#the way he licks his lips??? a literal CHILD

[raestromboli]

plug!chris helps you with a certain predicament. ♡

there’s a pout embedded on your glossed lips as chris closes the door behind you, not noticing how he stares you down with confusion and a slight humorless expression.

“a’ight, the fuck you called me for? i was busy.” chris grumbles. his words are slightly mumbled since a joint rests against the corner of his lips. blue eyes trail over your body while you plop down onto his couch with a furious stupor, brows furrowed and your arms crossed under your chest.

“i can’t cum!” is all you whine out. your pout only curls deeper when all chris does is side eye you, lips parted in surprise. he doesn’t respond immediately—just eyes you down like you told him something extremely stupid.

“. . . i don’t get how that’s my fuckin’ problem.” his brows raise expectedly while his voice narrows down into something you’d typically use when talking to a child that’s teetering over the edge of throwing a fit. chris doesn’t really seem to care anyway, because he sits back down onto the couch next to you and resumes counting the wad of cash that lays on the table in front of him.

you huff, uncrossing your arms and showcasing your hands to the boy next to you. chris lets out a begrudgingly sigh as he inspects your hands. by all means, they look perfectly normal—a little on the smaller side—but he had taught you how to reach those special spots with those short fingers, so what the fuck do you mean you can’t cum?

“i can’t read minds, kid. you look fully capable of makin’ y’erself cum.”

you stare at him through your lashes, “my nails, chris.”

chris just glances at your long, square acrylics, and it hits him. a dry chuckle falls from his lips as he then watches you cower a little in embarrassment.

“you serious? came all the way over here ‘cause those nails ain’t doin’ it for you?”

you timidly shrug when you feel your cheeks heat up, “i’ve been trying, but it doesn’t feel good. ‘need you to make me cum.” a relieved sigh falls out your lips when chris puts his cash down, pinching the joint from his lips and passing it to you.

“jesus—fine. hold this, and take your pants off.” and you do exactly what he says, but not without squealing excitedly and kissing his cheek. it surprises you a little when chris gets off the couch and gets on his knees, grabbing you by the thighs and tugging you closer to his face. you gasp under your breath at the sudden aggression and you grow to be embarrassed when he roughly spreads your legs apart. a sick grin spreads along his pretty face when he spots the comically large wet spot staining your pink panties.

“chriiisss.” you grumble quietly, huffing and puffing impatiently before he gets sick of hearing it and decides to shut you up by wrapping his large hand around your wrist, guiding the joint to your lips. your lips envelope it begrudgingly and you take a hit.

“shut the fuck up for a sec’, a’ight?” he sasses. his low eyes are dead set on your clothed pussy as he hooks a finger around your panties, sliding to the side to showcase your sensitive mess. god, he could never get used to such a pretty sight. your hole constantly leaks and chris is eager to lick you clean, tongue lolled out completely as he dives right in.

you couldn’t even speak—this was exactly what you needed. chris becomes an animal once he gets his mouth on you; whimpering and groaning against your soaked pussy like he was on drugs. the bottom half of his face is already glossy when he comes back for air, glancing up at you with hooded eyes and a small smirk when he sees how completely fucked out you are. you whimper when chris spits onto your cunt, your free hand flying down to grip onto his soft hair before he licks his saliva up with a groan. his plush lips wrap around your clit and sucks on it gently, making you pant and gurgle out his name while the joint sits lazily on the corner of your mouth.

and his head was always so sloppy, you could literally feel how his saliva mixed with your arousal drips down onto the couch. chris is practically drooling onto your cunt as he alternates with flicking his flat tongue across your puffy clit and suctioning his lips around it with a guttural whine each time. his large hands splay flat on your thighs to prevent you from closing around his head, and his biceps flex when you start thrashing and grabbing onto his wrist helplessly.

the vibrations from chris moaning directly into your cunt made your hole clench around nothing—momentarily pulling a choked cry out of you. he guides his tongue lower to collect the creamy nectar that pools at your hole, obscene squelches bouncing off the walls when the tip of nose bumps against your clit. it’s then that the coil in your stomach tightens, broken whines of the boy’s name falling past in your lips in warning.

“mmph—ch-chris . .” you keen lowly, fisting the boy’s locks as your lips parted to let out little ah’s. chris hummed in response and continued to play with your nub. he pulled away for a second to glance up at you, smirking with his lip tucked in his teeth.

“ya’ happy now, kid?” he rasps, maintaining eye contact with you while he kitty licks your throbbing clit. you let out whimpers every time the tip of his tongue catches onto your pussy, nodding wordlessly, “good.”

and when chris directs his attention back onto your cute cunt, you knew you weren’t going to last any longer. he sticks his tongue out and begins to lick a thick stripe from your drooling hole to your little nub where he wraps his lips around, grunting boyishly. suddenly, your fist tightens around his hair and all you can do is whimper helplessly. your hips buck up, thighs straining as you attempt to close around his head, but his large hands stop you from doing so.

your orgasm hits you like a train—you barely have any time to warn chris when your stomach tightens, your poor pussy sensitizing within seconds. whimpering noisily, you try to push his head away, but he doesn’t let up. no, instead, he takes a hand to grab onto your wrist, pining it to your thigh. you earn a glare in which you pout, hips bucking frantically as you cum. all you can see is white. you let out strings of chris chris chris like a mantra as he repeatedly swipes his tongue over your pussy, dipping down to lick your sweet cum.

and even when you come down from your high, he doesn’t stop. you have to use your free hand to push chris away, whining that you’re too sensitive. luckily, he listens and comes up for air, panting loudly as he licks his lips clean. his eyes look even lower than when he was smoking on that joint that sits prettily on your lips, and he rises up to sit down next to you, you following suit which leads you to straddle his lap. he looks at you, lips parted and pussy drunk, and snatches the joint from you to take a deep hit.

“ya’ satisfied?” chris asks, quite unimpressed as if he wasn’t going ham on your pussy just seconds ago. you smile nonetheless, taking account of the rough denim poking your bare mound as you place a kiss on his stubbly jaw.

“can you fuck me now?” you hum, a little giggly when you see the face chris makes at you.

“y’er doin’ all the work, kid,” he shrugs, “supplier’s comin’ in ten and i gotta count the rest of this cash, so hurry the fuck up . . .”

notes: can we bring back dealer!chris i barely see fics ab my man anymore💔💔

[queenie-the-court-jester]

Just a silly question but how will cotton react when he saw or knew that y/n REALLY love to eat rabbits and have a weird obsession for eating them? Like. Is he gonna be terrified or he gonna be like "stay away from my child but I still love U tho"

-(I wanna be the 🦖 anon please and yes the ask earlier where I quack was me too )

Cotton x carnivore!darling

Tw: minor body horror, cannibalism, reader can be another hybrid or human, cotton being cotton, blood mentioned. Not proofread 🌺

🔪he knew there was something wrong with you. From the moment you took him in and nursed him to health. To the way your hands glided over his abdomen and raked down his thighs. Your eyes staring hungrily at his throat. He saw the red flags, but he ignored them, because you made him feel something he thought he hated. Fear. Adrenaline.

🔪when you reluctantly let him go, he begged to stay. He knew he wasn't much of a meal but won't you give him a chance? He'll gladly let you tear open his chest and claw out his intestines. How would you eat him? Raw and fresh? Or cooked and seasoned? The thought excited him beyond belief!

🔪when you had your first litter of children, he quite literally had to pry them from your hold. He loved you but he couldn't risk you eating your newborns. So for the first few months he raised them himself from a distance. The only way he'd let you near them would be if he was close by and had a sedative in hand.

🔪 while quickly becoming a prisoner in your own home, Your shorter than average husband was constantly breathing down your neck, his gaze never leaving your form. And with the help of your offspring, life got even more suffocating. You loved your children, you really did. But you could never really get rid of that little itch in your mouth begging to sink into some meat. When was the last time you had it? You were starving.. you didn't want to eat vegetables anymore..

🔪one night you went missing. How the hell did you break out of the chains he found. He felt his heart stop and scrambled out of your bed. Ears moving around to try and catch any noise. Quickly rushing to the children's rooms, he relaxed in seeing them all safe and sound. Until he heard something from outside. Grabbing the dart gun from his bedside, he stepped out slowly. Following the smell of blood and cracking of what sounded like bones. Going Deeper into the forest...

🔪and there you were. Crouched over the bodies of what seemed like a deer hybrid family. You didn't seem to notice him, happily chewing and tearing at the flesh underneath you. Blood spewing out onto the dirt floor, he swore he could see a little twitch from the mother's hand. Their bones bent in unnatural places and the gashes on their bodies lethal. He slowly approached, standing over you

"there you are.. where have you gone..? you had me so worried honey..."

🔪 you simply stared up at him, licking your bloody lips and dropping the arm you were chewing on. He could feel himself get hard at the sight. Weirdo. Ignoring the corpses next to him, he set down his gun and kissed you softly. Wiping the rest of the blood off you with his shirt. He learns quickly that once you've eaten meat, you don't need to eat it for a good while. Expect him to hunt down his fellow hybrids for you in the near future. After all, what kind of husband would he be if he kept neglecting your needs?

[cxffecoupx]

asking to place lipstick marks on 'it'

seventeen x reader 18+, nsfw, svt down bad warnings: suggestive content, love making wc: 1.0k author's notes: such a CRAZYY thought to have, so i decided to do it :) but i cant believe it took me this long to finish writing this (read: uni is kicking my ass). anyways, wouldn't say i'm very satisfied with it, but i really hope you guys like it!! also, special thanks to @simpxxstan for giving me ideas for a few members

➼ choi seungcheol

very interested in the idea. would get so excited for this. would ask if he can select the shade of lipstick and runs to your dressing table when you agree. but most likely would end up buying a new set of lipsticks because the shade he wants 'is not there' (it's an excuse for him to buy you a new set). by the time you're able to finish your mission, you're over three rounds and he's a sweaty, moaning mess. neither of you sleep that night.

➼ yoon jeonghan

would become so smug when you suggest it?? like full on smirk on his face and just goes, "if you wanted me to fuck you, you could have just said that." but will eventually agree when he sees your boba eyes and gets excited seeing your excitement. will probably squirm and whimper because of the sensations at first, but the sex later on is crazy.

➼ hong jisoo

confused eyes. looks so adorable you end up smushing his face and kissing his lips in fondness. man is actually so clueless at first, but then ever more confused when he realizes what you meant. becomes beet red until you promise him it's just for fun and not necessary until he's okay with it, hearing which he quickly agrees cause if you're gonna have fun, why would he not indulge you? would become so adorably shy when he sees the result. makes you cum with just his fingers and mouth as thank you.

➼ moon junhui

mindblown by your idea. becomes so excited; it's like a child waiting for candy. so endeared by you that he ends up making you smooch all over his face. then he starts kissing all over your face. the lipstick marks meant for his dick end up on your faces, but neither of you could be happier than at this moment. slowly turns into a gentle love making session.

➼ kwon soonyoung

you ask him in a very usual way, but it's only after he accepts that you realize this is a great opportunity to tease him. asks if he can record it (because he's very amused by this idea) and searches for the perfect lighting and angle while you prepare. thinks he's so prepared for it, but starts shaking and pleading the moment you start kitty licking his tip. by the time you're finished, he's panting and wanting for more.

➼ jeon wonwoo

you ask him while he was gaming; he leaves the game so fast you wonder what went wrong. but then he goes and picks up a random shade of lipstick and pulls you in between his knees as he manspreads on his gaming chair. holds your hair as you work on him. hours later, the lipstick and your clothes lie forgotten by the bed.

➼ lee jihoon

wants this whole event to occur in his studio. literally agrees when you offer to come to the studio for it. he'd be acting so nonchalant but you can clearly hear his heart racing in his chest and his ears going red. also likely to voice record the whole thing with your consent to use as 'inspiration' later (will use it to get off during desperate times).

➼ lee seokmin

another one who'd get red. very shy. "woah where do you even get ideas like these?" as he goes wide-eyed and still manspreads on the couch to invite you in. goes weak in his knees when he sees you make eye contact with him as you look up from between his knees wearing a shade he considers sexy. you have to abort the mission because he ends up pushing your face few many times.

➼ kim mingyu

GIGGLY MESS. you don't understand what he's been giggling about ever since you proposed the idea, but you're currently down on your knees in front of his naked body and he just cant stop giggling??? when you ask him about it though, he says he's way too endeared by this whole task and wants you to kiss every inch of his body. so, an hour or so later, you're panting, straddling a happy mingyu who's entire body is covered with lipstick stains. time to make a new folder in your gallery.

➼ xu minghao

lowkey becomes concerned about you. he already suspected you were upto something when you approached him with a cheeky smile, but he never thought it'd be this... wild? almost instantly rejects until he sees you get down and look at him with such hopeful eyes that he cant resist. still finds it weird as you mark him, but gladly indulges you. takes photos of it (without you knowing,,, or so he thinks) because you are the artist, and he ends up liking the art a little too much.

➼ boo seungkwan

lowkey judges you first, before highkey agreeing to it. it's one of the "how dare you make stupid decisions and do them without me" moments. judgmental most of the time: "is that the shade you're choosing? it doesnt look good on my skin tone," "the lip shapes arent perfect, pucker them a little more," etc etc. after lots of advice and nagging, you finally finish the job. you get up with a satisfied smirk as you look at his pretty pink cock and his spent form.

➼ chwe vernon

deeply contemplates it. quickly nods when you say, "it's for the art" and asks for some time. leaves. comes back saying "okay, let's do it." when you ask him where he went, he goes "i had to be clean and ready." waits for you to prep for it, but almost cums then and there when he sees you naked, wearing only his favourite shade of lipstick. by the time you could finish the task, he's lost all his marbles and begs you to ride him. finishes with his cum painting your chest and stomach.

➼ lee chan

turns red as a tomato. one moment you suggest the idea, the next he has to physically pull his head outta the gutter because his thoughts escalated into something else. and no matter how hard he tries to deny that he was indeed having very mature thoughts, the blush creeping to his cheeks screams the truth. asks somewhere in between if he can mark your chest with his lipstick marks, and honestly? who are you to resist? by the end of the night, he's spent and at your mercy and you havent yet completed the task.

[literaila]

hey v ! what about peter and reader getting ready to go somewhere and after reader puts on some red lipstick peter can't stop kissing her ?

lipstick

warnings: ugh, peter

*

“how many times have you done that?”

peter is standing behind you, leaning against the wall, probably ruining your focus, or your makeup, or your sanity. he’s probably staring just to mess with you.

you refrain from smiling in the mirror. wipe a smudge with your nail. “i don’t know, peter,” you meet his eyes, and his nefarious smirk. “how many times have you watched me do it?”

“i got lost somewhere around the first time.”

you laugh at him, crumbling the napkin you’ve been using, now filled with kiss marks, and turning it around so you can throw it at peter. “are you sick?” you ask him.

instead of answering, he licks his lip and unfolds the napkin, staring at the red marks, creases and tireless efforts arranged in a messy pattern. “this is like art.”

“why are you acting like you’ve never seen anyone wear lipstick before?”

“what?” he asks, hand to his chest. “i cant watch you get ready? i’m banned from being in the bathroom when you are?”

“yes, and yes.”

it does not escape your notice when peter tucks the napkin into his pocket for safekeeping.

he shrugs. “i don’t mind breaking the rules.”

you scoff at him and pat his shoulder as you walk past him through the doorway. “i would’ve locked you out if i knew you were going to be weird about it.”

“weird? how am i being weird?”

“you were lurking. you’re still lurking.”

“i’m talking to my girlfriend. that’s part of our contract.”

“you’re following me.”

peter smiles. “well, i like you.”

you roll your eyes, almost—almost—smiling when you feel his arms wrap around your waist. “please don’t make me argue about your stalker like tendencies.”

“we don’t have to argue,” peter says, kissing the space beneath your ear. his breath is hot.

“i need to put my shoes on, peter.”

he smiles, his teeth clashing against your skin like a dreadful reminder. some type of jumpscare—minus the fact that you merely lean into him, sans jumping. “we can spare fifteen minutes.”

“how can you be thinking about anything besides the fact that we’re already late to meet may?”

he nibbles on the skin by your collarbone, then licks it, as reprieve. “it must be the lipstick.”

“you’ve literally seen me with lipstick before. i wore some on our first date.”

“‘s probably why i like it so much.”

his lips are needy as they crawl around your skin. his hands are stationary, but they pose their own threat as they lurk.

“peter, we have to go.”

“i’m not known for my punctuality,” he spins you around, his lips curled in mischief, “you know.”

“i’m aware.”

you refuse to indulge him. your brows furrow, your hands held in the air—just so you can avoid accidentally touching him. purposefully.

“then why are you so worried?” peter asks, kissing your cheek.

“i’m not kissing you,” you say, instead of answering.

“you’re not?” peter pouts like a child. he is far too grown.

“no.”

“how come?”

you try to pull away from him, but, shockingly, peter is stronger than you are. your will is weak. “you’re going to smudge my lipstick. i just finished.”

“you have more, don’t you?”

“not the point.”

“what?” he asks, his voice so serious and teasing. “you don’t want to kiss me?”

“no, i do not.”

you look away from him, admiring a wall that has always been there.

“are you sure?” peter asks, ducking so he can catch your eyes again, because he is nothing if not cruel.

you break, pouting. “peter,” you whine, “we’re not going to be late again.”

“i think we are.”

“you can kiss me when we get home later,” you promise, trying again to wiggle out of his grasp.

“that is a terrible compromise.”

“you won’t compromise,” you snap back. “what else am i supposed to do?”

peter grins, tilting his head. “okay. i have an idea. how about i kiss you, and then we leave? you don’t even have to kiss back, even though we’d both prefer it that way.”

“i’ll kiss you,” you mock him. “you’re the worst negotiator i’ve ever met.”

“then how come we haven’t left yet?”

you scowl at him, and he scowls back, but his eyes are alight.

your skin is ravenous with an ache to touch him, he’s so close that kissing him would be nothing—merely breathing, really—but you don’t want to lose this game to peter. and you dont want him to stop looking at you.

he pretends to check a watch. “hmm, it’s getting awfully late.”

“are you british all of the sudden?”

peter grins, biting his lip before he tries to bite you. you lean away. “if you like my accent, all you have to do is say so.”

“i like it when you get out of my way, and stop trying to sabotage me. i like that a lot.”

“no clue what you mean, dear.”

you roll your eyes and manage to cross your arms in his hold.

“i wonder how we could solve this,” peter muses, tapping his finger on your waist. “it’s a big problem.”

“i could leave you behind and have lunch with may myself.”

“that’s one option.”

you roll your eyes again.

“i was thinking something else, though,” peter says, and he’s closer now, but you’re sure that you never saw him move. “something more… proactive.”

“shove it, peter.”

“you don’t even want to hear it?”

you sigh, leaning your chest into him, out of pure delusion. “fine. what?”

peter smiles at you, eyes catching eyes.

the look on his face is soft, delirious. he’s got that look in his eyes, and that smile on his face, and he’s still staring at you like he’s mesmerized by whatever you’re doing.

“what?” you repeat, but softly, like you can’t find your voice in the chest cavity peters taken hold of.

“kiss me,” he says, softly, and it’s really not your fault that his lips are already brushing yours.

and it’s not your fault when you lean in, sighing in relief at the mere feel of him.

you’re almost breathless, from the tiniest of kisses.

but then you kiss peter again, and again, and your hands finally wrap around him—keeping hold of something real in this fake reality—and your voice isn’t your own when you groan at peter for making you do this.

you have evacuated your body. you have lost common sense.

but it doesn’t matter, because kissing peter has always made you forget all of that.

and it still does, when he pulls back, grinning like he’s won. “see?” he says, voice ragged. “it was simple.”

“we’re going to be late and it’s your fault.”

peter laughs, kissing you again, staring at your red lips. “gladly. i’ll take all the blame.”

“and you’re making it up to me later.”

“whatever you say,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

he releases you and watches as you finally put on your shoes.

you don’t think it necessary to mention the red marks on his lips. it’s not like it’s your fault they’re there.

*

[carisisrolledupsleeves]

“there is no way anyone is that innocent” with sonny? also can you include overstim + multiple orgasms for reader? thank you!! ❤️❤️❤️

..........

ooops this turned out to be really long hehe but i hope you like it! thanks for the request!

It’s been years since you had seen Sonny. After college, you had left to study abroad, and ended up staying. You had met someone, and had started your first serious relationship. Apart from visiting for Christmas, you had not been back home. 

But the break-up had been horrendous and so you packed up your stuff and returned to New York, to the comfort of your loved ones, to lick your wounds. 

The occasion was less than ideal. Your sister’s nuptials. For her sake, you kept a brave face, did everything to help her with the fairytale wedding she had always dreamed of. Your family being devout catholics as well as Italian, it had to be proper and perfect down to the smallest detail. 

And it ended up being exactly that. Although Sonny’s presence, and the fact that he looked incredibly handsome in his suit, was threatening to distract you for the entire ceremony. The priest hadn’t even gotten to the opening prayer yet and your eyes wandered, meeting his gaze as you stood by your sister’s side. He smiled in a way that made you blush, and remember all the things you had done with each other as teenagers, things your parents would probably disown you for if they ever found out. 

Following the ceremony, you had been too busy to even sit down, let alone think further about the way his lips had lingered on your upper jaw as he had kissed you on the cheek. Or the way he had whispered ‘You look so beautiful’ before your aunt pulled you away towards the car waiting to take you to the estate your family had booked for the celebrations.

But now that most of the formalities are over and the guests are eating, drinking, and dancing, you have snuck away to take some much needed drags from your vape pen, the kind filled with something other than nicotine. 

‘If you don’t share, I’ll tell.’ a male voice says behind you and you smile, turning around to see Sonny.

He looks even sexier now. He had lost the tie, and his shirt is unbuttoned just right, a bit of chest hair is peeking out. His hair no longer in its perfectly gelled state, having played with the kids in attendance all afternoon, giving countless of piggy-back rides. You catch yourself staring once more. 

‘Our parents would literally kill us.’ you hand him the vape.

‘Our parents would kill us for a lot of things, even fifteen years later.’ Sonny smirks as he takes a drag.

‘I’ll just say you seduced me.’ you shrug, reveling in the way he flirts with you.

‘And now? Seems you’re the one seducing me.’ he waves the pen at you and you snatch it from his hand.

‘I would never. All the naughty stuff? You taught me. I’d probably still be a virgin if it wasn’t for you, Sonny.’ you joke and he laughs out loud. 

‘Ohhhhh. Right. So that ex-boyfriend of yours was gonna wait ‘til marriage, huh?’ Sonny chuckles and you continue to tease.

‘Hmmm. Now I’m almost thirty and single and no one wants me because you ruined me.’ 

Sonny steps closer. ‘I want you.’ he whispers. ‘I’ve always wanted you.’

You take a deep breath. He isn’t joking around any longer. And the smug grin disappears from your face as you take in the serious implications of his words, and his actions as he lifts his hand to cup your cheek, your lips suddenly only inches apart. 

‘Sonny, I-’ you’re about to lean in when someone shouts your name. It’s your mom. Fuck. 

He sighs as you pull away, and you give him an apologetic look as you rush back towards the wedding party before your mother catches you with him, and the weed. Adult or not, you’re still a child and probably always will be when it comes to your parents, especially as the youngest daughter. 

You hate to leave him, the urge to be near him even more compelling now after his confession. There’s always been something between you. Yes, you had been kids back then; exploring, being curious, with a decent amount of teenage rebellion on top of it. Still, you would have never done this with just any boy. Sonny and you had always been each other’s first crushes, and there had always been a level of trust and intimacy with him you had not been able to find with anyone that came after. The joking, the teasing, even now it seemed you picked up right where you had left off. 

Being the younger sister of the bride aka running the errands and doing the things the maid of honor is too important to do, you are sent to get the lash glue they forgot in your room earlier. As you rummage through the mess you left behind when getting ready, there’s a knock on the door. 

‘Ugh, hang on!’ you grumble, opening this and that bag to search.

Another knock. God, fake lashes falling off can’t be that much of an emergency. 

‘Wait!’ you yell, getting annoyed.

‘Waited long enough.’ you hear Sonny’s voice say outside the door.

Oh. Oh. You drop the makeup bag back on the table and more or less leap for the door. The moment you open it, Sonny pushes into the room, pressing a heated kiss onto your lips, and you wrap your arms around his neck. You aren’t even surprised that he followed you, and that this is happening right now. In all honesty, you had hoped for it, even dreamed about it, from the second you found out he was coming to the wedding. Now, as his hands wander over your body, it’s more than obvious that he had been too. Reaching back behind him between kisses, you lock the door, and he smiles against your lips. 

‘Hmmm, guess I was right.’ he mumbles, his voice low.

‘Right about what?’ you ask sheepishly, pushing his suit jacket off his shoulders. 

‘That there’s no way anyone is that innocent.’ Sonny starts fumbling with the zipper of your dress and you turn around, making it easier for him. 

‘What do you mean? I’m a good catholic girl.’ his warm hands glide down your back as he pulls it down, revealing your dark red lace underwear. 

‘Good catholic girl, huh?’ his fingers trace along the fabric, underneath the waistband of your thong, pulling it before letting it snap back. ‘Did you put this on hoping I would take it off? I know you did. So innocent.’ 

You turn back to face him, your dress falling to the floor. Sonny draws in a sharp breath, taking in the sight of you, and you can feel the heat spreading throughout your entire body. The look in his eyes is a mixture of that boyish gleam of anticipation and the confidence of a man who knows exactly what he wants.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ you taunt, making him laugh, but you kiss him again, with more force this time, turning his laugh into a moan. 

Truth is, nothing has ever been innocent about you when it came to him. And yet it feels so different now that you aren’t kids anymore. Even with your ex you hadn’t felt like this. It does scare you, even though it excites you at the same time. You start unbuttoning his shirt, your hands on his body like magnets, discovering just how much he has grown from an awkward, lanky boy into a man. Not that you didn’t love the awkward, lanky boy just as much. 

Your fingers wrap around his erection as your hands reach down his pants and he hisses, walking you backwards to the bed, unhooking your bra in the process. 

‘I really…have no idea…what you’re talking about.’ you repeat as you begin to pump him, endlessly thrilled by how you can already feel him leaking pre-cum, and dying to have him inside you. 

But it seems Sonny has other plans. Pushing you down on the mattress he forces you to withdraw from him, and he gets down on his knees, pulling your hips toward him, and all of a sudden his face is merely inches away from your lace-covered center. He’s so close you can feel his breath, making you shiver. 

‘Lie down.’ Sonny orders softly and you do as he asks. ‘Good girl.’ he whispers in response, and you just about soak your panties at his words.

Not that it matters, since he grabs the piece of clothing and pulls them off with one swift motion, tossing them aside. And there you are now, naked on the bed in front of him, and his long fingers slip over your clit, down your folds, playing with your wetness. Your moan is louder than you had anticipated as it leaves your mouth, and your body trembles at the prospect of what’s to come. You look down at him as Sonny spreads your legs open, his eyes staring into yours as his tongue darts out to taste you.

‘Fuck baby, you taste even more delicious than I remember.’ he purrs, again letting his tongue roll over your pussy, again making you moan. 

‘Sonny…oh my God!’ you whimper, and he grabs your thighs, settling between your legs. 

You nearly pass out. All you can do is lie there and hold on to the sheets as his adept mouth continues to work on your cunt. His tongue delves into you, drawing more slick, fucking into you softly before he’s back on your clit, and you can feel him spread your lips some more to get better access. Applying just the right amount of pressure he massages your nub, and you can’t help but reach down to run your fingers through his hair, pulling ever so slightly as he makes you shudder with every flick of his tongue. 

‘Mmm I could spend all day between your legs. I missed you.’ he groans, and you can hear his own arousal in his voice.    

You swallow hard, your pulse quickening as he keeps going, sucking on your clit while he plunges two fingers into you. 

‘Ugh, shit! Sonny! Please…’ you beg, arching your back as he starts pumping his fingers in and out, curling over your gspot.

‘What, my love?’ he asks, looking up at you curiously but you know he knows what it is you want.

‘Please…’ your voice getting more and more shaky as he picks up the pace.

‘Please, what?’ Sonny grins, licking your slit up and down, his face already wet with your juices. Oh, what a sight.

‘Please, fuck me.’ your flushed face turning even more red. You’ve never said this to a man out loud. 

‘I’m not done here yet. Not by a long shot. You gotta be patient. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?’ Sonny mumbles, his fingers pulling back a little to toy with your wet opening before shoving them back in, making you cry out in pleasure. 

You’re getting close. And you know he can feel it, in the way you grip at his hair, in the way you grind yourself against him, in the way you can’t help but clench around his fingers. 

‘It f-feels so g-good, Sonny.’ you breathe, as he mouths at your pussy, his tongue flat against you, licking from bottom to top, seemingly not getting enough of your taste. 

His fingers fuck into you harder and faster, as he focuses on your most sensitive spots. The feeling of his tongue on you paired with his pretty moans, the way he is getting so much pleasure from satisfying you, it’s all too much. You can feel the wave rolling in, your thighs beginning to shake. He had given you your first orgasm ever, and it had been so unexpected, you’d had no idea what was happening. Even the ones after had taken you by surprise, and you had mostly been shy about it. For some reason, you had always held back, especially with your other lovers, or they just hadn’t been as good at getting you there. Now back with Sonny, it was different. You are losing control and truth be told, you don’t know if you’re ready for it. 

However, you can’t stop it. The spring that’s been coiling tightly in your stomach from the second he started touching you, releases and you shake, trying your best to stifle a loud moan. You whimper and attempt to get away from Sonny’s mouth, his fingers that are still sliding in and out of you. It’s too much. It’s all too much. You sigh and finally push him away, closing your legs as you shiver. 

‘Hey…’ he exhales softly, grabbing your waist as you look at him shyly. ‘What’s that?’

‘Nothing…I just…can we just…’ you stammer, slightly overwhelmed. He looks at you confused. 

‘Oh, no. Wait. We gotta try this again. And this time you gotta relax.’ he slips his hand back between your legs, and you want to protest, being so sensitive after your climax.

He starts rubbing your clit again and you can’t help but open your legs once more, giving him access. Sonny is back on you, his tongue licking up your first release, and within seconds he is eliciting another. You close your eyes and your hands grab the sheets for hold, feeling yourself topple over again. It’s even more intense this time, your pussy and clit still swollen from your previous orgasm, having been denied to even come down from it. You spasm around his fingers again, your back arching, and this time, his name escapes your mouth in a moan, and he watches you intently as you ride out those waves of pleasure. 

But no, he still doesn’t withdraw his fingers.

‘Again.’ he whispers, circling your clit, pressing his fingers into your glistening heat as he spreads your thighs wider, and you feel like blacking out. ‘Let go, my love. Don’t think of anything else.’ 

You come. Again. And even if you tried to think of anything, you can’t. His free hand holds down your hips as your third climax crashes over you with a gush and it’s only then he pulls out of you, letting your pussy convulse and release a stream of moisture. Fuck. You don’t know what is happening but his mouth is on you again, tasting every last drop coming out of you, sloppily licking up and down your folds.

‘Good girl. Making such a pretty mess for me.’ he praises, and it finally registers in your brain. He had just made you squirt. And that definitely hadn’t happened to you before. Ever. 

‘Sonny, what the fuck?’ you choke, almost breathlessly. 

‘Language!’ he smiles as he gets rid of his pants and underwear, finally crawling up, kissing you deeply as he grabs your hips. 

The taste of you on his lips makes you even more delirious as he thrusts into you, his cock feeling bigger than ever in your overstimulated core. You whine, and you’re already starting to bliss out, again. Sonny is close just from eating you out, you can tell but he’s holding back, burying himself inside you while his thumb finds your clit. 

‘I love seeing you cum.’ he growls into your ear before his lips capture yours once more. 

And yes, you come again. There really is no point of holding back any longer. You fully give yourself over to him, and this blinding ecstasy. He really seems to revel in it, and now that he is inside of you, it is even more intense. Sonny gasps as you squeeze him, your walls beginning to spasm, making it almost difficult to pump into you. You claw at his back, rolling your hips against his as you moan a string of curse words at which he grins. 

‘You gotta stop.’ you cry, as he picks up the pace, pounding into your delicate pussy.

‘I’m not done with you.’ Sonny smirks, biting at your neck as you keep scratching and digging your nails into him.

Oh God. Good Lord. You can’t even think straight anymore. You have lost count of your orgasms, not that it matters because he seems to want to make you come as many times as possible until he can no longer hold back himself. Arching your back you meet his rough thrusts, feeling him smile against your lips as he kisses you passionately. His thumb hasn’t left your clit, keeping pressure there, rubbing to intensify your pleasure if that’s even humanly possible. You are on another plane. You might as well be on another planet. You have lost all sense of time and space, the only things to exist are Sonny and you. With each thrust, his cock hits your gspot in the most delightful way, and your body begins to curl in on itself, pussy throbbing and clenching around him. 

‘I love it when I can feel you burst around me.’ he groans, sending you over the edge to another orgasm. 

‘S-Sonny! Jesus fucking Christ!’ you scream, pressing your head back into the mattress as you desperately cling to him, shaking.

Sonny grins at your profanities; he has you exactly where he wanted you -  completely undone. He pushes up your legs, positioning them over his shoulders, fucking into you, even deeper than before. 

‘Fuck, baby, fuck, you’re so wet! Fuck!’ he’s close now, you can feel it. 

‘I want you to cum inside me.’ you purr into his ear, your words driving him crazy.

He growls, ramming into you as he plays with your clit. You know he’s going to make you come again but you want to hold back, want to feel him come with you. Crying out his name you hold on to him, purposely clenching your walls to squeeze him and he bites your lip in response, the slight pain adding to your pleasure even more. Just as you feel yourself topple over again he tenses, and as your pussy pulses, pulling him in even deeper, he finally lets go, spilling inside of you. He moans your name, pumping his cum into you, the sensation too much for your overwrought cunt. You can’t stop shaking, and he’s hugging you tightly, the two of you collapsing together. 

You don’t know how long you stay like this, breathing heavily, your bodies tangled in soaked sheets. Messy, crazy, wild, out of control; just how sex is supposed to be, and it took you reuniting with your first true love to unleash this feral side of you. 

‘What are you thinking about?’ Sonny asks, pushing back a strand of hair from your face.

‘That you were my first. And you should be my last. Because fuck, I don’t think anyone will ever make me cum like this ever again.’ you smile, kissing him.

‘Well…that was my plan all along, I’m glad I succeeded.’ he admits, pulling you even closer.

request a prompt from the smut prompt list 🔥

[sytoran]

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒 || mdg pt. 5

timelines and lifelines have torn you and natasha apart, but the two of you are bound by the child you have created. though subjected to earth, loki, god of mischief, dangles the possibility of a future with natasha by making you a god.

pairing: goddess!natasha x mortal!reader (not for long)

note: this is the 5th installment to the goddess!nat universe, as per the 4k celebration! please read the other parts first if you haven't already. this part contains depictions of violence. this series is 18+ only.

word count: 1.8k

series m.list | main m.list | AO3

Previously…

Your relationship with the Goddess of Lust, Natasha Romanoff, comes to a screeching halt. Torn apart by timelines and lifelines, you’re not coping well, and neither is Natasha — especially when she finds out she’s pregnant with your child.

On the other side of the universe, Loki, God of Mischief, breaks into your apartment to offer you a deal. Worse still, he eats your leftover pizza.

Now…

When you come back to consciousness, you feel like you’re floating. Not in the whimsical, psychedelic cocaine-induced way, but in the Help-I’m-Physically-Suspended-In-The-Air way. 

And it is true, much to your demise, because despite the fruitful hours of work spent in the gym, your arms and back can’t quite handle the excruciating pain of being strung taut like a rope.

Against the will of every screaming cell in your existence for you to fall the fuck back asleep, you forcefully sit up and open your eyes.

It takes about two seconds for the headache-worthy hangover to sink in, and three seconds for you to regret every godforsaken decision you had made the night prior.

Last night- oh, fuck. Last Friday night. 

(No, this isn’t going to entail a radio pop song with a curly black-haired Katy Perry, because the only curly black-haired one in this story is the God of Mischief himself. Both equally as sassy, but expounding on that would fracture the entirety of the space-time continuum.)

“Oh, you’re awake.” 

Speaking of the devil (quite literally), Loki forces you to bring your blurry gaze up to the cocky expression painting his angular face.

“Fuck you,” you spit, dry and hoarse, memories surging through your teetering consciousness. All you were aware of was the mother of your problems was the man himself.

Now, you were suspended like a puppet in your very own living room, strings of golden magic encircling your body, keeping you stretched to the edge of insurmountable agony.

“Funny,” Loki says dryly, eyes raking over your pathetic form. “That’s exactly what you said last night that put you in this position.”

You would’ve laughed, truly, if not for the ache in your ribs and your back and your– you get the point. “You offered me a proposition,” you comment, licking your cracked lips with distaste. 

“And you said ‘fuck you’ and threw up three bottles worth of alcohol on my ridiculously expensive snake-scaled shoes before promptly passing out from your hissy fit of a heartbreak.”

“Deserved.”

“I will hang you upside down.”

You roll your eyes – however much you can roll them in this position. “You gave me an offer. That means that I had a say in this, and I certainly did not consent to take part in this BDSM-worthy fantasy of yours.”

Loki scoffs at this, shifting in his seat. Your seat, actually, his black robes draped over your armchair like it belonged to him. 

“My sex life is none of your business, and more than often entails men,” Loki begins, putting a finger up. “The only reason I’m taking interest in a hopelessly lovesick woman-lover is because you have something that I want.”

You exhale roughly, lungs and ribs screaming in protest. You weren’t of a godly status by any means, but based on his identity and the fact that a God was lurking around Earth, you were competent enough to figure out what he wanted.

“You wanna get back to the land of the Gods,” you state, eyes narrowing in seriousness. “Like me, you’ve done some shit that made SHIELD put a target on your back. Except it’s ten times worse, considering you’re a God. That’s why you’re here. What you want is connections, because I have – I had – a relationship with Natasha Romanoff.”

Natasha.

It pains you, to even put it in the past tense, that what you had with Natasha would only ever be history.

“Oh wow,” Loki responds, acting shocked. “There’s actually more to you than this himbo attitude you exude.”

You don’t give him the pleasure of a response to his provoking, despite your incessant need to sucker-punch that face of his. But uncovering his plan has that layer of composure slipping, for a second, and you delight in it for what it’s worth.

"Put me down first," you say instead through gritted teeth, looking up with a ferocious glint in your eyes.

"Say yes first," Loki answers promptly, folding his arms over his chest with a self-satisfied grin.

"Put me down and or I won't consider your absurd request," you try again, a wracking cough making your stomach lurch in pain.

"Funny you think you're in a position of power," the arrogant god taunts. "Who's to say I won't torture you to the brink of death until I get what I want?"

"...Who's to say I'd eventually break?" you say finally, narrowing your gaze. You sure as hell were scared as fuck, but you had to survive. "Threats only work on people who've got something to lose. I'm forbidden from ever seeing the love of my life again – I've got nothing to lose, y'know? No amount of torture will get you what you want."

Your little speech of sorts, delivered with an unwavering tone despite the pain coursing through your body, plays out perfectly. Loki's gaze is unreadable as he contemplates upon your counter-proposition.

Unceremoniously, you're dropped to the ground, hitting reality with a grunt of pain. “Shit,” you wheeze, clutching at your ribs with sore wrists. “Warn a girl, man.”

Loki waves you off dismissively. “The pain won’t matter anymore.”

“Wait,” you struggle to say, reaching out to nothingness as the man closes his eyes and raises his hands to the lands you once roamed.

It’s only then that you realise you’re surrounded by candles, so many candles. You’re in the center of some kind of ritual board, and what you assume are ‘offerings’ circle you.

From skulls to black flames, you know something is wrong. Very wrong. Loki is muttering incantations under his breath, a language beyond your human tongue, and the pressure in your room rises to an extent that forces you downwards.

“What,” you ask, exhaling roughly against your cracked ribs. “What kind of God am I going to become?”

Your question goes unanswered, lost in the swirling black flames that surround you. Loki’s eyes open again, and this time they are completely black. He begins a chant, crafted from an inhuman tongue, a language you’d never heard before.

That’s when the pain starts.

You scream, brain waves throbbing, a loud ringing sound echoing in your ears. Psychedelia takes over your conscience, producing images all around you, dark and distorted and everything you thought you’d buried.

“ибяѓюгэю юдякиэҁ, эиѫч ҩ рэд.”

Unbridled darkness, enemy of peace.

Natasha’s face is at the forefront of your mind, unblemished and happy and everything you’d ever wanted. You reach out, spluttering and breathless, trying to grasp that wistful memory like it’d materialize in front of you, like she could ever be yours.

“бцэт юҩщи ҩцядрҩи дю ғдг ҩця ҩиэҁ.”

Put down your weapons and fall to your knees.

Her face gets shattered into smithereens, scattered throughout the dark swirls of your mind, overtaken by shadows. Horrifying screams and flashes of a graveyard overwhelm you, and you yell through the misery for the love of your life.

“тҩ фэн тнэ юэҁѓяэ ҩғ џэиəэдисэ lə'”

To quench the desires of vengeance and rage.

Fury slugs through you, as you crawl away from cold hands that pull you back. “No!” You yell, but your voice is not yours anymore. The only thing to describe what you feel is chaos, darkness creeping in from the shadows, a slithering worm into your ear, a rotting carcass and the stench of carrion.

“ҩҁэ бҩиэҁ сдҁт ҩғ ҁсчнэҁ дию бдюэҁ.”

To see bones cast of scythes and blades.

The world snaps from reality, and you get flung into a different dimension. This place you’re trapped in is unfamiliar. You’re standing on a pile of dead human bodies, and there are ghouls and demons cheering your name. Blackness seeps through your veins, infiltrating your mindwires. 

“Revenge,” you spit, a devilish noise, and the cheers rise again.

You scream, as black wings tear through your back, ripping your collared shirt and spreading towards the sky. You launch from the depths of whatever hellhole that may have been, an inhuman screech echoing around the void, soaring towards the heavens in search of the one you’d lost.

“ҩѫэҩя, гдск-щѓəэю юэџѓг, эт ндҁ иғцяг”

Come forth, black-winged devil, let chaos unfurl

Upon descending on holy ground, unfamiliar faces intrude into your mind, prominent and unmistaken. Backlogged information begs its worth — God of Thunder. Goddess of Magic. God of Science. God of Justice. 

Then one word rings above all, high and mighty, and the darkness of your mind clears to reveal the people that had taken your Natasha away.

SHIELD.

“энҩгю яҩѫ нэг, ҩю ҩғнэ Циюэящҩягю.”

Behold from hell, Ruler of the Underworld.

Reality drives into your side like a thousand semi-trucks, bright and flashing, and then you’re back in your living room. You stay on the ground, all-fours, spluttering and gasping for air. 

Natasha.

Black wings flap behind you, resplendent and marvelous. Those had been real.

Arising from the ground, gone is the fear in your eyes. No more shreds of hope. No more sense of justice. Your blackened eyes burn red, searching for Loki. He stands in the corner of the room, and he seems so much smaller now, compared to you and your bloodlust.

“She was mine,” you growl, dangerously, fearsome and inhuman.

“She is yours,” The God of Mischief answers, marveling at his creation, for there was nothing that could stop you now.

***

“Rockabye baby on the treetop,” Natasha sings softly, a hand gently caressing the swell of her stomach. Colours sweep into galaxies as nightfall arrives, cloaking her land in gentle beauty.

“When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.” As if on cue, the wind gets a little chillier. Worry clouds Natasha’s face, edging in on her safe haven.

“When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall.” A holographic image of The God of Justice materializes before her eyes. It meant that it was an urgent message, from one God to the next.

“The SHIELD base is being attacked by an unknown force. We’re in grave danger,” Steve says, urgent and frantic. Screams and chaos can be heard in the background, and the God barely ducks a crashing marble pillar.

Natasha almost scoffs and switches off the image. The Gods had ignored her very existence ever since they had banished you, which was convenient in hiding her pregnancy, but at the same time rather annoying, now that they were begging for help.

That is, until Steve persisted further. “Natasha. This perpetrator has power beyond measure, dark power. It could even exceed Loki’s.”

“......What does this harbinger of hell want?” Natasha asks, steely eyes surveying her homeland.

“Natasha,” Steve repeats, weary eyes hooded with anxiety. “They’re looking for you.”

Down will come baby, cradle and fall.

so that happened.... any thoughts about our new and improved y/n, ruler of the underworld?? loki rlly stirred up a lot of shit huh

reblog or no y/n x natasha reunion

series m.list | main m.list | AO3

[pixiesfz]

cough syrup s.c x child reader!

apart of sunshine series!

plot: you get sick right before a big game

warning: sickness, appendicitis, vomiting, this is literally my experience when I got my appendix removed (I was 6)

You hadn't been feeling good since you got home from Kindergarten, your stomach hurt and your head was pounding, you hadn't even felt the need to eat your lunch Steph made you. You had never felt like this before.

You hadn't talked a lot to your friends or on the way home which was weird since you usually told Steph about your whole day and complained about the boys in your class.

You didn't like them.

"Did Jack annoy you today?"

"Hm" you grunted and Steph just nodded and furrowed her brows, you must be tired she thought.

You ran straight to your room when you got home, Calvin following you as you both sat on a bean bag.

Calvin seemed to know you didn't feel good as he licked your arm, sitting on your lap "Hi Calvy" you sniffled as the dog looked up at you.

Usually when you felt sick you told your mum but all she and all your aunties had been talking about for the last week were the 'conti' cup which you didn't know what it meant but you knew it had to do with her soccer career.

Lara used to talk about it sometimes, but she used a different word for it.

So you stayed quiet, a tear running down your eye every so often as you played with toys in your play house.

Steph noticed your quietness at home and got worried "Sunshine?" she called out to you and you quickly rubbed your eye and turned around with a soft smile "mummy?"

"Did someone say something to you at Kindergarten?" you shook your head "nope" you hummed and turned back to your doll house.

Steph sighed before walking over to you and bending down "you okay Sunshine?" she asked and you faltered, nodding your head quickly after.

Steph knew better.

"Sunshine what did I say about lying" she looked at you sternly before you looked down to your feet "to not do it" you mumbled and she nodded "exactly".

She placed her hand on your forehead before her eyes popped open "Sunshine your head is burning, are you sick?"

You nodded "head and tummy hurts"

"Why didn't you tell me? has it been hurting since Kindergarten?" Steph asked, panic setting in

"You have cunti cup tomorrow!"

Stephs eyes grew wider "Con-ti not..." she sighed "that."

Tears started to roll down your face, not bothering to act anymore "hurts" you whined "everything hurts!"

Steph nodded quickly picking you up "What hurts the most Sunshine?" Steph asked and you pointed to the right end of your stomach

Steph nodded, blowing out air.

She never liked seeing you in pain, and you were really in pain.

"Can I touch it?" Steph asked and you wiped away your tears and nodded.

You let Steph lay you down on the couch, Calvin sitting nearby as she lightly laid her hands on your stomach

"wrong side mummy!"

Steph winced "right, sorry Sunshine" she apologized before moving to your right side, a scream leaving your lips when she applied pressure.

"Hurts" you yell and Steph wiped her forehead "I know honey, I know"

Steph stood up, panic thriving within her body, this wasn't just any stomach bug, should she call the hospital?, local doctors?, Mini?

"Your whines grew as you started to struggle to lay still "Mummy!" you cried as she left to grab her phone "Sunshine did you eat today?"

"Wasn't hungry" you grumbled, laying your hand out for Calvin, hoping he could distract you from the pain in your stomach.

Steph was quick, typing your symptoms into an app she had downloaded since she got you and winced when she saw the answer she begged it wouldn't be.

appendicitis.

Quickly she ran to your room, grabbing more comfortable clothes and a water bottle, running inside the house, lastly grabbing Calvin and putting him outside before grabbing you which you screamed at.

"Where we going?" You asked as tears rolled down your cheeks "We're seeing the doctor" (hospital, but she didn't want to freak you out) she replied and you clung onto her before she reached the car and sat you down in your seat.

She looked up to your tear covered face as she did the buckle "You will be okay Sunshine" she told you, wiping your cheeks before closing the door and running to the drivers seat.

Your whines didn't stop on the way and Steph almost started crying herself, her blood pressure dropping whenever your cries grew louder.

"I called the doctor and we get to go straight in Sunshine" she told you, her voice croaky.

You had become silent now and Steph didn't know if that was better or worse as she parked the car, running out to grab you and go to the front desk.

You had taken yourself out of reality, almost getting used to the pain as you looked around.

Must be a new doctors, you thought as Steph discussed with the lady on the chair before you were placed on an uncomfortable bed and taken to a white and blue room, some painted fishes on the side as well.

Tonight had been a long night.

A man came in with a metal circle thingy as he discussed with Steph, trying to talk to you but you were too scared.

You hadn't made a sound at all until he placed his circle on your stomach, a scream leaving your mouth as he pursed his lips and nodded.

"It's good you came now, before it burst" he informed your mum but you widened your eyes "what?" you ask

burst.

What did that mean.

Steph held your hand, squeezing it tight as the man left again, telling you he would be back quickly

"Sunshine?" Steph called for you as you turned your head, tears falling down "mummy?" you questioned, your voice breaking Steph's heart

"You're going to have a little surgery-" "Lara used to have surgeries!" You tried to get up as you yelled but Steph stopped you, you turned to her again seeing that she also had tears running down her face.

"It's not scary, trust me I've done his before, hey even Calvin's done this before" she said and you relaxed

If Calvin can do it so could you, if Lara did them, so could you.

The doctor came back in, some nurses behind him as they grabbed your bed again, wheeling to another room where the man held a plastic mask.

"Do you like chocolate y/n"?"

You nodded and Steph smiled "chocolates your favourite isn't it Sunshine" You smiled "I like chocolate Ice-cream" you said and the doctor and nurses smiled "this is just like chocolate the man said before passing Steph the mask.

"You trust me Sunshine?" she ask and you nodded, the woman putting the mask around your head as you tasted chocolate, a warm smile coming across your cheeks.

"What about your game?" You mumbled, starting to feel tired

"I'll be with you Sunshine."

When you woke up in your room you were surrounded by a lot of happy aunties with gifts in their hands.

"Did you win cunty cup?"

Steph didn't even bother correcting you this time, just happy you were feeling fine.

[webslingingslasher]

omg cherry is so real bc i always get nervous to kiss my bf even tho he’s literally my bf

i cant imagine that BUT WITH FRAT PETER. he’s so- AJCNDNDNNDD i’m not even a shy person but he would make me soooooooooooo red faced shy like🤭 why is he so fine

frat!peter asks cherry to kiss him all the time and that is a fact!!!!

--

'kiss me.' peter's stare is too intense, you glance to the ground, then to the kitchen cabinet behind him. peter inches the hem of your shirt up, his thumb teases the skin it finds.

'kiss me.' you peek at his face, he's got that kiddish smile that makes your stomach heavy and knees weak. you can't handle him, you feel hot all over. your silence is met with a sharp jerk of your hip, his palm holds you close.

'kiss me.' you can't look away, he's leaning in.

'kiss me.' a brush over your cheek, his words dance around the cusp of your ear, it's whispered for you only. 'kiss me, please?'

you'd do anything if he adds a breathy please at the end, you swallow harshly, 'okay.'

peter's happy, smiling in your face like you agreed to a sleepover. you wait for a second, oh, he wants you to initiate. you pull at his shoulder, you're not confident, you rest your hand on his, over your waist, it earns a raised eyebrow.

you pull away, how are you supposed to grab him?

'i know how to kiss you, so like, don't think i don't know what i'm doing.' it's half true.

'i didn't say anything. i'm waiting on my kiss.'

you tug at the side of his open jacket, the zipper presses into your palm. it works, you're simultaneously pulling him closer and down. you push up on your toes, peter licks his bottom lip while he stares at your mouth. 

you fall closer, peter’s just begging for one more inch. instead, he watches you hesitate. one day you’re going to be brave enough to just pull him in and lay one on him, one day you’re going to find him, sit on his lap and makeout with him until his vision goes spotty. 

today you need a little more help. and that’s what he’s here for. 

‘baby,’ it rolled off his tongue, he didn’t care to catch it either. ‘please kiss me.’ you melt, nodding and meeting him the rest of the way, peter doesn’t even get a second before you fall away from him. 

‘you had me begging and that's all i get?’ you avoid his eyes again, a half shrug. your back bounces off the counter, ‘if… if you think you can lift me up here i’ll do it again.’ peter wants to scoff, how dare you challenge his strength? 

you squeal on the take off, peter’s hands rest under your armpits while you’re raised up like a child, your thighs feel cold on the counter. it doesn’t last long, peter pushes your knees open before sliding between them, hands hooked under your thighs to pull you right to the edge. 

your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, peter’s right up on you and you really, really like it. 

‘i held up my end, where’s my kiss?’ you have better access, you wrap your arms around his neck and tug him closer, almost instinctively, your left hand pulls at his curls. peter’s about to ask you again, you beat him to the punch, lifting your head to meet his mouth.

peter’s bottom lip covers your top lip perfectly, you weren’t a kissing expert by any means but from the little experience you’ve had, peter blows everyone out of the water. kissing peter is like having an indefinite time limit, everything ceases to exist outside him when you’re in his hold.  

you wait, but peter’s not asking. you will, your mouth opens slightly, peter copies in an instant. your thighs clench when he lets out a groan, in return peter squeezes your knee.

 peter just learned you like his noises. 

[taintandviolent]

If you're still doing the drabbles could you please do one for Gambit/female reader with #40 please? Love your writing!

warnings: making out, feeling boners.... 'das it. // i'm sorry this is so late!!!

He’s out on a mission, and it’s been days, but your brain is flooded with thoughts of Remy Lebeau. You can’t stop thinking about him, about where he is, what he’s doing, who he’s with, and most importantly, what’s taking precedence in your mind, is when you’re going to be near him again. 

Why? Because, almost a week ago, he’d kissed you in the kitchen when no one else was around, and it was easily one of the best kisses you’ve ever experienced in your entire life. It was warm, smooth and deep, the kind of kiss that lingers, the kind of kiss that leaves you licking your lips like a child licking a sticky sweetness off of their lips. And yet, he hadn’t even used tongue. It was just that good.

It feels like an arduous task, but you somehow manage to focus on something else for a little while – a brief workout. The reprieve is short-lived because eventually, thoughts creep back in, and you’re left frustrated, trying to tame your hunger for that man. You throw the towel over your shoulder, and head down the hallway to your room. 

In a flurry of motion, his jacket flaring out behind him, Remy captures you in his arms. You hadn’t heard him or the others come back, so the surprise is evident on your face when he urges you back against the wall. 

“Well, hi.”

Your eyes sparkle as you stare at him, taking in the visuals of the man you’ve been literally dreaming about for days.

“I wanna’ taste you on my lips again, chere.”His mouth hovers over yours, like he’s asking for permission, even though he doesn’t have to. 

God, he never has to. You’re still pressed up against the wall, his body pinning you to it. You can feel the rigidness of his armor, the leather of his gloves as they trail up your bare arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

You nod and crush your mouth against his, hungrily. His tongue darts out, sweeping across your bottom lip swiftly. You open your mouth, granting him access and his tongue tangles with yours, tasting every inch of your mouth. You bring your hands to the side of his face, to pull him closer to you, but also just to feel him, to touch him. You tilt your head, deepening the kiss and he responds by doing the same, letting his hands wrap around your waist, fingers pressing into the small of your back. 

You don’t know what it is that you have with Remy Lebeau, but what you do know is that if he keeps kissing you the way he’s kissing you now, you’re going to lead him back to your room and lock the door. 

“You know how much I missed you?” He breaks the kiss, but his lips are still so close to yours, you can feel his hot breath rushing out over them. 

You shake your head. Remy’s hand finds yours, and tugs it over his groin, laying it over his hard, aching cock. The bulge that meets your hand is hot and begging for release, straining against the tight fabric. In a slow motion, he urges his hips tighter against your hand, and you grip it outside the fabric. 

Apprehensive, you toss a glance down the hallway, checking for anyone else. You two are alone for the time being. Gently, Remy pulls your face back to his, unhappy with your attention being elsewhere. His hand comes down atop yours, pressing your hand harder into his swelling dick. 

“Remy,” you murmur, looking at his face. “You don’t know how much I’ve been thinking about you… you don’t wanna’ know.” 

“Oh, cher… I think I do.”

[stansangel]

Summer Heat - pt. 2

Author's Note: Part 2 is here because pt. 1 did so well so I felt obligated. This was sm fun to write (traumatizing). Anyways enjoy this you freaks! ALSO! yes this longer than part 1, I got carried away, don't complain. Pairings: young adult!Stan Pines x Reader Warnings: SMUT! 18+! FREAKY DEAKY! p in v, pussy eating, fingering, cream pie, hickeys, hair pulling, cumming, anything else I forgot LITERALLY NOT CHILD FRIENDLY AT ALL. ALL THE PLOT WAS LEFT IN PART 1! (and if you do, I can't really stop you but don't hold me accountable if you do, I warned you) ONCE AGAIN. STAN AND READER ARE 21+ Word Count: 1,173 part 1

You looked into his eyes feeling a bit light headed from the kiss then watched as he calmly turned back to facing the road as the light turned green, continuing to drive like nothing happened. He keeps his hand on your thigh the whole way back to the house. The ride was silent apart from the hum of his engine and his tires raking against the road. When you finally reached his house he turned off the car and turned to face you. His hand began gently caressing your thigh as his other moved to cup the back of your head. He pushed your head closer to his and claimed your lips in his in another sweltering kiss. The hand on your thigh pushed its way in between your legs and began rubbing mindless shapes on your inner thigh. He continued to kiss you, licking your bottom lip hoping you’d allow him permission to slip the warm muscle into your mouth. You slightly parted your lips and felt as he intruded your mouth with his tongue. The hand between your legs moved up to toy with the hem of your bottoms. His fingers carefully broke the barrier between your clothing and your body. His hand slipped down into your panties and cupped your warm cunt which was already leaking arousal from his kissing. You rutted your hips trying to create friction between your cunt and his hand hoping to find some kind of relief for the ache between your legs. As soon as you made the move he pulled his hand out of your pants and pulled your hair back to release you from his mouth with a smirk on his face.

“Someone’s awfully needy, arentcha?” He asked.

You looked at him with glossy eyes filled with desperation. 

“Please…need it.” You pleaded.

“Use your words, doll.” He replied.

“Want you so bad, please.” You mumbled out.

He released your hair and wordlessly stepped out of the car coming over to open the passenger door for you.

“Come on princess, let’s go inside” He said while extending his hand out for you to take. You took his hand and he practically dragged you to his front door, fumbling with the lock and keys to get the door open. Once he finally opened it, he rushed you inside and closed the door, pinning you to it in a smooth action. Instantly his mouth was on your neck littering it in love marks as one hand pinned your wrists above your head and the other traveled back down your pants. He groaned, feeling your slick covering his fingers as he slid them through your folds. Your breath hitched at the feeling of his large fingers caressing your most sensitive region. He pulled away from your neck, removing your hand from his pants and guiding you to his bedroom. He laid you down on his bed and peppered kisses along your neck and collarbone as he began making work of your pants. He pulled away to look down at you now that your lower half was bare and caressed your thighs with his large hands. You could feel the roughness on them, a clear sign of the hard work he’s put in over the years. You removed your shirt as you wondered what he did that would leave him so muscular and rough. You were thrown out of your thoughts as you felt his tongue travel between your folds and you groaned at the sensation. His hands pinned your thighs down as he began tonguing your cunt, lapping at it with a desire you never experienced from a man before. His lips wrapped around your swollen nub and began sucking at it before swirling his tongue over it, sending electric pulses of pleasure straight to you. He continued his ministrations before slipping 2 fingers into your cavern and pumping them in and out. You mewled at the feeling, gaining closer to your release. You moaned and squirmed in his grasp as he never relented. Your walls clenched around him and he moved his mouth away from your clit, replacing it with his thumb as he continued pumping his fingers in you. “Ya gonna make a mess on me, yeah? Come on, doll, give it to me.” He said, smirking up at you You made eye contact with him and seeing his lust filled expression was all it took to push you over the edge. The coil in your tummy released and you saw stars as he guided you through your orgasm. He finally removed his fingers and began undressing as you came down from your high. He grabbed your hips and flipped you over, forcing your body into an arch as smack landed down on your ass, your skin rippling at the action. He lined himself up with your entrance and it was in that moment when you felt just how big he was. The head of his cock was thick and as he pushed in you felt how long he was as well. You and him moaned in unison as he bottomed out inside you. He leaned over you, chest pressing against your back as he stilled inside you letting you adjust to his intruding size. 

“Can I move princess?” He asked breathlessly, voice laced with desperation 

You practically moaned out, “Yes, please. I need it so bad.” At your confirmation he immediately started a feral pace, fucking you in almost an animalistic manner. His hands groped your body as he pounded into you. He began kissing and biting at your neck and shoulders, leaving harsh marks in his wake. He continued chasing his high trying to push you to your own again, you walls began to clench around him and he moved a hand under you to rub at your clit. 

“Come on baby, let it out, I’m so close, need ya to let go for me.” He said, quickening his pace.

You moaned underneath him feeling yourself come undone. You saw stars for the second time as he brought you to another orgasm. He continued rutting his hips into you as he chased your high. After a few minutes he released his seed into you. The warm liquid filling you and leaking out as he pulled out. He walked to the bathroom and got a wet towel as you laid breathlessly on his bed. He came back and cleaned you up before climbing into bed with you and pulling you to his chest. 

He kissed the top of your head, your cheeks, and your neck while gently caressing your body.

“So perfect for me, doll. You did so good.” He said, punctuating his sentence with a kiss to your forehead.

“Thank you..” You breathed out.

“Of course, doll, anything for my girl.” 

He held you close to him tracing mindless shapes on your arms as you relaxed in his arms.

“You’re my girl now, baby” He said gently

You nuzzled into his chest and smiled. You wanted nothing more than to be his girl.

[azrielsdove]

I literally had a dream about this last night and I had to get it out. 😬

Could I request Azriel x Rhysands sister Reader. Where her and Az have a one night stand and Reader becomes pregnant but she glamours her scent and goes to a healer for a tonic to get rid of it. She doesnt tell Azriel or Rhys because shes young and barely become of age for a fae, shes a princess and couldnt bring a bastard child into the high court and also Rhys would freak the fuck out and probably ban them both. Azriel somehow finds out finds out and that she wants to get rid of it and he begs and grovels for her to keep the babe but shes so so conflicted. Angst with whatever ending you'd like.

Side note: In my dream I don't know how it ended just that Rhys was newly appointed high lord and was under so much stress and was suuuper strict. And thats why I didnt tell him. I remember azriel stopping me outside of the healers and he just knew. Like serious spymaster look hovering above me cuz I was so much shorter than him and he was holding my arms telling me to keep it. 😩😩😩 I wish i would have remembered the baby making process tho. 🤣🤣🤣

Baby, My Baby: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Smut, angst, pregnancy + abortion talk, 18+

***

Your back slammed against the wall outside Rita’s, Azriel’s lips harsh against yours. You gripped onto his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. His fingers dug into your hips, groaning into the kiss. Everything about this was wrong, and you were both dead if Rhysand saw.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care as the Shadowsinger ground down against you. You gasped against his lips, pushing back against him. “Az,” you murmured, breaking the kiss just slightly. “Let’s go.” He nodded, wrapping you in his arms as he shot off to the sky.

He flew you to the House of Wind, your lips kissing his neck and face wherever you could reach. You let your fingers trail his wings, shivering at the noise that pulled from him. “If you don’t stop that, we will never make it there.” He growled, voice hot. You smirked against his skin, letting your fingers trail the delicate leather one more time.

Azriel landed you on the balcony outside of his room, lips immediately connecting to yours while he pushed you backwards through the doors. The tension between the two of you had finally snapped when you both had one too many shots that night. Your brother forbade you from laying with anyone, having given you a dreadfully long speech the night you turned of age. He warned you of the dangers of trusting males with your body, that it wasn’t appropriate for the princess of the Night Court to sleep around.

All his concerns were gone from your mind as Azriels fingers slid up your skirt. You arched into the touch, this feeling new and unfamiliar. He groaned into your mouth at your body’s reaction to him, tugging your dress and underwear off. He pulled away, gazing at your now exposed body. You felt self conscious for half a second, until he looked up at you with desire filled eyes.

“Can I taste?” He asked, pushing you onto the edge of his bed and kneeling between your legs. You nodded, not trusting your voice to work right then. Azriel gave you a wicked smile, head ducking down. Your back arched against the bed at the first swipe of his tongue, hands tangling in his hair. He gripped onto your thighs, pulling them over his shoulders. His tongue worked expertly, licking and sucking you in a way that made you cry out with pleasure. He dragged one hand up to your stomach, pressing you flat onto the bed. You moaned loudly, the force of him keeping you still increasing the sensations he was giving you.

Your thighs squeezed around his head, gasps and moans falling from you as he worked you. He brought his other hand up, sliding one finger inside. You bit your lip at the unfamiliar intrusion, mind going blank when his finger curled in the most delicious way. “Mmm, you are tight.” He growled against you, pushing another finger in. You gave a squeak at the two large fingers inside, prepping you to take him fully. You felt the coil in your stomach threatening to snap, your hands holding onto Azriels hair like a lifeline. He sucked sharply, fingers doing that perfect curl inside of you, blinding white taking over your vision. You pushed against him, mouth open in a silent scream as the unmistakable pleasure wiped over you. Azriel pushed you through it, prolonging the feeling until you were shaking.

He pulled away, kissing up your body as he made his way back to your lips. You grabbed onto his back, kissing him as hard as you could. You tasted yourself on his lips, his tongue, the fire reigniting in your stomach. “Are you ready for me?” He asked, sliding his pants off. You looked down, mouth dropping a little at the size of him. Was he even going to fit?

Azriel chuckled darkly, titling your head back up to look at him. “It will fit.” He promised, leaning back to kiss you as he ran himself through the wetness between your legs. You groaned when he pushed the first inch in, the feeling new to your body. He went slowly, moving inch by inch. Pain erupted through you, quickly turning to pleasure the deeper he went. When he finally bottomed out, you swore you could feel him in your stomach. He breathed heavy against you, breaking away from your kiss to rest his forehead on yours. “Tell me when.” He whispered, allowing you time to adjust to the size of him.

“Please”, you breathed out, “Azriel, please, move.” He didn’t need to be told twice, pulling nearly all the way out before thrusting his way in again. You screamed his name, nails digging into his skin. He started kissing and sucking on your neck, the feeling of his mouth and his cock overwhelming you. You moaned his name over and over, the only word you knew at the moment.

“Fuck,” Azriel groaned, feeling you around him. “Princess, fuck. You feel even better than I imagined.” He accompanied his words with a bite to your shoulder, a whine escaping your lips. He fucked into you over and over, having you on the edge again in no time.

“Az,” you moaned, “Az! I’m gonna-“ You didn’t even finish the sentence before release poured over you, certain you were drawing blood with the force of your nails on his back. He roared as he came right behind you, the pleasure of you squeezing around him too much for him to bear. He spilled into you, rope after rope of thick cum coating your walls. He stilled his movements, the two of you breathing hard against each other.

He slowly pulled out, rolling to lay next to you. Azriel wrapped his arms around you, pulling you comfortingly into his chest. “You were amazing.” He whispered into your hair, smiling at your already sleeping form, fucked out.

He chose to ignore the thought of what Rhysand would do if he ever found out what happened.

***

It was a few weeks after when you woke up one morning, body sore. You weren’t sure why, you had been too tired to even go to training the day before. You stretched, deciding to go down and get some tea to soothe your muscles. You were waiting for the water to boil when Cassian came in behind you. “Good Mor-“ He started, stopping abruptly. You turned to him, lifting an eyebrow in confusion. He was staring at you wide-eyed, mouth open in shock.

“Cass?” You asked, confusion turning into concern as he just stood there. “Are you okay?”

He blinked, snapping out of his frozen state. “Am I okay? Are you okay? Does Rhys know? Whose is it?” The questions tumbled out of him, each one confusing you more and more. You held your hand up, signaling him to stop.

“I’m sorry, what are you talking about?” You asked, cocking your head to the side. Cassian’s eyes got even wider, realizing you yourself didn’t know yet.

“Oh.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, shifting on his feet. He did not want to be the one to deliver this news to you. “Uh, you know. The baby?”

The baby? What was he talking about, ‘the baby’? You stared blankly at him, not sure what to say. “What do you mean,” you started slowly, “the baby?”

Cassian looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. “Your baby. The one inside you.” His words were quiet, cautious.

You laughed.

“Impossible, Cass. There’s no way i’m pregnant, i’m-“ You cut yourself off, heart racing. You weren’t a virgin, not anymore. You thought back to that night, remembering Azriel finishing inside you. Realizing you have never taken the contraceptive tea, a request like that would have guaranteed your brothers meddling. You foolishly believed it wouldn’t happen, it is so difficult for fae to conceive. How could you lose your virginity and fall pregnant all in one night?

You heard the unmistakable sound of your brother and Azriel talking, heading to the kitchen. You looked in panic at Cassian, glamouring your scent as quickly as possible. “Can you still smell it?” You asked quietly, breathing a little easier when he shook his head. You turned back to your now boiling water, filling your teacup as though everything was normal.

“Good morning sister! Cass!” Rhys exclaimed, walking into the room. Thanking the Mother, Cassian had managed to sit down and fill his plate with random food before they came in. Hiding the tense conversation the two of you just had. You turned to face them, sipping your tea nonchalantly.

“Brother. Az.” You greeted, acting like nothing was wrong. Like you didn’t just have the biggest bomb of your life dropped on you. Rhys came to give you a hug, your body tensing as if he would be able to feel that there were now two heartbeats inside of you. He pulled back, resting his hands on your arms as he looked into your eyes.

“Are you alright?” He asked, worry written on his face. You have him a small smile, sipping your tea.

“Yes, just tired. I think i’m coming down with something.” You responded, throwing in a little cough at the end. “I’m just going to go lie back down, i’m sure some rest will help.” You smiled at your brother, turning to leave the kitchen.

The Shadowsingers eyes were burning into your retreating form.

***

You paced your room, every inch of you panicking. Should you tell Rhys? Should you tell Azriel? No. You shouldn’t tell either of them. Azriel will probably be ashamed of you, not wanting to claim your child as his. You’ll be forced to bring a bastard into this world, into the Night Court. And Rhys, oh he would kill you. No, he would kill Az. And then he would kill you. He’d make you and your bastard child leave the Court, not allowing that kind of shame to be brought on his family.

No, you decided. You had to get rid of it. Rhysand would never recover from the mess of it all. His barely of age sister, knocked up by his best friend. He was too new at being High Lord, the last thing he needed was something as complicated as this weighing him down. You fell into a fitful sleep, knowing what you would be forced to do the next day.

***

“Cass?” You called, knocking on his door early the next morning. Your brother kept you in the House of Wind, ensuring you would have to ask before you went to and from. You were not gifted with the Illyrian wings of your mother, and you did not care to trek 10,000 steps down to get where you needed to go.

Cassian opened his door, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What is it?” He asked, looking down at you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly self conscious.

“I need you to take me down to the city.” You spoke quietly, the words harder to say than they were to think. “I’m getting rid of it.”

Cass stilled, staring at you for a long moment. Finally he nodded, turning back to get dressed. He lead you out to the balcony, folding you into his arms before taking off. It was a wordless flight, neither of you knowing what to say. He flew you all the way to the healer on the edge of Velaris, knowing it would offer you the most privacy.

You thanked him when he landed, turning to go into the small building. Cass stopped you, a hand on your arm. “Are you sure?” He asked, conflict in his eyes.

You nodded, giving a sad smile. “Rhys doesn’t need this stress. His unwed, young sister bringing a bastard into his court? And Az-“ You stopped yourself, feeling Cassians hand tighten on your arm in shock. You looked at him wide-eyed, realizing what you had confessed. “Do not tell him Cass. Please, please. He doesn’t need to deal with this either.” You begged, eyes filling with tears. He slowly nodded, releasing your arm.

“Okay.” He said finally, looking over you one last time. “I’ll stay in the area, watching for when you’re ready to go back.” You smiled gratefully, watching as he flew back up into the sky.

You turned to the building in front of you, suddenly feeling nauseous. Maybe you should just run away, run to a different court and hide. You don’t know how long you stood there, lost in your thoughts. The sun rose higher in the sky, signaling the time that had passed. You took a deep breath, whispering “It’s for the best” as you took a step forward to open the door.

“Stop!” You heard the panting cry from above you, and then a thud behind you. You whipped around, shocked to see Azriel standing there. “Stop.” He said again, quieter. He took a hesitant step towards you, looking like he wanted to grab you and take you away. You couldn’t say anything, mind blank as you looked at him. “Cass told me. He is scared for you.” He explained, hands fidgeting at his sides.

A flash of anger goes through you, he promised not to tell. “Go home, Az.” You said, voice clipped. “You don’t need to deal with this.” You ignored the pain on his face as you turned back to the door.

“No!” He grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the building. “No.” He said softer, making you look at him. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

You ripped your arm out of his grasp, frustrated and embarrassed at the whole situation. “Do not pretend you want a child, Az. Especially a child with me. You’ve barely talked to me since that night, and now suddenly you think you have a right to my choice?” It wasn’t so much anger at him that was coming out of you, more an anger at everything.

He looked like you had slapped him across the face, hands falling to his sides. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me.” He said softly, eyes on the ground.

“What are you talking about?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“The next morning, when I woke up, you were gone. I thought maybe you weren’t sure if I was okay with you staying there, so I went to find you. I wanted to let you know that it was more than a fling. That I needed it to be more than a fling. When I found you in the kitchen, you smiled and said good morning like nothing had happened. I assumed you weren’t interested in more than that.”

Silence.

“You are a fucking idiot.” You said, rolling your eyes.

“What?” He asked, looking back up at you.

“I acted like everything was normal because I assumed that’s what you wanted. I’m your best friends younger sister, can you imagine the trouble you would get in with Rhys if he knew?”

“I imagine the trouble i’d get in with him is tenfold now.”

“Go home, Az.” You demanded again, staring him down. He took a step closer to you.

“No.” He said, reaching out to grab onto your arms. “Whatever choice you make, it is yours. I will respect what you decide, and I will never bring it back up if you wish. But please, know you are not alone. I want to be by your side, baby or not. My best friends sister or not.” You were taken aback by the honesty in his eyes, the tears begging to fall there.

You swallowed thickly, voice quiet when you spoke. “I want to be by your side too, no matter what.” He gave a soft smile, wrapping his arms around you. You stood in his embrace for a few, debating the choice you were going to make. You finally pulled away from him, sliding your hand into his. You took a deep breath, turning to walk into the healers office with Azriel next to you.

***

“You WHAT?!” You hear your brothers roar, sighing as the House began to shake with fighting. You pulled yourself up, walking out to the training ring to see your brother and Azriel. You leaned against the wall, arms crossed in front of you. Cass came up beside you, watching as well.

“I take it he told him?”

You nodded.

“Guess it didn’t go well.”

You shrugged. “He isn’t dead, so.”

Cassian laughed, agreeing with you.

The two of you watched as they fought, Rhys yelling countless insults to Azriel. Really, it was less of a fight and more of Az letting Rhys get his anger out, deflecting enough to escape serious injury or death. “You dirty, disgusting pig! My sister?! You’ve chosen to be with my sister?!” He throws another punch at Az, deflecting it with a glance at you.

You and Azriel had grown closer since that day at the healers. He was so gentle with you in the few days after, caring for you and treating you like a delicate piece of art. You didn’t stand for that for very long, desperate to get back to training. He allowed, modifying it at first so you wouldn’t overwhelm yourself.

Rhys and Az fought for a good while, Rhys finally winding down. He was breathing hard, looking between you and his friend. “Fine,” he said, crossing his arms. “I can be happy for you, or whatever.” He didn’t sound very happy, but there was a light in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Azriel sighed in relief at the fighting being over, a wicked smile coming across your face.

“Brother dear,” you called, directing the attention over to you. Azriel sensed what you were about to do, shaking his head vigorously behind Rhysands back. You waved your hand, allowing the glamour you’d kept up for the past seven months to fall away. “How does ‘Uncle’ sound?” You watched your brother take in your smell, the rounded belly your hands now rested on. His face reddened, anger coming back in full force as he whirled onto Az.

“YOU GOT HER PREGNANT?!”

***

Extra:

Rhys held the tiny girl close, letting her little hand hold his finger. He cooed and awed at her, already willing to do anything to make her happy. Azriel smiled at you, holding your tired body close to him. Your labor had been long, but without incident. By some stroke of luck, the healers discovered you had the Illyrian anatomy of your mother, just without the wings. When you went into the building that day with Az, you asked for a pregnancy confirmation. The healer had been able to confirm one healthy child, a child that unmistakably had wings. Fear had overtaken Azriel in the few weeks after, constantly debating if he should tell Rhys. At your next appointment the healer did an internal check, delivering the news that all would be well.

You were thankful, laying in the arms of Azriel as you watched your brother hold your daughter. You were thankful Azriel stood by you as you decided to keep the baby, supporting you every step of the way. You even became thankful Cassian told him what you planned to do that day, even if the betrayal had stung for a while after. You were especially thankful Rhys didn’t murder Az when he found out you were pregnant. You looked up to the male next to you, a soft smile on your face.

All was well.

***

i LOVED this request!!!!! sometimes dreams are the best story inspo haha! also the “i wish i would have remembered the baby making process” SENT me lmao! i hope i did it justice for you 😉😅🫶🏻

[ilycosy]

❝ DO YOU MIND ? ❞ | LUKE CASTELLAN

pairing : luke castellan x child of calliope!reader

summary — being the child of the mother of all muses, you're used to affections. boys and girls flock to you like you're a sweet, lovely thing, but they soon drop it when they realize that you're nothing like a muse. what happens if the camps precious, golden boy starts talking to you?

warnings : reader is a little toxic under their politeness, reader is also described to be feminine but there's no specific prns! luke is also kind of obsessive? he wants reader so bad.. not proofread (that's for babies /j)

aﾉn — i haven't written in a long time so bare with me, nor have i written for the pjo fandom ever (though ive been in it for a while..) this is also vv self indulgent (daughter of calliope here <3) so sorry if this isn't relatable ♡ lowercase intentional :)

being the child of the mother of muses has always been annoying— you've never had a break to just be. whether it be people chasing after you, or people who envy the attention you attract. there was always something, which you resented extremely.

if people were asked about you, they'd have only good things to say. you're beautiful, lovely, polite; but not a muse. it sometimes got annoying that it mattered so much to people, having others constantly talk about how you were never romantic.

you seemed to be uncomfortable with it at the very least, very few felt the resentment you held for love. those few could never confirm it though, having you reassure them that you're just a private person. ("there's no need for grand things, dear. i love you without such things." you'd say, through gritted teeth.) which is what might have drew luke castellan to you.

he saw through the politeness, observing you almost ever since you got claimed. he can picture when you got claimed, your embarrassed smile when an apollo girl had written a song for you. publicly performing it, you had lit up; literally. you were fifteen then— nothings changed in these past years.

luke can't remember all the times you've been confessed to, having songs, poems, even paintings done of you for your affection. but he can remember all the times he watched your facade crack; the way your smile stretched too wide to be real, your eyes dimming when you realized it was just another confession, or how you seemed to never interact with aphrodite boys anymore.

he finds it amusing mostly, how could such a pretty thing resent something people would kill for? either way, he finds himself being drawn in like you're a siren. the way your eyes darken at the mention of your mother, how you reapply gloss whenever you're nervous— he could go on really.

"are you going to eat that?" he finds himself asking you before he can stop himself, pointing at the yogurt bowl right next to your plate. he has half a mind to make sure he doesn't clam up when you look up at him, fluttering your lashes.

you gently push the bowl towards him, continuing on your morning like the best swordsman in the camp isn't talking to you. he pauses for a moment, licking his lips as he thinks of a reason to prolong this conversation.

fate seems to be on his side though— his brother, chris, being to busy talking to clarisse to even glance his way. he sits down, looking across from you as he eats the yogurt. he almost forgets that staring is rude.

"do you mind?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at him as you take a bite out of your crossiant. somewhat annoyed by the curly haired boy, your leg bounces steadily. "do i mind what?" he asks, like he's stupid— for some reason, you can't help but let your annoyance take over.

"why are you here," you start, pointing at the empty table. void of friends, you always sit alone until somebody claims they're in love with you. "you usually sit with your brothers and annabeth."

he shrugs at your questioning, not being able to find it in himself to hold back a teasing remark. "you know where i usually sit?" he asks with a small small, but the glint in his eyes show a certain smugness that gets under your skin.

you smile back at him, stretched too far and there's a bite in your voice hidden under honeyed words. "bye castellan," you croon sweetly. "hope you find your way back to your seat!" is all you give him, a morsel of fake attention that sends him reeling.

the next day, you wake up a bit later than normal. rising from your bunk around nine means you've missed breakfast, a deep feeling of anger surges through your core in a flash before you stretch and get dressed for the day.

when you leave the hermes cabin, you're stopped by a familiar figure. tall, brown hair, and a stupid smug grin. "hey angel," luke almost sings with how pleased he sounds with himself. "i have a presant!"

he reveals a crossiant and cold coffee, the faint warmth of the once fresh crossiant eases the deep feeling in your core even more though the coffee makes you want to vomit. "i don't like coffee." you state, taking a bite of the baked good. "but thank you, castellan."

he barely has time to respond with a you're welcome or an im sorry before you're smiling, too wide for his liking, and walking away. he debates following you, trying to talk to you like he's desperate for a friend. but he decides against it, wondering how to keep a conversation going with somebody that hates being sought after.

a week passes of the same routine— luke catching you at odd moments during the day, offering you little things to keep you around for a moment longer. you find it annoying, but keep a pleasant attitude anyways, it certainly helps that he's not bad to look at.

a small rumor spreads through camp, luke castellan having a crush. it barely takes the day for people to speculate that it's you.

it almost disappoints you, not having expected the camps favorite to fall so easily— doesn't he have any other girls? you debate on telling him that you're not open for relationships right now, having been in so many already, you could very easily blame any one of your exes.

but you don't have the chance to reject him the next time you see him because he's talking already, smiling at you like you'd fall so easily. "do you wanna help plan an activity with me?" he asks, offering you a delicious smelling tea.

"why would you want me to do that?" you question him, almost allowing yourself to have a genuine lazy smile but you just force a docile confused tilt. you sip on the tea, the once tart raspberries are now sweet in the tea mixing with a hibiscus flavor.

you're too busy drinking to notice him begin talking, he's mid laugh when you tune in. "— maybe you could help with setting up the theater?" he suggests, you pretend like you know how you got into a full conversation with him by subtly trying to exit it.

"why not have the apollo counselor help?" you say sweetly, setting the tea down and turning your full attention onto him. he feels sick to his stomach at how you look at him, soft features with a sugared tone. your eyes look at him like he's below you, like he's a nuisance, and for some reason that might be his favorite part.

he searches your face for a moment, glancing at your cold eyes before he chuckles. "maybe i want to spend time with you," he smiles like a cat, curling on his face with a pride that shouldn't make you as heated as it does. "i think you want to spend time with me too, yeah?"

you almost roll your eyes at his suggestion, but unable to squeeze out of this one without being mean, you agree to help him.

it only takes a couple weeks to fix up the theater due to the lack of counselors wanting to help, so it's safe for the younger kids to have a play— after that, it's back to the apollo children to plan. you sit back on the stage floor, sipping on a water bottle as you bask in the cold dusk breeze. "do you mind?"

a voice speaks from behind you, rasping slightly. you don't even have to look to know who it is, "no, castellan." you say, because you can't think of a reason for why you would mind.

luke sits himself down next to you, his knee brushing yours as he looks down at your water with a stare that could only be described at halfway pathetic and endearing. "here," you say, handing him the bottle. "i don't need you to die of dehydration on me."

he takes it gratefully, drinking it almost empty in three big gulps that make you roll your eyes with a small scoff. "did you just scoff?" he questions, an odd excitement in his voice.

you quickly try to deny it, hands coming up to animate how you didn't scoff or anything of the sort. but he already has a grin like he's drunk of the noise, "you definitely scoffed! that was so funny," he says with a loud laugh that makes you shush him, afraid of other campers hearing.

"i don't know why you hide that." he mumbles on your hand, fighting the temptation to lick it so you release him. those thoughts subside when your pretty eyes look up at him in confusion, "your annoyance." he clarifies.

"im not annoyed," you say, a bit defensively as you pull your hand away from him. "bit rude of you to say that, castellan."

he rolls his eyes in response, one of his arms coming behind you to rest on the stage. you can feel the ghost of it barely grazing you, "you're definitely annoyed," he says matter-of-factly. "you're almost always annoyed, or angry."

you fight back a scoff, but then give up. rolling your eyes you turn to him, searching his face for how he noticed, why he's doing this— but you come up with nothing. "why do you care?" you almost snap at him, drumming your fingers on your knee.

"i don't," he says like it's obvious. "im the same way." there's a beat after he says it, a silence that seems more comfortable than awkward like it should be. admitting his anger to you felt like a breath of fresh air, because he knew you'd understand him.

you bite your bottom lip, turning to face him. "that hatred," you start, almost in disbelief that you finally have the opportunity to talk about this. "it doesn't go away huh?" the question is phrased more like a statement, barely asking for confirmation.

he nods, not speaking as he watches you. there was no need for an explanation on what the hatred was, he knew as soon as you began talking. the gift from your mother was never really a gift to you, a burden of what it means to be a demigod is all it was.

you never knew what was genuine, or what was your mothers doing. but you felt a sense of ease with the hermes boy, nothing like all your previous relationships. "do you think it's bad," you mumble, almost ashamed.

"do you think it's bad that we feel this way?"

your question is softly spoken, genuinely interested in his opinion. he feels himself almost feel guilty for you, but he can't lie. "no," he wraps an arm around your waist. gently bringing you closer. "i think we might be the only ones in the right."

he says it with such confidence, a lack of guilt or unease in his voice that it makes you smile. not a sweet one, but a prideful one. one that could reflect the pride of a god, finally validation for the deep seated resentment that almost quenches that thirst for revenge.

minutes of silence pass by, the sun fully set as you lean your head on his shoulder. inhaling the pine and deep smell of his cologne, you hum. "are the rumors 'round camp true?" you ask.

he feels a small blush creep up his neck and ears, spreading across his face as he realizes that you heard about those. he never meant for his half-brothers to over hear a private conversation (said private conversation was in the bathroom, luke washing his hands while chris talked loudly about how he could get clarisse to go on a double date if he'd just ask you out already.)

"uh," he laughs awkwardly, his fingers drumming on the soft skin of your waist. "do you mind?"

you can't help the small smile that spreads across your face, "no." is all you need to say before his wet lips are on yours. hungry and desperate for your attention, which you give him without another thought.

[questforgalas]

Storm Blue Eyes and A Scottish Brogue: Reasons Simon Riley Came Back to Life

For @daredaredoodles!! Happy Ghoapmas!!! Here is some very oblivious and very yearny Ghost for you!! Oh, did I mention lots of fluff? :) I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!!!

Thank you @forsaire for hosting!!!!

Ao3 link

Summary: It was supposed to be a holiday season like all of the others - nights filled with reports, and a base haunted by a Ghost while everyone wandered home. Three knocks on Simon's door change those plans entirely.

Words: 5K

No CWs, just tooth-rotting fluff and Gaz so done with these two

It was supposed to be quiet tonight. An intimate date between Simon, the desk in his room, and the pile of reports that magically remain the same height regardless of how many hours are put towards them (a detail Captain Price never misses). Does Simon happen to write a little slower to aid that magical spell so that he has a proper excuse when Price inevitably comes knocking on his door and asks why he hasn’t filed for leave again this December? Possibly, but that little detail belongs between Simon and the twenty minutes during which he contemplates which words to use instead of “infiltrate” and “detonation”. 

He should have known nothing ever goes according to plan. Three familiar knocks rapping against the door certainly proved that right.

Cut to Soap MacTavish standing on the other side, a smile curling his lips and azure eyes all the brighter against the navy jumper wrapping across his broad chest. Words were said, something about a night out which made sense since Soap wore dark jeans that seemed made specifically to torture Simon, and there was a glint in Soap’s eye not dissimilar to a child’s on Christmas morning. 

Ah, so, Price was picking up the tab. 

As Soap stands in the hall, punctuating his pitch to coach the lieutenant out of his room with perfectly placed smiles and a wink or two anyone else would find gratuitous but Simon found infuriatingly endearing, Simon swaps his hoodie for a black jumper, grabs his jacket, and has the door locked just as Soap says, “‘nd it’s not tha team without ma favorite lieutenant.” 

The calendars say “December”, but the unseasonably warm air makes the jacket hanging over Simon’s arm feel like overkill, making him contemplate turning around and throwing it through the door, but instead he rolls up the sleeves of his jumper. In the corner of his eye, he sees Soap watch as the fabric folds back and reveals Simon’s forearms - corded with muscle, covered in scars, one completely inked over. 

Simon wanted to tell himself that the way Soap ogled at the skin didn’t make his own feel a size too small. He wanted to tell himself the way Soap’s Adam's apple bobbed and the dusting of pink at the tip of his ears didn’t match his own. He wanted to tell himself he wouldn’t tuck this moment away safely in the gilded chest labeled “Moments He Can Pretend” that he stored in the safe recesses of his heart. 

He wanted to tell himself all of that, but unfortunately, that would make Simon a liar. 

Soap rambles on about some combination of some chemicals that Simon doesn’t understand a lick of - he’s just happy he remembers to nod at points that seem right for it - and they walk side by side through Hereford. 

“What fresh hell is this,” Simon mutters, the revelry from the pub greeting their ears when they’re still a block away. 

“Don’t fret, Lt.” Soap nudges him with his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s just ol’ Gerry with tha music up because he finally accepted he cannae hear for shit.” 

It was, in fact, not Gerry with the music up. 

The Green Pony quite literally glows on the corner. Green garland lit with soft, white lights frames every window, and electric candles flicker at the streets. Two wreaths adorned with a red ribbon bow hang on the dark wood doors, and through the windows, matching garland and lights line the entirety of the bar. A large tree pulls it all together, lighting up the far corner much to the chagrin of some patrons looking for a secluded corner away from the crowd. 

They shoulder their way through the entry and are immediately sucked into the chaos that is the Green Pony operating over capacity. Behind the bar, Gerry, the owner, a man who Simon is convinced was born in this pub, slings pints and jabs faster than any of the youngsters helping alongside him, and when he catches sight of the two men, he throws a lazy salute and points in the direction of their usual table. They break through the crowd, and the sight of Captain Price and Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick greets them at their usual booth. 

“Well fuck me,” Gaz says as they approach. “Good to see ya Ghost, but you just lost me 20 quid.” 

“Pay up,” Soap holds out his hand as he scoots in besides the other sergeant. Gaz grumbles something about “unfair advantages” as he fishes out his wallet, and hidden under a black medical mask, a smile pulls at the corner of Ghost’s lips. A terrible bet by Gaz, really. Might as well be the title of Simon’s memoir: 

Storm Blue Eyes and A Scottish Brogue: Reasons Simon Riley Could Never Say No.

 Gaz of all people should know this, and Simon’s pretty sure Soap does do. 

Simon settles in next to Price who silently nods in a way of greeting, but Simon doesn’t miss the way his mouth curls up in a smile around the lip of his glass. “Never become predictable, Sergeant. Easier to kill that way,” Simon offers. Two pints sit unclaimed on the table. Simon grabs one while nudging the other towards Soap. “‘nd have some respect. I’m worth at least 40 quid.” 

“Sound advice, sir.” Gaz tips his glass to Simon then takes a strong swig. 

The rounds disappear and reappear over and over. The older patrons begin to make their way home, thinning the crowd some but not enough to avoid Simon’s shoulder - large enough to breach the end of the booth - becoming a human bumper now and again. Someone’s hijacked the jukebox, and Mariah Carey’s been serenading them about Christmas for the past twenty minutes. Price said his goodbyes a round ago, but not before assuring “Yes, sergeants, the tab will still be open,” and he threw that look to Simon that said “They’re your circus now”. 

Now, Gaz sits at the table, chocolate eyes glassy under the lights, and a finger absentmindedly circles his pint. A dopey smile sits on his lips, and every few minutes he mumbles along to Mariah before she drowns in the din of the crowd. A word hasn’t been spoken between them since Price left - an understood respect by Gaz who knows Simon’s need for silence as much as Soap’s need to fill the air - and Simon wishes he could enjoy it. He wishes he could give Gaz that much. Instead, a dainty hand attached to a brunette he faintly recognizes from base is demanding all of his attention. 

Moments ago, Soap delivered their newest round with a thunk, earning a curse or two from Gaz who saved his pint just in time, but instead of sliding into the space next to Simon - a space he occupied as soon as Price said his goodbyes - he grabbed his pint and beelined to the bar. There, a brunette waited. They were familiar, that Simon was sure of, and Soap kept flashing that smile that Simon was desperate to be turned on him. 

And then the hand. The hand gripped Soap’s bicep, gave it a squeeze, and a laugh, airy and bright followed. The hand remained. That smile flashed brighter. 

Simon hated that hand.

She was pretty enough. Glossy hair, high cheekbones, an ass Simon assumed would be appreciated by the right eyes. Eyes that weren’t azure blue and rivaled the bays of Islay. Any eyes except those. 

The hand slides from Soap’s bicep and cups his elbow. Simon’s knuckles have gone white. He really hated that hand. 

“Ghost, mate,” Simon hears from across the table. “Bruv, that glass is about to lose whatever battle ya’ve picked against it.” Simon tears his gaze away from that hand and sets it on Garrick who, bless him, doesn’t flinch. “Mind tellin’ me what that poor glass has done to you?”

“Don’t know what you’re on ‘bout,” Simon answers and sets his eyes back on that hand that’s smartly retreated back to its owner. Lucky her, she gets to keep it. 

For now. 

Soap’s pint is forgotten on the bartop, he says something to the brunette, and the cute crease that appears when the Scot is trying to puzzle out an equation is between his brows. Simon adores that crease. His hands itch to smooth it out and fight whatever has caused it. 

He misses the questioning look on Gaz’s face and when he follows Simon’s gaze. He misses when the sergeant puts two and two together, but what he doesn’t miss is the sigh that’s pulled from Gaz’s chest and the thunk of the sergeant’s forehead against the thick, wooden table. 

“Ya’ve got to be bloody kiddin’ me.” Stunned, Simon watches as Gaz thunks his head one, two, three more times, then snaps back up. His face is nothing but anguish. “Talk to him.” 

“What?” Simon smartly replies. 

“Talk. To. Him.” Gaz accompanies each word with a thump of his pint as if hammering them into the wood would hammer them into Simon’s confused brain. 

“Talk to who?”

“Bloody ‘ell!” Simon thinks Gaz is being a bit overdramatic, what with throwing his hands in the air and acting as if Simon is the densest person in this pub. Problem is, Simon has no idea what he’s supposed to be grasping. The sergeant rubs a hand down his face, and once he’s collected himself, the stare he throws at Simon pins him to the booth. “Talk to Soap. I’m beggin’ you, Ghost. Talk to him, and save us all from havin’ to keep watching you two dance around each other like a bunch of school boys who don’t know what a crush is.” 

The words make sense. Well, they make sense that they’re words, and they’re going in one ear. But not all of them are processing and some of them are going right out the other ear leaving a jumbled tangle of words like “Soap” and “you two” and “crush” that are rattling around in the empty space of Simon’s mind. Yes, it makes sense that Garrick just said something, but the implications are mad enough that he has half a mind to order him to a psych evaluation at once. 

“Might’ve finally lost it, Garrick. Imaginin’ things now.” It’s really all he can muster past his lead laden tongue. 

Crushing on Soap, well, that was as easy as breathing. But crushing is too trivial a word, wasn’t it? Crushing was what you did on the schoolyard when the brain hadn’t learned the words that threatened to burst from your heart. Crushing was soft glances across a room and sheepish smiles dripping with honeyed words. Crushing wasn’t a deep seeded trust that you’d make it home alive as long as that one person was beside you. Crushing wasn’t intimate knowledge of a body learned in the lowlight of safehouses while rough hands guided needles through skin. Crushing wasn’t hushed confessions in the dark as you accepted your mortality.

No, Simon did not have a crush on Soap MacTavish, because a crush was too simple. A tapestry of moments woven from a tarmac to now - the bar lights catching the hidden caramel strands of Soap’s mohawk - blanketed along Simon’s very being, and no longer could he ignore that his British heart had a Scottish flag planted firmly in place. 

And because life loves to remind Simon that he is not a man destined for gentle touches and even gentler words, he watches as the brunette grasps Soap around the forearm and leads him out of the pub. “Told ya,” the words taste more bitter than he intended. “Imaginin’ things.” 

Gaz tracks the pair through the crowd. “I’m the best interrogator on the team,” he says. Simon’s brow shoots up, and he’s about to question what the hell that has anything to do with this when Gaz holds up his hand and continues. “I’m the best interrogator on this team. I can read body language at a level that, often, I wish I couldn’t. The amount of people’s secrets that they don’t even know but I know is a burden I’m cursed to carry.” Pint abandoned and a finger getting closer and closer to Simon’s chest, Gaz continues. “I don’t know what the hell ‘appened in Las Almas…well I do, I read the report, but I mean between you two. I noticed it the moment we stepped into Ale’s safehouse, and it’s only gotten worse since. We, the 141, are a team. Price and I are teammates. You and I are teammates. Johnny an-”

“He doesn’t want anyone callin’ ‘im Johnny.” Amusement dances across Gaz’s eyes, and Simon knows he fell into his trap. 

“Exactly. Anyone except?” Gaz takes Simon’s glare as confirmation. “All I’m sayin’ is, Soap and you? You’re more than teammates, Ghost. You’re the best in the world - as much as I ‘ate to admit it - not because of hours of training together or years of missions. It’s like you two are one soul, it’s absolutely mad to watch. And it’s not just on missions either. Ya both have a starin’ problem, that’s for sure. Though neither of you would know because it’s always when the other isn’t lookin’.”

“We - what?” Simon can’t fit Gaz’s words into his understanding of his relationship with Soap. 

“The heart eyes? At each other?” Gaz flutters his lashes, and Christ, it actually gets a chuckle out of Ghost, as annoyed as he is. “Ya’d think for someone whose eyes are the only part of his body he shows, you’d be better at schooling them, but I swear I’ve seen those lines at the corners actually melt whenever Soap walks into the room.” 

Oh, Gaz is proper teasing now, and Simon wants to smack the smirk right off of his face. He wants to tell him he’s delusional and that he can’t accept the image Gaz is spinning because it means taking the feelings he keeps packed away in that gilded chest in the safe corner of his heart and laying them all out there. Yet, the denial never comes, and instead, he feels his traitorous mouth curl up.

Is that…relief easing his chest? 

Gaz’s face softens. “Remember the first thing ya told me when I joined the team?” 

“Our job doesn’t guarantee tomorrow,” Simon says automatically. “Take the good moments while ya can. Don’t know ‘ow many ya’ll have.” 

“Maybe time to start takin’ your own advice, huh?” 

“Who’s advice we takin’?”

Gaz and Simon jump at the new voice, both reflexes fast enough to keep the pints from spilling over. Simon peers up, and his heart stutters. There stands Soap with cheeks rosy from the cold, and Simon has well and truly lost it because he desperately wants to loop his arm around Soap’s waist and tuck him into his side to keep him warm. 

“Just Ghost’s words of wisdom,” Gaz supplies easily. 

“Ah, only an eejit wouldn’t listen to the Ghost.” Soap stares down at the table, and he clears his throat before he continues. “Actually, Lt. I - I was hopin’ I could pull ye away?” He rubs the back of his neck, and the red on his cheeks spreads to the tips of his ears. “Unless ye don’t want to! Dinnae me - mean to interrupt, probably discussin’ something - never mind I…”

“Relax, Sergeant.” At the sound of Simon’s voice, Soap’s shoulders drop and his breaths come easier. He meets Simon’s gaze, and Simon has never seen this look in those storm blue eyes. Timid. Unsure. Bashful? “Was just finishin’ up. Garrick, ya good?” 

Gaz waves him off. “Out of ‘ere. Your dark cloud is bringin’ down the festive mood.” He throws them a wink and stands from the table, smoothing out his jumper as he eyes six feet of muscles and a jawline that could break glass leaning on the bartop. Instead of walking around them, Gaz cuts right between Simon and Soap, and just before he steps away, he leans into Simon’s ear. “Talk to him.”

The hour hasn’t cooled the air so Simon and Soap opt to wander through Hereford instead of hailing a cab. Simon blames the beer and Gaz’s words buzzing in his ears, but he feels attuned to every one of Soap’s footfalls and every sway of his arms. The street is empty, plenty of room to stroll, yet the two of them walk with barely a hair between them. A tug Simon will always follow, and maybe Gaz hasn’t completely lost it, because Soap does too. 

But because Simon can never make things easy for himself, he says “Where’s the brunette?” 

Soap looks at him, face scrunched and that crease is between his brows. It would be so simple to reach out and gently smooth his thumb along it. “Wha’ brunette?” Soap asks because he can never make it easy for Simon, either. 

“The brunette at the pub. Seemed…cozy.” If a sniper took him out, Simon wouldn’t complain. 

“Cozy?” An incredulous laugh circles around the word. He’s really going to make Simon spell it out. 

“Ya. Cozy. Thought, well, -” Simon picks at the nonexistent lint on his sweater. “Thought she was makin’ good company.” 

Soap is silent, and it’s making Simon’s skin crawl. He focuses on his steps, one in front of the other. He creates a new mission right then: get back to base, say goodnight to Soap, and not emerge from his room until everyone has left for the holidays. He has rations hidden in his desk, he can make it until then. 

“Oh, Simon,” Soap says softly between them. 

They don’t speak for the rest of the walk, but there’s a spring in Soap’s step, and whatever millimeter of space that had existed between them is eaten up entirely by the Scot. When they arrive on base, Simon prepares his goodbye, ready to go down his hall while Soap goes down his, but when he turns to depart, Soap grabs his wrist and guides Simon with him. 

They arrive at Soap’s private room. The Scot jumbles his keys, nearly dropping them on the ground, and struggles to get them into the keyhole. Simon thinks to point out that the process would probably be easier if Soap just let go of his wrist, but call him weak because that touch is more intimate than any stitch Soap has put in his body. 

Finally, the lock turns, Soap pushes open the door, swiftly kicks it closed, and the two of them stand in the soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table. 

He’s been in Soap’s room plenty of times before, but this, this moment is different. A delicate thing Simon could almost hold in his hand, and he hopes that door never opens again. Hopes that they can stand here away from the responsibilities and the enemy bullets and bask in the warmth of this thing between them. This thing that Simon prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that he’s no longer imagining and is ready to stop ignoring. Since the pub he’s felt exposed, as if every emotion he’s tried to hide away for the better part of a year is now written across his skin for a pair of azure eyes to read. As he spies the rapid rise and fall of Soap’s chest, he thinks he’s not the only one.

Words sit on his tongue, but just before they tumble from his lips, he pulls them back. He’s pictured this moment 1000 different times and 100 different ways. None of it practiced. He has to get this right. He takes a breath. He has to figure out a way to tell Soap that if he wants to take the plunge, Simon is on the ledge with him, but he also wants to leave the door open so that if he’s misread everything, nothing needs to change between the two of them. The jumper is beginning to cling to his back.

But it’s Soap who speaks first. “I got ye somethin.” 

“Ya got me somethin’?” Simon repeats back.

“Aye. It’s - one second.” Soap steps around him and rifles through his jacket. When he straightens, a dark rectangle is in his hands. He holds it out to Simon who has lost all function of his arms and stares at the object. 

“What is it?” 

“A present.” 

“A present?” 

“Holy ‘ell, Simon. Yes! A present! Ye know what a present is, aye?” 

Simon is only more confused by the answer. Soap shoves the rectangle into his chest, and Simon’s brain catches up fast enough to wrap his hands around the object that he now realizes is a thick, wooden box. 

“For me?” Seems his brain hasn’t moved past two word sentences though. 

Soap rolls his eyes and his hands plant his hips. “Yes, it’s for you. It’s what I was talkin’ to Heather about.” 

“Heather?” Christ, Simon needs his brain to wake up. 

“Aye, Heather. The lass at the pub. She helped me get this.” 

“So, ya weren’t -” Simon feels his ears burn. “Ya weren’t…flirting?” 

Soap’s eyes widen for half a second, and then he tries to hide a startled chuckle with a cough as he looks down. Simon’s pretty sure he hears “Fuckin bampot” mixed in there. When Soap looks back up, he seems shy, almost embarrassed, cheeks back to that pink that’s starting to drive Simon wild. “No, Lt. Heather gets handsy after some pints, but I wasn’t flirtin’ with her.” Azure blue locks him in place. “I had someone else in mind for that.” 

Bloody hell. Simon’s first instinct is to retreat. Flirting wasn’t wholly a new thing between them. They’d lost comms privileges on more than a few missions with Price - Gaz never had the power to pull the plug though he always made his grievances known - but it was all coy, innocent, dangling off the edge of friendly banter. None of it was ever so brazen, so laid out in the open. But here was Soap, taking the first step, leaving a small part of himself bare, waiting to see what Simon would do with it. 

“You didn’t have to,” Simon says, holding up the box.

“I wanted to.” It sounds so simple coming from those lips. 

Simon’s jacket joins Soap’s, and he holds the box in both hands. What he mistook for black is actually a deep, rich mahogany polished by an expert hand. The box easily lays in his palms, and he’s acutely aware of Soap watching him as he lifts the lid. Simon’s breath catches.

The inside is lined by a black silk, and nestled in the middle lies the most beautiful knife he has ever seen. He can tell that the blade is of the best steel, a straight spine across the top meets a point sharp enough to tear through his toughest gloves. He runs his thumb along the edge to the heel and revels at the ease with which it knicks his skin. 

Where the blade is all wicked grace, the handle is a work of art. Stunning black onyx catches the light as Simon delicately lifts it from the box. At first glance, it’s smooth, but when he rubs the stone with his thumb, he catches other carvings. He moves to the bedside table, and when he holds it under the lamplight, Simon nearly drops the knife. 

Sapphire blue and rich hazel streak through the black stone, tangling together perfectly. Simon turns the handle. On one side is a blue bar of soap. It matches a doodle Simon has seen on scraps of paper left in briefing rooms and napkins in the mess and on the corners of his reports when a certain sergeant comes to visit. He flips it, and on the other side is a hazel ghost. Another doodle Simon has spied on the pages of a journal kept close to that same sergeant’s heart.  

“Do ye like it?” Soap shifts on his feet. He’s rubbing the back of his neck again, and Simon fights back a laugh. 

The absurdity of it all, that Soap could be nervous right now. 

No. Not Soap. Not anymore. 

Johnny. His Johnny. He’s always been his, from the tarmac to now as Simon stares, gobsmacked, at this immortalization of them in stone. At this declaration of every intention and feeling and dream Simon’s been too afraid of. Johnny’s blue streaking through the darkness, dancing perfectly with Simon’s hazel. Ghost and Soap always side by side. He decides right then that he’s done tucking the feelings away in that gilded chest. He’s done with moments that live only in his fantasies. He’s done pretending he’s ok with it being just Ghost and Soap forever and that he hasn’t craved Simon and Johnny. 

So yes, it is absolutely absurd  that Johnny could be nervous right now.

“Heather’s da used tae be in tha service ‘nd makes these custom now. I ken you’re picky about the blades. Think I drove ‘er up the wall goin’ back ‘nd forth makin’ sure it was the best -” Johnny is rambling, and he’s looking everywhere except at Simon. If he was, he would have seen Simon reverently place the knife back in the box. He would’ve seen Simon rip the medical mask off of his face, and he would’ve seen Simon eat the space between them in two strides. If he was, he would’ve been ready when Simon cupped his face, and crashed their lips together. 

Simon has no idea what he’s doing. He doesn’t know how to do soft and gentle. He doesn’t know how to exist in a space where there’s acknowledged interest that’s so much heavier than a tumble in a bed. He doesn’t know how Johnny MacTavish, full of joy and thunder and blazing glory, found his way into Simon’s endless darkness. But Johnny kisses him back and grips his jumper, and Simon’s heart is no longer his own. 

“Hi,” Johnny says once they catch their breath, and Simon can feel the smile against his lips. 

“Johnny,” Simon mumbles, and it sounds like a prayer. He pulls Johnny closer and feels the strong muscles of his arms circle around Simon’s waist. He cradles Johnny’s face, thumb softly rubbing against the stubble on his cheek, and he leans in again. This, Simon thinks, is his own personal version of heaven. 

They’re pressed together now, chest to chest, and Simon is certain he’d be fine dying right here. 

“How long?” Johnny asks, and he leans into the palm of Simon’s hand. 

“Fishin’ for compliments, Sergeant? B’neath you.” There’s a swift slap on his shoulder. Simon nuzzles into the crook of Johnny’s neck to hide his smile.

“Awa’ an bile yer heid.” There’s no bite in the words. “How long?” 

“Las Almas,” Simon admits against his skin. “The way you looked at the rig when the missile ‘it. I couldn’t look away from you. Still haven’t been able to.” He pulls back just enough to rest their foreheads together. “And when I saw Graves bullet ‘it…well, not even Price would’ve been able to keep me from huntin’ him down.” 

“Hells bells, Simon. That was over a year ago!” 

Simon ignores the outburst and kisses a rough, uneven scar barely hidden within the sergeant’s hairline. Johnny’s newest, only a couple weeks old “But then Makarov -” It takes a moment to fight past the lump in his throat. The arms around his waist tighten.

“In the hospital, I promised meself - “ Johnny turns his face into Simon’s neck, “that if I made it out, if I got one more shot, I was done runnin’ from ye.” He pulls back, freeing one hand and brings it up to cup Simon’s cheek. “While I lay in that bloody bed, all I could think was, ‘Ye didn’t get tae tell him. Ye didn’t get tae tell him, and now he’ll never know.’ So let me tell ye now.” Johnny cups beneath Simon’s jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze. “I love ye, Simon Riley. In this life and the next, I will always love ye. God help any sorry soul that ever tries to take ye from me, because I will burn this world tae tha ground until I find ye. I don’t know how long this life is willin’ to give us, but I’ll take whatever it’s generous with as long as it’s with ye.” 

And well, Simon isn’t quite sure what to do with that. 

There’s a jumble of emotions rattling around in his heart threatening to spill into his gut if he thinks too hard about it. He’s aware that Johnny is staring at him, adoration and patience swimming in stormy blue, and his hand is softly carding through the curls at Simon’s nape. He remembers Johnny back on that tarmac - nearly two years ago now - brash and cocky and willing, and wonders what would have happened if he’d known how his fate was written, how his own heart was on the line. If he had known on that first mission what that annoying sergeant would come to mean to him, what would he have done? Would he have kept Johnny at arm’s length, protecting him from the jagged mess that is Simon’s darkness? Standing there, basking in the glow that is his Johnny, he doesn’t think so. He doesn’t think he could have. 

Simon threads a hand in the back of Johnny’s mohawk - it’s beginning to flirt with deregulation - and snakes the other around his waist. “Take the good moments,” he mutters in the space between them. 

“Aye,” Soap says, smile bright in the lowlight. “Take the good moments.” 

So, they spend the evening trading lazy kisses and honeyed words. At some point, boots are forgotten and jumpers join a pile in the corner. They tumble into bed, legs tangled, and even as sleep takes them, not an inch of space is allowed. Johnny’s breaths fan across Simon’s chest, deep, content. Sleep is pulling at Simon’s lashes, but he fights it a little longer. In his last moment of consciousness, he grazes a finger along Johnny’s hairline, catching on the rough scar, and he thinks the memoir needs a title change: 

Storm Blue Eyes and A Scottish Brogue: Reasons Simon Riley Came Back to Life. 

And in the morning, there’s a folder waiting on Price’s desk. He sips his coffee, picks it up, and smiles at the familiar weight. When he flips it open, there’s simply a location: Glasgow. 

“Merry Christmas, Simon,” Price says and watches a jeep pull out of the base.

Johnny is singing Mariah at the top of his lungs, and Simon doesn’t remember the last time he was this content. The mask is forgotten on the desk in his room, and a new knife is tucked by his side. They turn onto the highway, Glasgow waiting, and Soap lays his hand out between them. 

Simon can feel it, the wispy end of a filament stretching between them. The past collisions and the future moments. He can see it, that future laying on the other side. That future full of lazy kisses and even lazier mornings. Of days together, never questioning if the other walks through the door. Of Christmases in Scotland and maybe a cabin one day, too. For now, they have to make due with stitches in safehouses and easy touches in helis. Stolen kisses in private rooms and hidden words between the commands. 

For now, he reaches over and takes Johnny’s hand.

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part eighteen

authors notes: two updates back to back! i felt a lil bad for leaving ya'll on a cliffhanger of sorts. granted, this one kinda does too but....not in a bad way. more of a plot twist, than anything.

status: in progress // masterlist

warnings: angst, fluff, language, suggestive themes

song inspo: with me by destiny’s child

faceclaims

words: 7k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @southerngirl41 @wanderingreigns @romanreignsbae

24 hours.

It’s been 24 hours of absolute chaos and madness.

24 hours of a rush of conflicting and yet corresponding emotions. Anger. Confusion. Sadness.

In the past 24hrs, your love and basically life story have gone from being known to a select few to now being trending topics on every social media platform. Your Instagram, which was already private, had literally hundreds of follow requests the last time you checked it. There are emails in your inbox from several news platforms requesting interviews and offering exclusives. 

Hell, a couple of people even reached out to you on your LinkedIn.

It’s all so extremely overwhelming and chaotic, so much so that you had to force Alexis to leave and find some way to calm herself down. Her furious energy, while valid as hell, wasn’t helping. And it's not that you don't get it.

You do. God, you do.

You’d like nothing more than to take a steel chair to Mariah’s head, for you and Alexis to do a beatdown part two since the first one seemingly didn’t send a strong enough message.

But, you can’t. And she can’t either.

The whole world now has eyes on you, now is waiting to see what else comes out of this story that isn’t a story for you.

It’s your fucking life.

“We’re definitely looking into our options here, and there are some routes we can take, but without anything from her specifically saying she was going to do anything—”

“Wait.” It’s the first thing you’ve said in this emergency meeting with Joe and his legal team, a couple of intrigued eyes falling on you. “That’s—that’s not exactly true.”

Joe, as you expected, is the first to speak. “What are you talking about?”

This….this is the last conversation you expected to be having right now. The last thing you thought you’d be doing right now. You should be continuing to prepare for the move, decorating the house, planning how you’re going to tell Joe about your pregnancy.

Instead, you’re sitting in your new kitchen surrounded by lawyers, men in suits, and the man you love who you now have to admit to lying over something, at the time, you thought was nothing.

But that nothing has turned into a nightmare that has not only your personal life being used as media fodder but pictures of your sweet, beautiful, four-year-old daughter circulating the internet, just waiting to fall into the hands of the depraved.

That…..that’s what kills you the most.

It’s not even the “tell all” interview you only managed to watch for 10 minutes before having to turn it off. Even staring at her caked face, most likely to hide the lingering bruises from Alexis beating, makes you mad. Almost as mad at the absolute way she’s taken your and Joe’s story and dramatized it to the point of delusions.

Saying you plotted on Joe from the beginning. That you intentionally got pregnant by him. That you were sleeping with multiple men, meaning there’s a chance he could not be the father. That Joe’s ex-wife called and cussed you out, threatening to beat your ass. That you make Joe give you an allowance.

Just lies. Pure, unadulterated lies that make you sick to your stomach.

This whole thing feels like a never ending cycle of nightmares.

“Y/N?” One of the suits saying your name brings you back to this space, this place of here and now where another lie, one of your own making, is about to be revealed.

Licking your lips, you try to explain it as best you can, though there is no good way to come out and admit you weren’t honest with him. “She—she’d been sending me messages.”

“Messages?” Joe’s interruption is fair and expected, but one of his lawyers jumps in before he can continue. 

“Do you still have them?”

Nodding, you pull out your phone, opening Mariah’s thread. You’d blocked and deleted her contact from your phone so it’s just her number as the title for the thread. Reaching the phone to the lawyer, it’s quickly intercepted by Joe.

Just watching his eyes read over the messages, you can almost see his anger growing. He hands the phone over to his lawyer, and you watch as one exchanges the phone with the other.

“This is perfect,” one of the suits shares to the group. “We can definitely slap her with a couple different lawsuits with this evidence. I’m thinking extortion. Most definitely a cease and desist.”

“Defamation too,” someone else chimes. 

Joe isn’t interested in any of that at this moment. He just wants to speak with you alone, that much is painfully obvious. “Can you give us a minute?” He doesn’t wait for a response, just stands up from his seat, motioning for you to follow him.

Nervous about what’s about to ensue, you do so regardless, following him up the stairs and into the first room on the right. 

You start to plead your case as soon as the door is closed. “Joe—”

“You lied to me.”

His tone kills you. You haven’t been on the receiving end of this side of him in months, not since he first found out about Callie. “I—”

“I fucking asked you did she say anything, and you lied to me, Y/N!”

“I didn’t think anything of it, Joe.” You can’t and won’t necessarily defend the lying part, but you will attempt to help him understand your logic that was at play. “Mariah—she’d never done anything remotely close to any of this to make me think she would ever do something like this. I thought—I thought she was just saying shit to get a reaction out of me.”

He stops his pacing, looking at you with a sense of incredulity. “I didn’t ask you what kind of shit she was saying, I asked you if she said anything at all, and you stood there and you lied to me with a straight face!”

“I’m sorry, okay!” There’s a solid attempt to keep your volume down, well aware Callie is only a few rooms down playing, oblivious to all of this chaos unfolding. “But I was in a really bad place during that time, Joe, okay? I—I didn’t care about….lawyers and lawsuits, I just wanted custody of my child back.” Eyes starting to water, you shake your head, asking, “do you have any idea how hard that was for me?”

“Of course, I know, Y/N.” His tone is a little more calm, still angry though. “I was going through the same damn thing.”

“No, you weren’t!” As much as you want to control your emotions in this moment, control your temper, it’s hard when he’s clearly not trying to hear where you were coming from. “You got to see her! You got to speak to her! I didn’t! Mariah didn’t accuse you of awful shit, it was just me!”

“So you don’t think that shit impacted me at all?” His voice still carries anger, but there’s specks of hurt there. You feel bad, you didn’t mean to invalidate him, just wanted to help him see there was a difference. “Seeing you like that? Seeing Callie like that?”

Pressing your hands against your temple, you shut your eyes, explaining, “that’s not what I’m saying, Joe. You’re not listening to me.” 

“You’re right.” His agreement takes you by surprise. You didn’t expect him to be so self-aware. “I’m not listening cuz’ I’m fucking pissed off with you that this all could have been avoided if you had just been honest with me. Our daughter’s photos wouldn’t be all over the fucking internet if you had just told me the truth.”

It’s not hard for you to read between the lines of what he’s saying. But, it is hard for you to stomach what he’s saying. “You blame me for this, don’t you?” And it’s when he looks away, nostrils flared and jaw clenched. “You do….”

“I didn’t for the DCFS situation, because that was absolutely beyond your control. But this…..” He looks up at the ceiling, eyes closed, most likely trying to maintain composure. “I’m gonna go over to Jey and Kaylah’s place for a little bit. I just need to clear my head.”

Your throat constricts. Joe has never been the one to leave in the middle of an argument. He’s that one to always say we’re gonna stay here and figure this out together, so you don’t know what to make of him wanting to leave. 

“Joe, please….” Walking over to him, you place your hands on his chest, forcing him to look at you. “Don’t go, okay? We just—we need to work this out right now.”

“I love you, Y/N. I love you too much to stay here and have this out with you right now, because there’s not many nice things I have to say.” 

There’s a shred of hope that fills you in the way he cups your cheek, staring at you for a minute before he turns to walk out of the door. But the hope is easily dashed at the fact that he still chooses to walk out the door. 

Sniffling, feeling the tears oncoming, you walk out after him only to see he’s already completely descended down the stairs, already out the house most likely. Standing there, you try to keep the tears at bay, try to keep your shit together.

“Mommy….”

“What, Callie!” The second it leaves your voice, the harshness, the volume, the cruelness, you want to melt into the ground. Callie, understandably, looks devastated at you snapping at her. And you feel it too. “Baby, I’m—I’m so sorry—”

She doesn’t give you a chance to grovel because she turns on the heel of her shoes and darts back into her room, slamming the door behind her. 

Your chest tightening, the tears starting to fall. It hits you so hard.

You really fucked up. 

—-------

“You ready to talk yet?”

Joe knew the second he walked into his cousin’s house, grabbed a beer out the fridge and plopped himself on the steps of their back porch that he didn’t come over here to vent. He just needed to get away, to clear and sort through his head so he didn’t end up saying anything worse than what he’s already said to Y/N.

And Kaylah recognized as such. Recognized something must have happened, which is why she allowed him his privacy for the time being.

“Not really,” he answers, finishing off his beer and tossing it to his side.

“Too bad,” Kaylah dismisses. It’s not a major surprise. “Cause I am.” Joe says nothing as she slides down on the step, sitting beside him. When he still says nothing, “what happened, Joe?”

Joe chuckles bitterly. “Check the news. Any of them.”

Kaylah frowns. “You know that’s not what I mean.” She’s very well aware of that part of this shitshow. “What happened with you and Y/N?”

“She lied to me, Kay.” Joe really doesn’t want to talk about this, but he knows he needs to. Knows he eventually has to go back home and face the music. “I had asked her if Mariah had said anything, not even anything bad, just anything in general. She told me no, but that wasn’t the truth, Mariah was sending all kinds of messages alluding to doing something if Y/N didn’t answer her…..now look at what’s happened.” 

Kaylah takes a second to digest what he’s saying. “When did you ask her?”

“When the whole DCFS situation happened. My lawyers were trying to see if we could build some type of case against Mariah.”

Kaylah is smart, always has been, so it’s not difficult for her to put the pieces together. “And you think if she had provided these messages, you could have done something to avoid this latest shitshow?” Joe doesn’t have to answer her question. She already knows his answer. “That’s a big if, Joe, and you know it.”

“Of course, I know it. It’s just…….fuck.” He shuts his eyes, head titled back. “It’s like shit just keeps happening.”

“It’s rough, I can imagine that, but it’s not just rough for you. Y/N is going through the same thing, and instead of sitting here in your misery, blaming her, you two should be handling it together.” Kaylah lifts her finger to silence him when he goes to either agree or protest. “I’m not saying she wasn’t wrong for not telling you the truth, but Joe, we both know that if she had even an inkling that Mariah would do something like this, she would have told you in a heartbeat.” Her voice softens. “She made a mistake.”

“And I know Mariah has put your business out there too now, and I don’t mean to make it seem like this doesn’t impact you as well, but Y/N is the one being dragged to filth on the internet right now. I sincerely hope she hasn’t read some of the stuff being said about her. It’s awful. Mariah lied about so many things and has made Y/N out to be this horrible person when she’s not.”

Joe thinks that’s the part that pisses him off the most, that made him so angry he unintentionally took that anger out on the person being affected the most in this situation. He watched the entire interview Mariah did, heard the way she took parts of the truth and piled a shit ton of lies on top. 

Heard how actually had the fucking audacity to drag Jadah into it, claiming she had texts and recorded phone calls between the two of them talking about how Y/N was a whore and broke up her marriage. All kind of just lies.

And he knows it’s not true, because he knows Jadah. Hell, he spoke to Jadah just this morning. 

It infuriated him even more to read some of the comments, people speaking so cruelly about the woman he loves. Even going as far to drag Callie into the cesspool of bullying. 

A man who doesn’t like not having control, it tears him up to not be able to do anything to dead the shit immediately. 

But…..there are some things he can do, and he can’t do them if he’s sitting here in his feelings.

Joe looks over at Kaylah, gently shoving into her side. “Thank you, Kay.”

“Anytime.” And she means it. Joe is like a brother to her. Always has been. “Now you’ve got twenty minutes to get your sorry ass off my porch and back to your house to take care of business. Cause I know you, Joe. You don’t play about your family. Let that bitch know she’s fucked with the wrong one.”

—-------

“Mama, I really messed up.”

Crying over the phone to your mom at your big age definitely wasn’t in your bingo card for 2024, yet here you are.

Granted, most of what’s happened this year wasn’t in your bingo card anyway, so it lines up.

“Oh, honey. You made a mistake, You’re human. It happens.” Your mom’s voice is soothing on the other side of the phone. “And don’t worry about Joseph. He’s just upset right now. He’ll calm down.”

“He’s right to be upset. I shouldn’t have lied to him.” Sniffling and wiping at your eyes, you bring your legs to your chest. “And look at what my mistake has caused mama. My baby’s face is all over the internet. Personal photos just material for people to make posts and tweets and TikTok’s about.”

It makes you sick to your stomach to think of how low Mariah has gotten in this whole situation. All of those snaps you shared with her of your daughter, precious moments you thought you were sharing with your best friend, she’d sold to whoever would buy them for 15 minutes of fame and a slice of short-lived relevancy.

“None of us knew that girl is as unhinged as she is. You’re not psychic, baby. You had no way of knowing this would happen, and Joseph knows that. He just let his pride get the best of him and took out his frustrations on you, which, make no mistake, is not right. And you definitely need to check him on that.” Your mom briefly switching gears brings a smile and small laugh to your face. “You know I didn’t raise you to take shit from no man, and that includes him.”

“I know….” And you will address it with him, even if deep down something tells you he already feels bad for how he spoke to you, knowing it was wrong. “I just—-I feel like we can’t catch a break. It sometimes makes me wonder if…..if I’m doing the right thing.” The past 24 hours have caused you to experience such a whirlwind of emotions, emotions you’re sure are exacerbated by a pregnancy no one knows about yet. “I would never stop Joe from being in Callie’s life, but if me being with him causes all this mess for him and her then….”

“Don’t do that. Don’t you dare do that.” Your mom’s interjection is fierce and sharp. “That boy loves you. He’d do anything for you and baby girl. Don’t let Mariah trick you into thinking that somehow you being happy with the man you love and father of your child is somehow wrong. Don’t let her win.”

Blowing out a breath, you try to heed to your mom’s guidance. She’s right. You know she’s right. Mariah being psychotic doesn’t change shit about your love for Joe, his love for you, the way he’d do anything for ya’ll and vice versa.

Mariah is just jealous. Dissolving what is otherwise a happy family would bring her nothing but great satisfaction. And over your dead body will you let that bitch get what she wants.

“You’re right.” Shaking your head, you try to counter all of your negative and anxious thoughts with more optimism and logic. “It’s just….it’s hard right now.”

“And it will be for a little while, but that’s when you lean on the people you love, and baby, you got no shortage of that.”

Sniffling, tears drying, you thank her, “thank you, mama.”

“Just let me know if you need me to fly down there.” And you know she will. Know Joe won’t hesitate to pay for a plane ticket for her to come stay with you.

And after you tell him about your pregnancy, you might do just that.

“I will,” you promise, telling her you’ll call or text her later to let her know how everything pans out before ending the call.

Stepping back into the kitchen and sliding the door closed, locking it, the last thing you expect to see is Joe standing in the kitchen.

Gasping, hand over your chest, your shoulders slump as you murmur, “you scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s a layered statement, multiple meanings and several different applications. A knowledge that comes from being with and knowing this man for all these years. 

Walking over to him, you cross your arms over one another. “I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

He shakes his head. “Didn’t give me an excuse to talk to you the way I did or to say the things I did.” And as strange a thought it may be to have in this moment, this is one of the many reasons you love the man before you. Joe is mature and man enough to both admit when he’s fucked up and is always intentional about making it right.

Swallowing, you advise, “this is just a really fucked up situation that neither of us really knows how to process.” Ain’t that the fucking truth. “But, we can handle it…together.”

He gently pulls you into his chest and your eyes shut as he holds you, apologizing into the top of your head.

“I’m sorry too.” you apologize, hand on his chest. “I know that situation was difficult for you too, and I shouldn’t have invalidated your feelings.”

“Neither of us was 100% right.” And he’s correct. He was wrong for lashing out the way he did, and you were wrong for not being honest and invalidating his experience. 

Neither of you could pull the ‘right’ card.

“Agreed.” You murmur, eyes softening as you switch topics a bit. “Callie….I accidentally snapped at her after you left.” The guilt still eats at you for that, for taking out your emotions on your sweet little girl. “I spoke with her and apologized, but….I think she heard us fighting.”

That really kills you. You don’t think it’s entirely unhealthy for kids to hear their parents go at it from time to time, but not at 4. And not for a sensitive child like Callie.

Joe looks equally upset at this, offering, “let me talk to her. If she heard us, she needs to know that me yelling at you wasn’t okay.”

There’s no disagreement nor protest as he heads up the stairs to find Callie.

Joe stands outside Callie’s door with a knock that’s followed by her head snapping up and smile brightening. “Daddy!” She rushes over to him, Joe leaning to pick her up, holding her. “You came back!”

Her words crush him, the idea that she could even think he could ever leave her, leave either of them.

“Of course, baby girl.” Joe moves to the only adult sized chair in her room, holding her on his lap, caressing her cheek. “Callie, I know you heard me and your mom arguing, but I need you to know that I will never leave you or mommy. Daddy was just….very upset, and I took it out on your mom which was wrong.”

In a soft voice, she asks, “did mommy do something bad?”

“No, she just….made a mistake, and that’s okay, because we all make mistakes, but it wasn’t okay for me to yell at her like that.” Joe decides to take this unfortunate occurrence and make it a learning lesson for his daughter. “You never let any lil’ boy yell at you or talk mean to you, you hear me?” Callie nods her head, as he adds. “And if he does, let me know, and I’ll take care of it.”

Callie turns up her nose. “Boys are gross.” She then adds, “cept' you, daddy.”

Joe laughs but quickly agrees. Let her think that as long as she wants. Forever, preferably. He tugs her a bit closer, holding her snug to him. “That’s right. All of em’. Every single one.” 

—-------

Given only a few rooms in the house are fully furnished, the three of you sleep and stay at Joe’s place at night given he doesn’t plan to sell it until you’re all completely moved in. Not feeling like cooking, or rather not feeling like helping Joe cook, you decide on takeout.

Subsequently, ya'll share dinner while watching Finding Nemo 2, the chosen movie of the night by Callie.

There’s extra measures on your end to make sure she’s really forgiven you, needing her to know that you’re truly apologetic, and of course, your inherently kind child shows absolutely no sign that she holds any type of grudge against you.

You couldn’t be any more grateful for her wonderfully big heart.

You handle getting her to bed, seeing that Joe is tired. It’s something you noticed the minute he arrived at the new house from the airport. He looks exhausted. How can he not be? Preparing for WrestleMania, training nonstop, finishing up his documentary, and now this?

A person can only take so much.

You’re actually happy he’ll have a week off post WrestleMania. He needs that. He needs time to just rest.

It doesn’t surprise you that he falls asleep in a matter of minutes, big body laid out over yours as you gently caress his naked back. His heavy shoulders lifting in alignment with his breathing is a soothing source you zone in on while scrolling aimlessly on your phone. Pinterest only. You can’t allow yourself to check out anything else.

That is until you receive a text from Alexis telling you to check Joe’s Instagram. 

For a second, you consider ignoring it, but curiosity gets the best of you.

Logging back into the app, you go straight to his profile, gasping when you see the latest post on the grid. 

It’s a photo of the three of you. One of the ones taken when you’d surprised him at his show back in February. He’s holding Callie who has her arms wrapped around his neck, smiling big at the camera with his other arm hooked around you, your body angled into him, hand on his chest.

It’s one of your favorite photos.

Your eyes drop to his lengthy caption.

@/RomanReigns: I’ve never been one to openly discuss my personal life because, quite frankly, it’s no one’s business. Unfortunately, I’m now forced to do so due to a clearly unwell and pathetic individual who has taken parts of the truth and padded it with lies. My girlfriend and I share one child together. This is my biological child. There’s never been a question of paternity. Her mother never coerced or blackmailed me into shit. Y/N has been villainized as a vindictive gold-digger and liar when that is absolutely bullshit. She is an amazing mother, friend, and partner whom I love fiercely and protectively. The same goes for my daughter. They are my world, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect them. Having our daughter’s photos and personal videos posted all over the internet has been equally heartbreaking as it is infuriating for the both of us. Legal action is currently being pursued for all involved in the doxing and sharing of personal media of my family as well as other atrocities that have taken place behind the scenes you all don’t even know about. All of this is entirely unacceptable and will be dealt with to the fullest extent of the law. And to everyone who has so much to say about a situation you know nothing about outside of the lies circulating, remember these are real people with real feelings.

But most importantly, keep my girlfriend and daughter’s name out of your fucking mouths.

~Joe

Tears are starting to burn your eyes as you stare down at the man sleeping on top of you. The man who never ceases to amaze you with how far he’ll go to show you just how much he loves and cares about you.

He didn’t have to do this, didn’t have to go against his preference to keep his personal life off the internet. But, he did. He did it to send a message to everyone.

To send a message to Mariah.

You press a gentle kiss against the top of his head, knowing doing so won’t disturb his sleep.

And though against your better judgment, decide to read a few comments, knowing it’s bound to be a batch of mixed reactions. 

@/User1: Damn, Roman said keep my wife’s name out your fucking mouth! Watch Will Smith join the match at WrestleMania.

@/User2: Used to be a big fan, but I could never support a cheater. Unfollowing.

@/User3: How many of you actually watched the interview with the “friend”? It’s obvious she’s lying about a lot of things she said, because most of it wasn’t adding up.

@/User4: My thing is why did you hide this kid and girlfriend you supposedly “love” so much? Feels like you got exposed and now you’re trying to save face.

@/User5: This is all so messy and shameful. He definitely needs to lose his title at WM. What a joke and embarrassment to the WWE.

@/User6: It’s funny how so many of you are ignoring the fact that he signed this with his real name. “Roman” is a real person clearly going through heavy shit right now. Who cares about a fucking title?

@/User7: How about you learn to “acknowledge” the truth, Mr. “tribal chief”?

@/UceyJucey: Man, this family right here. We go you, Y/N and Big Dog. For life!

@/BigLexPurr: Ya’ll gon see JOE don’t play about HIS!

@/JonathanFatu: FOE 

@/RomanReigns has turned off comments for this post. 

The comments are to be expected, though it warms you to see familiar names coming to your defense, seeing that while there may be a lot of hatred being spewed your way, there’s still an abundance of love and support that encompasses you.

But, it’s when you come across a reference to the Bloodline that an idea hits you, smashes into you so strongly that you have to wake Joe to get the ball rolling.

“Baby.” He’s knocked out, so it takes a couple of shakes and slaps to finally get him to stir. “Joe!”

Finally, he stirs, sighing loudly as he groans, “fine, you getting on top though.”

Rolling your eyes, you shove his shoulder. “Not that. Can I use one of your cars tomorrow morning? And I need you to stay and watch Callie for a bit.”

At this, he opens his eyes, looking you over with confusion. “Where you going?”

“It’s a surprise. Just….trust me, okay?” Leaning to kiss his cheek, you throw out a quick ‘thank you’ and turn back on your side. Only to squeal quietly when his big hands move you onto your back. One look at him, and you know what he wants. “Joe, it’s like 3 o’clock in the morning.”

“Should have thought about that before you woke me up….” His mouth is on your neck, right hand moving under his shirt that hides your nude body, gripping your breast. “Let me just taste you….”

There’s a strong desire and almost responsibility you feel to press your legs together and direct him to go back to sleep, but raging, most likely pregnancy fueled hormones, along with the fact that you want to enjoy this for as long as you can before pregnancy body stops all sexual acts, are just too damn strong.

So you simply chew on your bottom lip, watching his dark silky head disappear under the covers and enjoy the toe curling ride of fantasy that is his skilled tongue on you.

—-------

You’re out of the house by 7am sharp, the sun still making its way to introduce the new day, but that doesn't matter. 

You’re a woman on a mission, a mission that has a ticking deadline. Joe has to fly back out tomorrow, so you can’t waste one precious moment.

Target has almost everything you need, sans a couple of items that you pick up at Walmart. 

And Alexis, who finally calmed down enough after getting drunk as hell and hooking up with some random she met on the boardwalk, agreed to keep Callie for you for a little bit. It’s a double win, because Callie always has a good time with Alexis, and Alexis can’t catch a murder charge if she’s on babysitting duty.

Of course, Joe being Joe, has a million and one questions. Understandably so.

“Can you at least tell me why you had Alexis come get Callie?” And before you can give him the vaguest answer, he adds on, “or what the hell is in those boxes?”

His question comes from behind as you carry said cake boxes up the steps, reaching the top and offering him a teasing glare. “And you always say I suck at surprises.”

“I’m too old for surprises, baby.”

Baby…..

God, you can’t wait to see his reaction.

“Patience, lover. Patience.” You then gesture with your chin to the first door with a sticky note on it. “Open that one.”

Joe looks taken back, reading the post-it. “Option 1? Option 1 for what?”

This man….. “I see where Callie gets her questioning nature from. Boy, just open the damn door.” 

He rolls his eyes, walking in and looking around. “There’s literally nothing in this room.”

“Yet,” you correct, encouraging him. “Just….be mindful of the layout and what it could be.”

“It can’t be anything considering it’s empty as hell.”

“Joe, I swear to—” You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. “Come on. Let’s look at the other ones.”

And you have him do just that, viewing two more rooms that he doesn’t realize you’ve shortlisted as potential nurseries. He makes his smartass comments, of course, but you also know it’s in jest and he really just wants to know what’s going on. 

So, it’s when you finish and bring him back to the kitchen, directing him to sit on the barstool as you lay out the two boxes in front of him. “You gon tell me why you had me look at empty rooms while you carried boxes?”

“Stop being difficult.” Slapping him on the shoulder, your nerves begin to set in as you motion to the counter. “Pick one to open. Only one.”

Joe’s curious gaze is on you, humor dropping a bit as he asks, in all seriousness. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

“Just…..trust me.” It’s a simple but powerful thing to say given the past couple days. You know he does and know he will. “Pick one.”

Waiting for him to carefully pull the tape off to open the box, you time it perfectly so at the same time he’s lifting the lid, you murmur, “I think it’s a boy too…..”

Joe’s gaze snaps to yours at your statement but also refers back to the now open box. “Y/N….what is this?”

Eyes starting to water, you manage to tease him, “don’t tell me the Tribal Chief suddenly doesn’t know how to read.”

There’s a close and careful watch you have on Joe as his eyes go from left to right, clearly reading the words you have beautifully decorated on the inside of the cake box that’s filled with freshly baked chocolate chip cookies dyed blue with food coloring.

The other box is filled with chocolate chip cookies dyed pink.

Same message located on the lid of the box.

BREAKING NEWS: 

New Bloodline Member Coming Soon. Ready to acknowledge daddy in September, 2024.

He does that one, two, three times before slowly looking back up at you, a level of emotion in his gaze and eyes you’re not sure you’ve ever seen. 

His voice is so low, so imbued with vulnerability that you almost have to ask him to repeat himself. “You serious?”

Shaking your head, you reach out, pushing back some of his hair. “I wouldn't lie to you about this, Leati…….” Taking his hand and placing it on your stomach, you layer your own on top of his. “I’m pregnant…..we’re having another baby.” Sniffling, tears finally starting to spill, you add, “and no one knows but you and me. Not my mom. Not Alexis. Not Callie. Just you and me.” Licking your lips, you acknowledge. “I didn’t do it right the first time, but I’m gonna do everything right this time.”

Joe not saying anything initially makes you second guess yourself. Were you wrong to assume that he would be happy? Given everything that’s happened, has it changed his views on things? You thought that he would be thrilled at the idea of expanding your family, but what if you were wrong?

It’s only seconds later though that he shoots up from the chair, wrapping his strong arms around you, holding you maybe tighter than what’s necessary.

All concern is washed away, a happy giggle leaving your mouth as he spins you around. 

Back on the ground, his hands on your face. “I love you.” His thumbs brush over the apples of your cheek. You swear his eyes are glazed over with unshed tears. “I love you with everything in me.”

“I love you too,” you murmur, choked up and moved by his reaction. He's thrilled. “And I know things are a mess right now, but I couldn’t miss this opportunity to tell you while you’re in town.”

Everything is certainly not the way it should be, but for him to be here, to be with you, and for you to not tell him felt so wrong. You didn't want to make him wait any longer than he needed to.

“September…..” You can see he’s doing the math in his head, hand dropping to your stomach. “You’re three months?”

“Just about. End of March will mark officially three months, but I just found out at the OB-GYN appointment I had. I wanted to tell you right away, but I also wanted to do it in person, because you deserve as much.” You find yourself rambling, probably over-explaining, but the last thing you want is for him to think you’ve been keeping this from him. “It’s up to you, but I do think we should tell Callie first.”

You've thought about it, and to some extent, you have some concern about how she’ll respond. She’s been an only child her whole life, obviously. And she already doesn’t like ‘sharing’ Joe with you sometimes, how will she respond to a brother or sister?

Joe must be reading your mind as he kisses your forehead. “We’ll figure it out.” Another realization also crosses his mind as he connects more dots. “The rooms…..you think one of them could be the nursery.”

Playfully rolling your eyes, you tease him. “Well, it took you long enough to put two and two together.” Yelping, you laugh when Joe squeezes your hip and picks you up, bridal style. “Joe!”

“Let’s go look again,” he implores, and you know it’s because he wants to go again because now he knows this will be the room where your baby will stay in, the room where you’ll nurse him or her, where he’ll finally be able to enjoy being a father from conception to birth. 

It makes this moment even better.

But, you need something else.

You call for him to wait, pointing to the box of cookies. “What?” You ask after he moves close enough for you to grab them. Rubbing your belly, you remind him with all the pride in the world, “mama’s eating for two now.”

—-------

The day is perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

It’s a day where you can temporarily forget all of the bullshit in your life that doesn’t matter in these moments where it’s just the three of you.

Well, four, technically. 

The day is spent shopping, of all things, Joe refusing to leave without you finally getting a bedroom set. The one, ironically, that Alexis pointed out the other day. It really does look like the both of you.

He also might have made a sly comment regarding making good use of the mirror.....

On top of that, you start to casually peruse nursery furniture, nothing too obvious to where Callie can tell. You and Joe haven’t settled on when or how to tell her, but you’re leaning more toward after WrestleMania. He’ll be off that week, so it gives you both time to tackle any big emotions that might come up.

And Joe….

It deeply endears you to notice the little things. He’s always been touchy feely, but his hand seemed to find a space on or near your stomach all day. Gentle kisses pressed against your temple and more “I love you’s” than usual. You know it’s all because he’s wholly and fully happy. This pregnancy means more to him than you could probably ever comprehend.

And being able to make him so happy when he’s made you happier means everything to you.

Even laying in bed together, enjoying your time with each other before he has to leave early in the morning, his big hand is splayed protectively across your stomach. You appreciate all of these moments, know that the next almost six months of your pregnancy will be filled with them.

Even with some dread at trying to navigate this pregnancy with Joe’s crazy work schedule, you’re more happy than anything. Ecstatic that you get to experience this pregnancy with him this time around.

Together. 

Sleep is finally about to overcome you when your phone dings on your nightstand. Tempted to leave it, it’s hard to do so when it vibrates several different times.

Not knowing if it could be something serious or requiring immediate attention, you reach over, unlocking to see you have five texts from an unknown number.

But, the sender is no longer unknown the moment you open the thread.

Unknown: Hi, Y/N. This is Jadah. 

This…..this has to be a joke, has to be some kind of cruel prank that’s all a part of Mariah’s apparent master plan to ruin your life.

Because there’s no way in hell Joe’s ex-wife is texting you. No way in hell. 

But before you can block the number, chalking it up as a cruel prank, you see she’s sent a screenshot of a conversation between her and Joe. Zooming in, you see it’s from around October with them discussing the details of the divorce.

Holy…..shit.

It is her.

Jadah: Just so you know it’s really me…..

And if you weren’t already about to drop your damn phone onto Joe’s head at the fact that thee fucking Jadah is actually texting you right now, her next set of messages nearly send you into cardiac arrest.

Jadah: Super strange/inconvenient way for me to reach out, but given everything that’s going on, I think it’s time we met and talked face to face.

Jadah: Even more, since this hoe got so much to say about OUR lives, I also think it’s time we take back the narrative and pull an Uno reverse card.

Jadah: How do you feel about going on IG Live together?

[batpunkks]

sitting on charlie's face <3

that's literally it. that's the post. that's what this whole thing is about. I think it goes without saying, minors do not interact.

his bottom lip flipped between his teeth in anticipation. he had been begging all day for it. as soon as he had a dream about it, he was chomping at the bit to reenact it with you. you straddled his hips, nothing to separate your sopping cunt and the skin of his torso.

charlie's eyes flicked up and down your nude body, his hands going to your thighs and giving them a firm squeeze, making you smirk.

"gotta tell me what you want, or else i can't help you," you mused, leaning down just above his face.

he growled in agitation as you were still drawing this out when all he wanted were his lips wrapped around your pussy, licking and sucking until you were soft and pliant above him.

"charlie," you taunted, your lips dropping to his neck, "tell me you want me to sit on your face, baby."

he scoffed like an angry child before cutting his losses, spitting out through almost gritted teeth, "please. please sit on my face."

you gifted him a mischievous smile before wiggling your way up his body, his hands on your hips all the way up, fingers flexing against the soft flesh of your thighs.

before you could even lower yourself down, he was extending his neck and pushing you into him by wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you down into his mouth.

you gasped as you felt his tongue swirl and dive across your folds in needy desperation. you knew that ever since the dream he had plagued him, he wanted nothing more than to get as pussy drunk as possible.

and with you above him, singing for him while he gets to feast on your pussy, he is not afraid to let himself go.

he was absolutely zeroed in on your reactions, the way your muscles would tense, if you were specifically sensitive in a spot, he would suck you would jump, and to keep your volume regulated, you would slip your bottom lip between your teeth.

knowing charlie, he was going to remember and analyze everything you gave him tonight.

your hips began to move without your brain registering, grinding down on his tongue as you babbled above him for more. and after all, charlie had wanted to try it since he started.

he held you still with a growl, the look in his eyes giving you a stare that said "don't. move."

charlie wrapped his lips around your clit and began to suck, and you braced yourself against the headboard as pleasure washed over your body. you swore every cell in your body was bouncing off the others at a million miles a minute. you were buzzing.

"charlie, oh my god, fuck!" you whimpered out, brain lost for words as you focused on the boy below you.

he was humming into your sopping cunt with a low timbre, which made your core clench. he was making you feel like a fucking porn star with how much he had you moaning out for him. he smiled to himself as he remembered: he hasn't even put his cock in you yet.

charlie's nose was pushed up against your pubic area, the soft flesh moving in unison with the movements of his mouth. when you dared to look down, his pulverizing blue eyes locked onto yours. the stare was silent but it carried so much weight. a soundless communication that he was there for you. and that he wanted you to cum.

"fuck!" you cry out, his hair held tight in your hand, your other making nail marks on the headboard.

"cum," he begged, his pleading muffled in the weight of your thighs.

electricity seemed to be shooting its way out of your body, your hand slapping over your mouth as you let out silenced wails of pleasure, cursing as you were possessed by your high.

charlie watched you in awe, slowing his tongue to make soft, gentle licks right on your clit to help you come down from your high. you were shaking above him, and that made him glow with pride.

you sloppily dismounted his face as he gave it one last parting kiss. flopping down on the sheets, you felt him lean over you, a curious expression on his face.

"that good?" he asks.

"that good."

your greedy hands were already playing around his v-line, fingertips grazing the hem of his boxers. your post-orgasm neediness made him buzz with arousal.

"what do you think you're doing?" he questions playfully, narrowing his eyes.

"paying you back."

[issues4him]

Draco x fem reader who always picks at her lips due to extreme anxiety and her hands are like always covered in blood and her and Draco makeout and he accidently bites her lip which causes it to bleed?

omg!? this is crazy bc i ALWAYS pick my lips til their literally dripping blood bc of my anxiety lol twinnin' fr. also sorry if this is ass i’m so eepy & sick.

𐙚 anxiety

IN WHICH - y/n picks at her lips from anxiety; draco finds out as they're making out.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

anxiety was a killer. it always had been for y/n since she was just a child. growing up in a toxic household caused abnormalities in the way she reacted to things.

whenever her anxiety got bad, she resorted to the one thing she thought she could control--picking her lips.

she first discovered this habit at 13, after years of her fathers continued torment. minutes after she started, they were covered in blood and her lips were bruised for the next week.

draco started to notice this unhealthy habit when they first began dating. he’d always smack her hand away from her mouth when he’d catch her picking at them.

obviously, he hated she was hurting herself to try and find some sort of comfort, but he also hated the way it made her lips feel when they were kissing. he thought it felt like licking sandpaper with as rough as they were.

y/n’s brain had been getting to her all week, with exams coming up, drama at home, and loads of homework. she had been feeling so overwhelmed and anxious.

her lips were being picked at multiple times a day throughout the school week. her pointer finger and thumb nails were stained red with her blood. her lips red with hints of purple. they hurt to touch, yet she couldn’t stop herself from picking at the sensitive skin.

draco knew y/n was feeling overwhelmed by life’s challenges lately, so he decided to suprise her with some flowers and a sweet treat.

draco currently stands outside y/n’s door, a soft smile on his face as he waits patiently for her to answer. he shifts the bouquet to one hand, adjusting it to ensure the flowers look their best, and holds the box of treats in the other.

as the door swings open, draco’s smile widens. he holds out the bouquet of flowers towards y/n, the vibrant colors of the pink tulips standing out against the box of sweets in his hand.

“surprise,” he says warmly. “i know you’ve been feeling a bit down in the dumps lately, so i wanted to bring you these.”

y/n smiled brightly, visibly appreciative of the man in front of her.

draco's heart warms as he sees the genuine smile on y/n's face. he had hoped she would like his surprise, but the sight of her eyes lighting up reassures him that his plan was a success.

“i also brought these,” he says, lifting the box in his hand slightly, “your favorite sweet treat. i wanted to make sure you had something to snack on while you enjoy the flowers.”

“awe, dray,” his heart flutters at the nickname. “you didn’t have to.” she smiles, unable to contain her gratefulness.

he just shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, “i know.”

the pair went inside y/n’s dorm room, cuddling up on her bed, occasionally snacking on the treats draco brought.

draco absentmindedly traces patterns on her spine with his fingers, occasionally stealing glances at her face to ensure she’s happy and relaxed.

‘she’s so beautiful’ draco’s mind couldn’t help but think.

his hand slowly comes up to softly cup her jaw, forcing her to look up at him.

without saying a word, draco leans in and plants a soft kiss on her lips, waiting for her to initiate the next one.

y/n leaned in, placing another soft kiss on his lips.

“my beautiful girl.” draco whispered, forehead leaned against hers, looking into her big y/e/c eyes.

she smiled sheepishly, glancing elsewhere. their lips found each other again, slowly but surely. draco takes the box of treats and placed them on the nightstand behind him, never leaving her lips,

he makes his way on top of her, legs on either side of her hips.

their kiss got more and more passionate, draco and y/n licking each others mouths and moaning softly into each other.

though, the excitement seemed to end for draco when he bit her bottom lip, softly tugging at it and he suddenly had the taste of iron on his tongue.

draco quickly pulls back with furrowed eyebrows, looking down at y/n’s lips.

“w-what?” y/n asked, sounding a little worried.

as he examined her lips, he realized what he had done.

“are you okay?” draco asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“w-yeah? why?” y/n was confused why he was asking her this.

“honey, your lip just busted open.” draco said, quickly getting up to find some tissues.

y/n groaned, knowing she’s gonna hear the same tangent she’s heard a hundred times before.

“y/n you need to stop picking at your lips. they’re all bruised and bloody for merlin’s sake.” Draco sighed, dabbing a tissue along your lip.

“it’s not that easy.” y/n mumbled.

“i know, y/n,” draco looked at her, “i know you can’t really control it. i know you do it subconsciously. but it’s not okay and i know you know that. i hate seeing my pretty girl like this.” he softly strokeed the side of her face with his fingers.

“i hate it too.” tears form at the brim of her eyes, clearly unhappy with herself.

“c’mere baby,” draco pulls her onto his lap, “we’ll figure something out together. we’re gonna kick your anxiety in its ass.” she chuckled.

she smiled softly through her unhappiness, knowing she had a boyfriend who was going to be with her every step of her journey.

she felt secure. like she’d never be alone again.