setting up? I don’t have to meet up with Benny until like seven for the Dodgers game.”

“Nah, get out of here. I’m good.”

Just then Sam laid on the horn from the driveway.

“Guess that’s my cue.” You walked him to the backdoor and watched him go.

“Thanks again!”

Dean held his hand up over his head in a wave without looking back. He then flipped Sam off for sitting in the driver’s seat and being such an impatient infant. And then crawled into his baby.

“Everything good?”

“Yeah, just making sure she had everything.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “She can call if she has any questions, man.”

Dean shrugged and reached along the bench seat to watch as he backed up. He felt Sam’s eyes on him for another mile and a half. He ignored his brother and tried to downplay how he was nervous leaving you alone.

It was a safe neighborhood. You’d be fine.

Dean just needed to get over himself.

May 2017

Dean found his way back to his hotel room sometime after four in the morning. His knuckles were still raw from their run in with Cas’ face and all he wanted to do was pass out and forget any of it even happened. The alcohol and absinthe in his system had started to dwindle and he needed a soft landing before the hangover crept in.

Instead, he found you waiting for him on the couch of his suite. Shoes off and tucked under a blanket, you were half asleep watching some 80s B movie on cable.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?”

“Waiting for your sorry ass.”

“K. Well, I’m going to bed.”

The television turned off behind him, leaving the room in looming silence.

“The tour’s over, Dean.”

He turned to look at you like you were crazy. You kind of were. “It’s just one show! We can reschedule.”

You shook your head and crossed your arms over your chest. “No. Cas left. Everyone decided it’s for the best.”

Dean inhaled and rubbed his barely scabbed-over knuckles. “It’s my fucking band. They don’t get to make a decision like that.”

“Tough.”

Dean let that hit. It didn’t make sense, so he latched onto the next thing he could. Lashing out with his tongue instead of his fists, “why’d they send you to be the messenger?”

“They didn’t. They’re planning on bum rushing you in the morning. I thought you’d appreciate the head’s up.” You eyed him and dropped your arms. “I guess I was wrong. See you later, Dean.”

He chewed over a few choice words, but in the end he let you leave, too ashamed and disgusted with himself to even spread the misery.

Why’d you always know what was best for him when he didn’t even know himself?!

Now (March 2018):

Of all the cruel and condescending things Dean thought about himself over the years, he didn't actually believe he was an idiot. But that was the only explanation he had currently that made sense. There you stood curled in on yourself outside a no name truck stop on the way to Albuquerque, sniffling with your headphones hanging around your neck, asking him if ‘Pushing Through’ was your song.

“Whose else would it be?!” Dean said and instantly regretted it. That knee-jerk response just reiterated his idiocy. Because now you were full out crying.

“Shhhhh, okay? I’m sorry. I thought you knew----.” Dean crowded into your space, brushing the hair out of your face as he cupped your opposite elbow, trying to soothe you as best he could. “Don’t be mad. I don’t have to keep singing it. We can change the setlist if you want.”

You shook your head and inhaled wetly.

“Uhhh— shit, no, I’m not mad. I’m— I don’t even know.” Then you looked up at him and Dean felt his heart thundering in his ears. “Do you— do you know what it sounds like? Like it sounds like a love song. And I just have to know. Okay? Tell me.”

Dean licked his lips, breaking the line of questioning pouring out of your eyes. The tears were going to do him in. He wasn’t strong enough for that anymore.

“Yeah, uh–” He cleared his throat. “I figured that’s what it was when I was finishing the bridge.”

You sniffed, but seemed to be calming down now you had a clear objective. “Which was when?”

Dean scratched his jaw and dropped back on his heels, dipped his chin, and let his hands slip onto your waist. He went for it.

“You know when we recorded Trouble. Ask me the real question.”

You blinked up at him with that little furrow in your brow that told him you were annoyed more than confused. He had messed with your momentum, but he really hoped you’d hold on and you’d jump together.

You picked at something on his shirt, a button or a button hole, but you didn’t meet his eye.

Dean leaned forward and kissed the spot between your eyes that had him so distracted. “It’s okay.”

“Did ya mean it?” You looked up at him from under your lashes, with a glare like you were daring him to lie.

He ducked his head down lower, making you look. “Every line.”

You honest-to-god stomped your foot and Dean would have laughed if he wasn’t frozen by your sudden movement. “Are you kidding me?! You cannot like-like me. I am a me. You are you!”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Hey, Trouble?”

“What?”

“It’s just you and me. No paps, no band, no Bela.”

“No Jo.”

Dean sucked in a breath through his teeth, “yep.”

“Dean, you can’t be serious.”

Dean didn’t answer, he just looked at you, his right hand went up without his better judgement and cradled your jaw. “Is this alright?”

“What? Oh– yeah, it’s, uh, yeah.”

“Good. I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Dean.”

“Please?”

You rolled your eyes and huffed. “If you must.”

Dean smirked, but then his lips were too busy making yours move. You tasted like lip gloss and then something faintly sweet, maybe soda. It wasn’t until you opened up for him that he felt you really relax. Balancing with a warm hand against his chest you leaned into the kiss, testing his tongue with yours.

Dean hummed and eased out of the kiss, opening his eyes and slowly brushing your nose with his until you looked back at him.

“Was that so bad?”

“Hmmm, I think we could do better.”

Dean’s face almost split open with joy. “Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

Then you were kissing him, lips soft yet urgent, tongue seeking him out. Dean held you close and tried to keep up.

You pulled back and looked at him like you always did, both fond and annoyed. “I can’t believe you. What are we gonna do now?!”

“Anything you want.”

And he meant it. It didn’t matter that they had a show the next day or that the band was probably waiting for you. Whatever you wanted, it would be yours. You already had his heart and you finally knew it. All that was left was to make you happy and keep you that way.

“Sit with me on the bus? I have some questions.”

Dean knew it wasn’t going to be that easy, but at least you couldn’t get too angry with everybody else within earshot.

“‘Course.”

You grinned up at him and left a peck on his lips.

“Okay, let me finish my pitstop and clean some of the snot off my face.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re fine, but I’ll wait for you back at the bus.”

“Deal.” You nodded and bit your lips, like you were trying not to smile.

So, Dean winked at you as you walked away, which made you walk into the door a kind stranger was holding open for you. He couldn’t take you anywhere.

“Sorry. That’s on him.” He heard you mutter and then watched as you disappeared inside the convenience store.

Tagging:

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Chapter 39: Lusingando

#spotless series #dean winchester x reader #dean/reader #dean x reader #spn fanfic #all slow burns must come to an end #rockstar au #dean angst #dean fluff #spn au

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the-fiction-witch · 2 years ago

Text

Bump

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Sweet AF

I continued on my rounds checking my paperwork, as and when required popping in to anyone who wasn't urgent enough to come into the hospital. I checked on my way to the last house for the day, so I put my paperwork away and carried my bag with me, to the familiar deep blue front door, I fixed my jacket a little and swung the silver knocker a few times. The door swung open revealing young Elis Mayflower in her usual dress, "Ohh 'ello Dr Dawkins, we were expectin' you" She nodded and opened the door to let me in "Thank you, Elis," I nodded and took off my hat and jacket which Elis happily took "Where is she?" "Upstairs Doctor" She nodded I nodded and made my way up the stairs bag in hand. I headed down the hall past the paintings and small mostly unused rooms, until I stopped just before the last door.

The door was open a crack, light cascading from within, the sweet gentle sounds barely audible. I pushed open the door enough my body could slip inside, the well-polished wooden floor covered in dancing shadows from the fire, the flames in the fireplace danced and flickered sending the smell of oak wood and tyme across the room, the sound of the wood cracking and popping, the dark purple walls littered with almost too many paintings to even see the walls any longer, the window to the side shuttered up and then a curtain over it letting not a single bit of the harsh light from outside find its way, The various furniture littered the room.

The Main feature of the room, of course, the large wooden bed. With four tall wooden posts and a railing that normally hung purple curtains but they were missing today, the bed sheets were tossed into one corner of the bed, and sitting in it was the most perfect of sights.

Y/n sat in the bed, her back sat up but she had so many pillows between her and the headboard she must have been six inches from it if not more, her legs our straight, her hair free from any braids, and twisted, plaits or anything else, allowed to hang completely free with a slight kink to the hair where it so often lived plaided up and hidden below her hat. Her hair slightly in her face hiding it from me, she wore only a cotton shirt with long billowing sleeves that stopped just below her thigh, I thought for a moment I recognised it, as well as a pair of purple woollen socks that reached her knees with one white stripe around the top, her toes wiggling as they where warmed by the fire, her hands stroking her stomach, as she looked as if she was hiding a small barrel under her dress.

The small wooden and silver box on her table, the small silver ballerina twirling slowly as it paid her the music box song, the slight clicking and tinniness to the song as the music was plaid. And she sang with it, her voice gliding along the notes not loud enough for anyone beyond the door could hear her, as her hands stroked her stomach, tenderly, carefully, almost like she was afraid but loved all the same, her eyes on her enlarged belly and nothing else as if it and she were all that existed.

I couldn't hold back a smile, I must have looked an absolute picture, smiling so widely my cheeks hurt, red with blush to see her this way. I softly closed the door and took soft steps to lean my shoulder on the bedpost not enough to draw her attention, so I stood and watched for what could have been a thousand years, until her music box stopped and thus her song ended. "You're glowing," I spoke up, She jumped a little at my sudden words but she looked up with a sweet innocent smile, "Ohh, Hello Doctor Dawkins," She smiled, "I didn't hear you come in," "I didn't want to disturb your sweet song," I cooed unable to drag my eyes away from her just wanting to look at her a little while longer. She smiled "Aren't you going to examine me, doctor?" "Alright," I smiled moving to sit on her bed, I set my bag on the bed and opened it up to search through for what I needed. "How are you feeling?" "Much the same," She nodded leaning on her arms so I could touch her stomach, I checked her over as we spoke making sure everything was as it should be asking her short questions about how things were going and much of it was the same as last I saw her "So, When will it be?" She asked excitedly,

"Well, that's the question isn't it," I chuckled "I wish I could tell you, but unfortunately children are sort of a law unto themselves, when baby decides its time, then baby will come." I explained "You, I or anyone else doesn't have much of a say in it. But baby will let you know when it's time" I told her stroking her sweet cheek "Alright?" "Alright," she nodded, "I admit I am half tempted to get you a room at the hospital, just so you're close by," I told her, "I want to be here, where I'm comfortable." She said stroking her bump "Are you sure you don't want to be at the hospital?" "I'm sure," She nodded "Alright, as soon as you feel a contraction I want to know" I warn her, "I'll run all the way here if I have to." I winked "Can I? Please?" She pleads I smiled and got my stethoscope from my bag I gave the end a little warm with my hand before I tugged up her shirt just far enough to see her bare stomach, I put the other end to my ear and listened as I rested it on her skin, I shifted it across her skin until I found the best place to hear the rhythmic beating, for a moment I was frozen as I heard the gentle beats, each caused my own heart to swell and I had to fight back the tears "Here," I smiled and handed her the listening end and she happily put it to her ear and listened with the most excited smile I had ever seen a girl have,

She sniffled, tears slowly falling staring at her stomach as she listened "Hi Darling," She cooed and you could see the movement as the baby kicked, "You think he can hear me?" "Of course, he can, He can hear you talk to him, hear you sing to him, You're his mother, he loves you more than anyone will ever understand," I told her kissing her forehead, "Can he hear his daddy?" She asked as she took my hand and settled it on her stomach so I could feel him kick, "Of course, He can." I smiled giving her bump a sweet kiss "Hi little guy," I smiled as I rubbed my nose on her stomach and I gave her bump and our baby kisses. "It won't be long now, I'm sure of it." "Good, I don't want to be pregnant anymore Jack" She laughs returning my stethoscope to my bag,

"No?" "No. My feet are so swollen I can't wear shoes, I don't fit in any of my dresses anymore, I leak everywhere, I'm throwing up all the time, He's kicking me like I'm a football," She explained "It's not fun being pregnant Jack." "You said you liked it?" "I did when I was a couple of months and I had a cute little bump I could stroke as we walked through town." "You were adorable." I smiled thinking back to when she was newly pregnant, wandering around town with her little bump in her dress, I admit it made me feel very proud of myself. "And still are." "I'm as big as a ship Jack." she pouted, "They'll try to hollow me out and sail me to Africa," "You're a ship?" I chuckled, "ummmm" She nodded, "Well then, Permission to come aboard?" I smirked climbing over her to start kissing all over her face and neck which caused her giggle "Ohh yes a very beautiful ship, the most beautiful ship in the world, I shall have to steal her and sail the world single-handedly with her!" "Jack!" she laughed as she pushed me off her, "What's this anyway?" I glared tugging on her shirt, "I borrowed it," She giggled, "Borrowed?" "Well you've been working so much," she innocently smiled "We missed you." "I've missed you both too." I smiled, "But I need to do all this extra work, so I have lots of time off for when baby comes. I don't wanna be stuck up the hospital and leave you here with our little one, I wanna be here to help, and cuddle, and watch him grow. I don't wanna miss anything."

"Good, You can stay up all night when he cries then." "Ohh I know I will, I know what a trial it is trying to get you out of bed when you don't want to." "I don't like to be awoken," She pouts, "I just want this to be over." "Over?" I asked a little worried, "You know what I mean, I'm just… It's been a long nine months Jack, I'm tired." "I know you are," I smiled and kissed her lips "It won't be too much longer sweetheart."

#tbs smut #tbs imagine #tbs imagines #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas sangster imagine #thomasbrodiesangster #thomas sangster #thomas brodie sangster #thomas brodie sangster smut #tbs #the artful dodger #thearttfuldodger #theartfuldogger #jackdawkins #jack dawkins #jack

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