#wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you anyway

[lol-jackles]

Hello,

It’s nice to see you more active on here at the moment.

I was thinking about how you tend to say that the bi-bros who lean towards Sam are more in line with the GA.

But, I watch lots of reactors watch SPN for the first time, and they often lean towards Dean (I’d say 3/5), and I’ve heard a similar ratio say that they think Jensen is a noticeably better actor than Jared.

So, my questions are, are they letting fan expectations colour their reactions (hellers and Dean girls are very fast to pounce on new reactors), are they already Destiel curious from seeing edits in tumblr (I know of at least one who fits this), or do they acquaint “they make me feel emotional therefore they are the best actor”?

For me personally, on my first watch, Dean killed me with his love for family and Sammy and I empathized more with him usually, at least until Season 4/5 where he started pissing me off regularly. But, when I rewatch, I love episodes like Mystery Spot and Born Under a Bad Sign, or Souless Sam episodes because Jared is just so good when he gets something interesting to do. I find the Dean crying stuff less compelling on rewatches because it’s not as interesting to me (with a few expectations) after the first and second viewing. And acting at mirrors scenes gets old for me in particular very quickly.

In short, I think both are good, with different strengths, but I wonder why so many new viewers that I come across see Jensen as being stronger and Dean as being better. Do the just fail to see past the narrative bias? Or they just like Sean because he’s more fun?

Anyway, I appreciate any thoughts you want to share on this. And I’m also wondering if there is stats anywhere in GA favoring Sam?

First, because Sam girls commit “geek social fallacies” by also liking Dean because they love that Dean revolves around their Sammy. But Dean/Jensen stans don’t return the favor because they hate that Dean revolves around his Sammy so they hate on Sammy even though under their breath they’ve said if Jensen had been playing Sammy all along they wouldn’t change any of the writing.  That’s why there appears to be a Dean bias in the SPN fandom because Sam fans also likes Dean.  

It’s not a coincidence that Sam girls are the fandom’s official representative (all the meta fans on the show are Sam fans).   The show is mostly Sam-centric, if the bitter Sam girls won’t believe me then believe Jensen’s interviews when he said that SPN is Sam-centric and called season 10 a "rare Dean-centric storyline". (X)

Second, Dean is supposed to be a scene stealer, that's what support-protagonist do.  Often our favorite characters are not the protagonist but these scene stealers characters, they are usually cool or very funny. But it becomes a problem when producers try to capitalize on the character’s popularity, like creating a spin-off.   Like spices, which can not take the place of the main course, scene stealers often fail as leads because their “special-ness” evaporates when they have to carry the show. It's why WB canceled Supernatural when Jared told them he was leaving, because they knew a Dean-led Supernatural wouldn't work.

So while I'm watching an episode, I am more drawn to Dean because he’s more fun or interesting to watch. However the next day I remember the episode through Sam’s actions and interactions. Some of my readers tell me that they were surprised that they seem to “forget” Dean when they recall specific storylines, I said that’s supposed to happen with the support-protagonist.  We don't remember much of what John Watson did in the classic Sherlock Holmes or what was Nick Carraway's deal in The Great Gatsby.

It's the protagonist who mobilizes the story and stands out in readers’ or audiences’ minds.  Dean needs interaction with Sam in order for the audience to even remember him because he's part of the protagonist’s story. It’s why I keep saying Supernatural is Sam’s story, it's his Hero’s Journey.   Dean is at his best when he’s focused on Sam (which is why season 10 sucked and season 5 was kind of weak).

Third, Jensen is a personality actor and people are generally more drawn to them. Jared is a character actor who is trapped in a leading man role. Jensen has been Jensen “Dean Winchester” Ackles for the majority of his TV and movie roles since 1998.  It’s why Jensen initially made a bigger splash with Dean in the early Supernatural seasons because he’s already been playing Dean for years since Days of Our Lives.  In 2005 when SPN premiered, Jensen had a 7 years head start playing Dean compared to Jared who was just starting to play Sam and had to create Sam from scratch.  By season 3, audiences began to notice Jared's versatile acting skills and he would soon be tasked with playing different characters because that's what character actors do.

[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x gn!reader. a very indulgent soft!blitzø fic for @clovrplayz. when he finds you locked away in your apartment overwhelmed by all your work, blitzø takes it upon himself to try and help you relax for a little while.

featuring: general fluff, reader is gender neutral (only descriptor of body involves them having hair), people-pleasing stress.

You barely manage to look up for more than a cursor second when you hear the door to the apartment open, your elbows planted on the kitchen counter in front of you so you can press the heels of your hands into your temples. You’ve been staring at the paperwork in front of you for so long that your eyes have unfocused, and you blink hard to try and get them working properly again.

“Well, howdy-doody, peachy-babe,” Blitzø sing-songs as he kicks the door closed behind him, shrugging off his coat and tossing it towards the coatrack beside him. He misses; you hear it crumple on the carpet instead. The imp seems not to notice as he makes his way over to you. “You are gonna looooove me; I’ve got—”

Blitzø trails off as he realises you’re not actually listening, and his tone drops to something more subdued. “Hey. You okay?”

You jerk upright as you suddenly feel the touch of his hand on the small of your back; the move knocks the papers further askew on the countertop.

“Hey!” you give him a brief, distracted smile, pushing hair away from your face self-consciously. You usually put a little more effort into your appearance when you know he’s coming over; at the very least you make sure you’ve showered in the last… twenty-four hours. You’re suddenly aware of how tight your face feels around your eyes from a lack of sleep, of the beginnings of grease clinging to the roots of your hair telling you that you really needed to wash it. “Hey! Sorry, did we… were we supposed to have… plans?”

Blitzø raises a brow. “Nooope. I’m just doin’ that thing you totally love where I barge in unannounced and make you do whatever I want to – what’s wrong with you?”

“That sounds like the set up of a joke I’m too tired to make,” you sigh, then wave a hand dismissively as you turn your attention back to the counter. “No, I’m fine. I’m just… I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“It’s Hell,” you point out dryly. “They tend to make most of us work weekends.”

He shrugs, moving to lean against the counter beside you, forcing himself into your line of sight. He stands with his back to it, elbows resting carelessly on top of your work. Blitzø studies your face for a moment before he tries for a smirk. “Wouldn’t have to if you came and worked for I.M.P.”

You give him a tired smile. “You just get your rocks off to the idea of me calling you ‘sir’.”

He grins. “It makes me all tingly.”

You shake your head in amusement. “I appreciate the offer – again – but I told you, B. I can’t leave where I am. They need me.”

“They’re assholes,” he replies. He says it simply, like he’s telling you the day of the week, despite never having met anyone you work with. You tried not to complain in front of him, didn’t you? And anyway, they weren’t assholes, they were just…

“They’re not so bad,” you grimace, trying the tug the papers out from under his elbow carefully.

“They’re manky-ass crotch-jockeys, peach.”

You choke on a laugh despite yourself. “Okay, so they’re not… great, but they’re maybe not… that. And they need me there; I can’t just leave them with all this work still needing to be done.”

A soft, affectionate smile you completely miss tugs at the corner of Blitzø’s mouth, and he rolls his eyes before finally relenting and lifting his elbow so you can rescue those pages. “Aaannnd… are you gettin’ much work done?”

You hesitate to respond, and apparently, that’s all the answer the imp needs. Winding his tail around the leg of your stool, he drags it back from the counter, stepping between you and your work. You make to protest, but his expression is this mix of soft amusement and what you’re surprised to see as genuine concern, and your complaint dies before it can escape you. Blitzø’s hands come up to rest on your thighs, and while the touch still manages to send a blush into your cheeks, his touch doesn’t wander any higher than just above your knee, his palms warming you through the worn fabric of your sweats.

“You need a break.”

You sigh, “I can’t—”

“You’re takin’ a break if I have to sling you over my shoulder and carry you,” Blitzø says, his voice matter-of-fact and bright. You feel his tail brush against your ankle. “So, if you want me to get all grabby on that sweet lil bod of yours, keep arguin’. Otherwise, follow me.”

Blitzø surprises you by leading you into your bathroom – a cramped little room of cold tiles and a bath and shower combination that is a little too small for you to really use the former part of it. Before you can ask what exactly he has planned, he turns and plants his hands on your shoulders, pushing you gently down to sit on the mat with your back against the edge of the tub.

You want to ask what the hell he’s doing, but he starts humming to himself as he ransacks the cabinet under the sink, hips and tail swaying cattishly back and forth in time with whatever tune he’s got in his brain. He looks so strangely at home, and it isn’t until he straightens with the cheap detachable shower head hose you had buried at the back of the cupboard that you find words again.

“What exactly do you have that for?”

“Pretty sure it’s not what you usually use it for,” he shoots back, waggling his eyebrows at you suggestively. You snort a laugh, the sound catching as he surprises you by tossing a towel on your head. “Wrap that around your shoulders, perv.”

Confused, you do as he asks, watching him hook the shower head’s nozzle to the bath’s tap. He runs the water, rocking the spray over his fingers a few times until he’s satisfied with the temperature. As the same time his tail collects your shampoo and conditioner from the caddy above him, and your face warms as you realise his intentions.

“Blitz, you don’t have to—”

“Shut up and be pampered, bitch,” he eye-rolls, but his smirk is soft as he moves to kneel beside you. He reaches up to untuck your hair from where it’s hooked under the towel, and you’re not sure if it’s the cooling droplets of water or the graze of his claws against the nape of your neck that makes you shiver. “’Cause if I gotta look at your greasy-ass head much longer you’re gonna put me off pizza for life.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “What’s this warm and fuzzy feeling in my—”

“Just tilt your head back, would ya?”

You laugh at his exasperation but do as he asks, closing your eyes as the towel around your neck cradles you comfortably against the edge of the ceramic. You’re immediately rewarded with a smile and the sensation of warm water against your scalp. Blitzø’s smile lingers as his hand comes up to carefully smooth your hair away from your face, claws ghosting over your forehead in a way that completely belays his joke about grease. Almost immediately you feel the tension in your shoulders ease, and Blitzø chuckles quietly to himself as he notices.

“That’s it, peach. Jus’ relax, alright?” he says soothingly as he soaks your hair, moving the showerhead slowly over your scalp. “I got you.”

Your tail slips over your lap and you curl your fingers around it, the spade swaying back and forth by your hip. “’Kay.”

You notice Blitzø is humming again when you feel the cold squirt of shampoo against the crown of your head, and you hold back a happy moan as his claws slide through your soaking hair to massage it into the locks. He seems to know just how much pressure to use, kneading his fingertips carefully into the skin behind your ears, into your temples. Your lips part with a soft sigh as he lingers there, working away the tension headache that has been brewing there for the last few hours.

“That’s my good baby,” he croons softly, the warmth of voice curling into your chest the way the steam caresses the bare skin of your arms and neck. He lifts your head slightly to press his fingers into the nape of your neck and your own hands tighten on your tail, the soft scent of night jasmine and bergamot teasing at your senses. You still can’t recognize the song he’s chosen as he continues humming, but it’s soft and sweet and slow… something like a lullaby that makes you want to melt right there into the bathmat.

Blitzø takes his time rubbing the shampoo through your hair, lingering around the bases of your horns where he knows stress can settle. When the water returns to wash away the bubbles you shudder, and the steam clings to your cheeks, your forehead, your lips. You want to open your eyes, to see what kind of expression he might be wearing as he does this, but you don’t want to risk ruining the moment.

He conditions your hair with the same care, his fingers returning to your temples and your horns as he gives it time to settle. In any other circumstance you would probably make a joke about how someone who’s been bald for as long as you’d known him knew so much about how to properly wash hair, but right now… Satan, you really didn’t care.

All too soon the water shuts off and Blitzø takes your hand to help you sit up properly again, one hand tucking up under your back to support you. It isn’t really necessary, but you smile at the attentiveness. You find yourself flushing now that the moment is over, and busy yourself with obscuring your face with the towel as you dry your hair so he doesn’t notice.

“Alright, baby, up you get,” he hauls you to your feel, hands wrapped around yours. That warmth lingers in your cheeks, and you try not to let your mind linger on the pet-name he’s just used. “Time for bed.”

“Wh-?” your brow creases in confusion. “It’s like… three in the afternoon! And I’ve still got work to—”

“Right.” You yelp in surprise as Blitzø sighs, nods once, then scoops you up into his arms. He grins at you as your arms go automatically to his shoulders, wrapping around his neck for stability. His hands clutch at your thighs, the small of your back, and you swear you feel his tail curl around yours for a moment before retreating again. “I warned you.”

“Blitz—!”

He ignores your protests as  he carries you into the bedroom, his tail hooking under the edge of the comforter and drawing it back before he drops you onto the middle of the mattress. He clambers onto the bed after you, tugging you back against his chest before you can climb back up off the bed. He tucks his chin over your shoulder as he wraps his arms around your middle, nuzzling into the side of your neck, unbothered by your still-damp hair. “Just shut up and nap with me, alright?”

Blitzø is wonderfully warm against your back, and the soft lilt to his voice is enough to convince you to do as he asks. His breath tickles against the side of your neck, his breathing slowing and becoming more measured as the two of you settle. His tail tugs the covers up over you, and you let your legs tangle with his as you settle against him.

Your breath catches slightly as his fingers curl in the hem of your shirt, his touch barely more than a whisper against the soft flesh of your stomach. Maybe that’s why your voice comes unsteadily when you speak, volume barely more than a murmur. “I do need to get back to work, Blitz…”

He shakes his head against your back, bumps his forehead against the space between your shoulders. “Nooooope… sleep now. Work later. Those assholes will just have to wait.”

“Blitz…”

He sighs, rolling his eyes as he sits up. He grabs at your shoulder, pushing you onto your back. He straddles your hips, bracing his hands on either side of your shoulders. It makes your breath catch, and you press your lips together against the flood of butterflies that suddenly swirl up through your middle.

“You gotta take a break, baby.” he tells you gently. He reaches up to tuck hair behind your ear, claws grazing along the line of your neck. “Okay?”

You exhale, give him a reluctant nod. “Okay.”

He smiles, bending down and brushing a kiss over your forehead. He lets his lips linger there for a moment before he pulls away again, and then he lets himself flop down on top of you.

You cough out a laugh as he knocks the air out of you, and he smiles lazily, his chin cradled against your sternum. You roll your eyes and he sticks his forked tongue out at you, but you still reach up to smooth your fingers over his forehead, scratching at the base of one of the spikes between his horns. A purr rumbles through him at the touch.

“Thank you, Blitz.”

His smile twitches wider, his eyes closed blissfully. “Welcome, baby.”

[searchingwardrobes]

Scarborough Fair 9/?

Yes, it's true. You aren't dreaming. I am finally updating this long-neglected fic! Not only that, but I will be finishing it. As a matter of fact, you will have an update every day this week. If anyone still cares, that is, lol. I know the fandom isn't what it once was. However, I suddenly got inspired again to finish this. So whether or not anyone reads it, it's getting the resolution it deserves. Why did I neglect it for so long? Writer's block. I just haven't written hardly a thing in at least a year, probably longer. So when I laid awake, unable to sleep because I was finishing this fic in my head, I was ecstatic. That's why I'm finishing it whether anyone reads it or not. Of course, if you are still reading it, may I politely suggest commenting? It definitely feeds the muse!

Rest assured, there will be an update tomorrow. I don't have much going on tomorrow, and I actually planned more in this chapter originally. So be looking out for that!

Much thanks to the two biggest fans of this fic, Krystal @kmomof4 and Marta @snowbellewells - re-reading your reblogs of this fic helped kick me back into high gear!

And as an extra treat, here is a picture of Emma's wedding dress in this chapter:

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Emma Swan has had a charmed life, despite being a foster child. She has a wonderful family who loves her, and the best friends in the world. The only thing that mars her idyllic existence is her birth mother: a homeless woman who mutters nonsensical rhymes and claims to be Snow White. One fateful night, however, Emma’s world is shattered. Perhaps her mother’s rhymes aren’t nonsense after all.

Rated: M for date rape, dubious consent, teen pregnancy, and sexy times (the good kind!)

Words: Over 1k in this chapter

Chapter One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight

Also on Ao3

Tagging:  (let me know if you wish to be removed or added):  @snowbellewells @teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @xhookswenchx-reads-blog @thisonesatellite @welllpthisishappening @spartanguard @ohmakemeahercules @tiganasummertree @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1 @jamif @undercaffinatednightmare @onceratheart18 @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressay

Liam and Ingrid, unsurprisingly, had concerns when they came home to Emma and Killian announcing their engagement. Anna, unsurprisingly, was bouncing up and down with joy. 

“Are you sure you’re proposing for the right reasons?” Was their main question for Killian.

“Well, the main reason is I love her,” he told them with conviction, “but it’s also the timing. She needs me. I know deep in my bones I was always meant to be her husband, so if she needs me now, why wait?”

“Are you sure you aren’t just accepting out of fear? Because it’s safe?” Was their main question for Emma.

Emma’s answer was delivered with just as much conviction. “It isn’t just that I feel safe with Killian; I love him. Shouldn’t love feel safe, anyway? And I feel the same way he does. If we waited five more years, or ten, or twenty, nothing would change. We’re meant to be together.”

Liam and Ingrid couldn’t pretend to be surprised. Both of them had noticed a soulmate type of connection between Emma and Killian for a long time. They also couldn’t deny the logic of the decision when it came to Emma’s security and the baby’s. There was only one other concern.

“What about school?”

“I can finish high school married just as well as I can single,” Emma told them with a shrug, and Killian vowed he wouldn’t get in the way of her education. 

“But Boston College, Killian?”

He squared his shoulders and looked his brother dead in the eyes. “I won’t be returning. I’ve already told my boss he can count on me full time with the construction company. He’s promoting me to a foreman position, so I can easily support Emma. When the baby’s a little older, I can enroll at Red Oak and get my degree there.” 

Liam wanted to argue, but there really wasn’t anything wrong with Killian’s plan. Lots of people worked a year or two, or longer, before getting a degree. He wanted to say that Boston College was a lot more prestigious than Red Oak, but he knew full well it was a pretty weak argument. Killian would save a lot of money by transferring to Red Oak, not to mention gaining job experience. He let out a long breath and shared a meaningful look with his wife. 

“Well okay, then,” she said, her signature grin filling her face, “let’s plan a wedding!”

*******************************************************

A date was set for mid-August, giving Emma two weeks between the wedding and the first day of her senior year. Unfortunately, Elsa wouldn’t be back from her study abroad program in time for the ceremony. It also gave them only three weeks to throw a wedding together. Thankfully, neither Emma nor Killian were big on grand ceremonies. 

The first item on Ingrid’s checklist was the venue. The bride and groom solved that easily: their own living room. Anna and Ingrid - and Elsa via Zoom - tried to protest that it was too small, but Emma just shrugged them off. 

“We can just pull out all the furniture and line up folding chairs. It’s not like we’re inviting that many people.”

Ingrid was concerned that the second item, the dress, would be impossible. Fate, however, seemed to be in their favor. Emma found a vintage dress that suited her personality perfectly at a thrift store downtown. She hadn’t even been dress shopping that day. Ingrid had taken her for ice cream after one of her prenatal appointments, and they had decided to stroll around the square with their ice cream cones. They were simply walking along the sidewalk, licking scoops of chocolate ice cream, and suddenly, there it was, displayed in a window. 

Emma wasn’t even sure it was meant to be a wedding dress, but it didn’t really matter. It was a cream colored, empire-wasted, sleeveless dress with one tier on the bottom of the long skirt. The fabric had a delicate floral pattern in light gold that shimmered when Emma moved. The top was a halter, which flattered Emma’s fuller bust due to her pregnancy. The empire waist also masked her growing baby bump and provided plenty of room in case she gained more in the next few weeks. When she tried it on, Ingrid started to cry. 

An employee stopped to admire Emma. “We just got that in yesterday,” she told her. “A woman told us it was her mother’s prom dress in 1976.”

Emma’s mouth fell open as she locked eyes with Ingrid. Her foster mother pressed her hands to her mouth and let out a happy squeak. 

“It’s fate, Emma,” she told her, and the two embraced. 

They left the store with the dress lovingly wrapped in its original box, having paid a whopping thirty-five dollars and seventy-five cents. 

 Every single item on Ingrid’s list was checked off with simple solutions by the bride and groom:

Killian’s tux? Well, if Emma was wearing a 70s prom dress from a thrift shop, Killian would find a thrift store suit, too.

The food? A potluck lunch would do just fine. 

The cake? The ones at the grocery store would do. As George Banks said in Father of the Bride, a cake is just flour, eggs, and sugar, right? Or something. 

The only thing Killian was concerned about was a place to live. Sure, he knew his brother and Ingrid would never kick them out, and there was at least a modicum of privacy in his attic suite. Still, it would be a little awkward, for one. More than that, however, was Killian’s pride. If he was really providing for Emma and the baby, he should be able to put a roof over their heads. 

His pride wouldn’t even allow him to go to his own brother with his concerns. Yet, Liam somehow knew anyway. Which was why he greeted Killian at the door one evening, a week and a half before the wedding, with a huge grin on his face and a slip of paper in his hand with an address on it. 

After hearing what Liam had to say, Killian raced eagerly up the stairs to Emma’s room with the good news. He came to a sudden stop in Emma’s open doorway, the smile falling from his face. She was sitting atop her bed, hugging a pillow, hastily wiping tears from her cheeks. Her mother’s journal rested atop the quilt beside her. 

“Hey,” Killian said softly as he entered the room, “what’s wrong?”

Emma slid over to make space for him on the bed, still trying to wipe the traces of tears from her cheeks. Killian picked up her mother’s journal as he made himself comfortable against the throw pillows along the headboard. Emma lifted his arm, put it around her shoulders, and tucked herself against him. 

“Is it the curse?”

She shook her head. “It’s my mom,” she told him softly.

He waited, rubbing her arm gently, and pressing his lips to the top of her head. Emma let out a shaky sigh before continuing.

“I wish I knew where she was. I’m getting married, and she doesn’t even know.”

Killian nodded but said nothing. Emma lifted her head just enough to look up at him. 

“Is it crazy that I wish she could be there?”

“Of course not. She’s your mother.”

“My insane, homeless, unpredictable mother who threw glass bottles at my head.”

Killian chuckled lightly. “True,” he tapped the green, cloth-covered notebook resting on the bedspread, “but I think reading her journal has given you a glimpse of the woman she was before. I think it’s made you realize, maybe for the first time, what you’ve lost.”

“That makes sense. I think I’m also worried that we haven’t heard from her in so long.”

Killian didn’t know what to say to ease her worries, so he cupped her face in his hand, tipped her chin up, and covered her lips with his. The kiss started gentle, intended simply to comfort, but then she responded so fervently and eagerly, that he lost himself. He shifted so she was beneath him, which caused a mewling sound to pass her lips that drove him wild. Emma slid her hand beneath his t-shirt, sending shivers up his spine as her fingers caressed his lower back. His hand grasped her waist, and his thumb slipped beneath the hem of her shirt. At the simple contact, Emma arched into him, and he began to trail kisses along her jawline. With one hand still on his back, her other hand threaded through his hair. She gasped when his lips trailed to the sensitive skin behind her ear, and something about the sound snapped him out of his haze of desire.

Killian pulled away abruptly and sat up, putting some distance between them. Emma still lay there on the bed, her face flushed, her hair splayed out on the pillows beneath her, a look of confusion marring her brow. 

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said thickly, fixing his own mussed hair with shaking hands. 

“What for?” Emma asked indignantly, sitting up beside him. “We’re engaged.”

He turned to her and took her face gently in both hands. “I know. I love you, Emma, and I plan to cherish you. You deserve that. After everything you’ve been through, I’m not going to take you like this, hurried and frantic, thinking in the back of our minds that someone could interrupt us at any moment.”

Emma glanced sheepishly at the still open door and giggled. “Then close the door next time.”

He laughed with her and pulled her to him, holding her gently. He ran his fingers through her slightly tangled hair. 

“I want to make love to you. Slowly. Thoroughly.”

Emma shivered in his arms. “Are you trying to torture me on purpose?”

He laughed again. “I feel a bit tortured, myself, truth be told. But we only have a week and a half. Then we’ll have the time and the privacy we deserve.”

“Time maybe. But privacy?”

Killian pulled the forgotten slip of paper from his pocket. “Yes, privacy.”

Emma snatched it from his hand, looking at it curiously as she settled in the middle of the bed with her legs crossed. “An address?”

“Our address,” he told her, grinning broadly.

“For real?” Emma’s eyes widened.

“For real.”

Emma squealed and threw her arms around his neck. He laughed as she peppered kisses all over his face. 

“How?” she finally asked. 

“There’s a professor of archaeology taking a sabbatical to do a dig in Greece. He told Liam he was looking for someone to take care of his house while he’s gone. So it’s ours. For free.”

“For free?”

Killian shrugged. “Well, there are also some maintenance things on the house I’m agreeing to do for him free of charge, but basically.”

Emma gazed in shock and happiness at the paper in her hands. “It’s too good to be true.”

“It’s fate.”

Emma’s eyes shone with happy tears as she looked back up at him. “It really is.”

Killian was ready to throw caution to the wind and press Emma back down into the pillows when Ingrid appeared in the doorway. He was worried what she would say, seeing him on Emma’s bed, but Ingrid seemed too ecstatic to notice. 

“We’ve found her!” she told them. 

“Who?” Emma asked. 

“Your mom!”

[new-neanias]

What are you getting me for a Christmas present

well, I don’t know, bun…what do you want? I’ll see what I can do

[cupiare]

walking into work tomorrow for the staff training day after i got rejected for the job i was near guaranteed to get and didn’t find out the news from my boss who i was with the whole morning in TUTOR PLANNING DAY FOR NEXT YR FOR TUTORIALS THAT TUTORS WOULD BE DOING THAT I WAS BOOKED INTO WITH THE TUTORS THE ROLE I APPLIED FOR AND HAD A VERY GOOD INTERVIEW FOR i found out from a noreply auto generated email from hr that was sent out as soon as i stepped out of the meeting room :) and then got invited back to the meeting for the rest of the day where my manager repeatedly talked about taking my good ideas from my interview and implementing them into tutorials next yr. after i got rejected via generated email. How we doing guys 😆

[coco-loco-nut]

Gen Z

pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

summary: everyone seems to forget that Max is 26

a/n: not my favorite, but it’s something i’ve been working on for a while there will be no part two

requests open masterlist

—————

Breaking up with Kelly was extremely difficult for Max to do. Despite not being in love with her anymore, he was very aware of what would happen to P. Max knew it was better to break up than stay just because of P, so he bit the bullet. The next few months were lonely, having to readjust to being alone in Monaco with just his cats.

That’s when you came barreling into his life. Only two years younger than Max, you were a breath of fresh air for him. He really didn’t expect to fall for you, not so quick anyway.

You knew a bit about Formula One, but it was more to the extent that your home hosted a race, some drivers lived in the city, and your hairdresser’s son was a driver. It didn’t phase you when Max told you about his career and fame, you just thought the Dutchman was cute.

“Men who own cats are major green flags,” you told him over text when you first started dating. That might’ve been what really made Max fall for you. You made him feel young, understandably so. He was 19 when he first met Kelly, and she was 28.

Max taught you about the races, you helped him connect with his inner Gen Z. He taught you Dutch and how to game, you taught him slang and pop culture. The two of you were sitting on the couch a month before the Monaco GP, watching Cars of course, when Max asked you to join him at the race.

“Of course, anything for Lightning McQueen,” you squeeze his hand. You knew from TikTok that Charles, your boyfriend’s work husband, was Lightning McQueen, but how could that not be Max.

“Kachow,” Max says causing you to laugh. He has been watching the TikToks and reels you send him, usually something formula one or cars related.

Max is watching Cars 2 with you when he points out each driver in the movie. You store the knowledge in the back of your mind for when you watch classic races and Max explains things to you. You feel sufficiently ready for Monaco.

“Lewis, this is my girlfriend, Y/n,” Max introduces you to the Mercedes driver. You look at him, star stuck.

“I loved you in Cars,” you blurt out, causing Lewis to laugh and Max to hide his face in embarrassment. Max isn’t surprised, but he can’t believe this is how your first interaction is going. Lewis is just happy you aren’t with Max because he is a driver.

“Thank you, how old are you?” Lewis asks, ready to feel old.

“24, two years younger than Maxie,” you smile lovingly at your boyfriend.

“I forgot how young you actually are,” Lewis’s unspoken words hang in the air between him and Max. Now that you are dating someone closer to your own age.

Lewis’s statement seemed to be the general consensus when everyone saw you with him. Max looked and acted like he was 26. He was using slang you taught him, he was making pop culture references that he likely wouldn’t have known otherwise. He was getting to experience his twenty’s like he should have been, not as if he was much older than he was.

Lando was the most excited to meet you, not only were you his age, but you brought out Max’s inner child that Lando never could.

“I’m stealing your girlfriend,” Lando tells Max, wanting to claim you as his best friend.

“No,” Max deadpans.

“What if Lando is my bestie?” you ask Max, who can’t say no to you.

“Then I guess that’s okay,” Max kisses your temple.

“OMG, McLaren is doing another hide and seek video, you two should join,” Lando proposes.

“That actually sounds fun,” Max says, looking at you for confirmation.

“I’m in,” you smile, letting Lando lead the way.

The video is a hit, the fans are loving this version of Max. Max is loving this version of him too, for once he doesn’t feel like he has to grow up faster than he should.

“Stay away from her, she’s no good for you. Act like a grown up,” you overhear Jos tell Max as you come back to the garage from hospitality. You have yet to meet Jos, Max made it very clear that he doesn’t want you near his dad. The memes the two of you send back and forth are a good enough reason why, so you hang back.

“What do you mean? I am. I’m 26, why should I act like I’m 40? I am happier with her than I was with Kelly,” Max argues back, you hold yourself back.

“World Champions are serious, mature. Quit acting like Lando Norris and more like an adult,” Jos is seething.

“Ask Max to come back here, say the team needs him or something,” you as an engineer when you notice Jos getting angrier.

“Then why am I leading by a heavy margin already. You just can’t handle that I am putting myself first. What would you even know about being a champion? You never won a race!” Max yells. The engineer quickly cuts in and leads Max to you.

“You gagged him, baby. Are you okay?” Max hugs you, you just rub his back as he regulates his breathing.

“He’s an opp, for real,” Max mutters into your shoulder, causing you to snort with laughter.

“God, I love you,” you can’t contain the laughter. Max joins in, your smile is infectious.

“I did use it right, no?” Max asks between the laughter.

“You did, I just wasn’t expecting it,” you take a deep breath, calming down.

“No cap?”

“Alright, you are using too much. Where is old man Max, this is freaky,” you take a step back, the smile that remains on your face betrays your words.

“You got me into my gen z era, you get the consequences,” Max pulls you back into him as you groan in annoyance.

“I love you too,” he laughs, peppering your face with kisses.

And when a journalist is brave enough to ask about the shift in Max? He’s always eager to talk about you.

“My girlfriend forced me to watch hours of YouTube compilations about formula one memes. We are always sending different memes to each other, she definitely helps me remember to laugh more,” Max gushes.

“I guess we all forget that you aren’t nearly forty,” the journalist nods. Max answers a few more questions before finding you in his drivers room. He lays down on the couch, his head on your lap.

“What’s on your mind?” you run your hand through Max’s hair.

“Have I changed that much?” he asks, his blue eyes looking up at you.

“I don’t think so, I think you’ve just started being yourself around more people. You are still the same Max that I first met and fell in love with, everyone else is just seeing that Max,” you are confused about the question, but answer him. Max doesn’t reply, he just nuzzles closer to you.

“I like this version of me,” he says into your shirt a few minutes later, you keep playing with his hair.

“I’m glad, but I like every version of you, Max. Even old man Max,” you smile as he sits up.

“Old man? How about I show you how far from true that is,” there is a look in his eye that tells you that you just started something.

“And how will you do that?” you decide to entertain him as he slips his hands under your shirt.

“I don’t think I need to tell you.”

[dollishmehrayan]

# “MRS. WAYNE I THINK THIS IS FOR YOU!” ── .✦ ( bruce wayne wife headcannons )

a/n: this was request by a anon (here) so yeah but anyways I Lowkey used to be OBSESSED with like batmom stories but like I genuinely then lost all care for liking anything bruce wayne but this might just like help me (jason todd girly converts into a batmom Stan😭) tags: (bruce wayne x fem!reader)

CHAOTIC HEADCANNONS ── .✦

“No, Bruce. That’s Not a Normal Thing to Do.”

You frequently have to remind him that billionaire habits don’t translate to normal life.

Bruce: “I thought I’d buy out the café you like so you wouldn’t have to wait in line.”

You: “Bruce, we’re just getting lattes. Calm down.”

The expensive car Dilemma: He’s tried picking you up in one of his expensive cars once, and you’ve never let him live it down.

“Bruce, we’re not running a car dealership we’re going to Target.”

Tech Mishaps: Bruce likes to show off his gadgets, but they always malfunction around you. Once, the Batcomputer locked him out because you accidentally spilled coffee near it. You took a picture of his shocked face and made it your phone wallpaper for weeks.

The Disastrous Cooking Attempts: Bruce insists he can cook. The truth? Alfred banned him from the kitchen after he tried to “surprise” you with pancakes and set the stovetop on fire.

“I’m Batman, but I can’t handle pancake batter.”

OVERPROTECTIVE HUSBAND™ ── .✦

He’ll interrogate any new friends you bring around like they’re suspects in a heist.

Bruce, shaking someone’s hand firmly: “And what do you do for a living?”

You, glaring: “Bruce, they’re not applying to join the Justice League.”

GOSSIP FINAL BOSS ── .✦

He pretends not to care about gossip, but he secretly listens to you rant about gala drama. Sometimes, he’ll even chime in with hilariously accurate observations.

You: “That woman was glaring at me all night.”

Bruce: “Because she kept seeing her husband looking at you’re instagram posts. Trust me, Alfred told me.”

ROMANTIC HCS ── .✦

Constant Gentleman Mode: Bruce is always opening doors for you, carrying your bags, or pulling out your chair. You tease him about being old-fashioned, but it’s clear he loves taking care of you.

Private Dance Lessons in the Manor: When you’re stressed, Bruce will put on some music in the empty ballroom and sweep you into an impromptu dance. He’s a surprisingly good dancer, but the way he looks at you mid-spin? That’s what makes your heart race.

Personal Love Notes: Bruce doesn’t text much, but he leaves little handwritten notes around the house.

“Don’t forget, you’re the best part of my day.”

“Coffee’s ready downstairs. So is your husband, who can’t stop thinking about you.”

The ‘I’m Watching You’ Look: At galas, Bruce can’t stop staring at you. When you catch him, he gives that little smirk that says, Yeah, you caught me, but I’m not sorry.

Soft Batman Moments: Even in the Batcave, he has moments where he’s just your Bruce. When he sees you waiting up for him late at night, he’ll silently take off his cowl, walk over, and hold you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Protective, but Not Controlling: He worries, of course, but he respects your independence. If you’re ever in trouble, though, the Bat is out faster than you can blink. “No one touches my wife.”

Gift Giving Expert: He puts serious thought into gifts. One time, he recreated your childhood bedroom in the manor when you were feeling homesick. “I just wanted you to feel at home,” he said, completely nonchalant.

The Morning Ritual: He wakes up early to watch you sleep for a few minutes (in the least creepy way possible) because it’s his quiet reminder of how lucky he is. When you stir awake, he presses a kiss to your forehead and whispers, “Good morning, love.”

Subtle Public Affection: In public, his affection is subtle—hand on the small of your back, thumb grazing your hand, or an almost imperceptible wink across the room. But behind closed doors? He’s all cuddles and kisses.

Always Puts You First: Whether it’s cutting a patrol short to spend time with you or risking everything to keep you safe, Bruce’s priority will always be you. “The city can wait. You can’t.”

MIX OF CHAOS AND ROMANCE ── .✦

When Bruce tries to be romantic but Alfred bringing him back to reality: Bruce, holding your hand: “You’re the light in my dark world.”

Alfred, walking in: “Sir, you said that to the last woman, too. Shall I fetch your script?”

You once jokingly wore a bat-symbol T-shirt to tease him. Bruce didn’t say anything, but later that week, he wore a matching shirt that said, “I <3 My Wife.”

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 7 : Sweet Strawberry

Summary: You're not a soldier, you're just an omega. You shouldn't have to remind them of that, yet you find yourself needing to. Price makes it up to you in the best way possible.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, language, angst, panic, fluff, suggestive content, terrible flirting

A/N: Not entirely happy with it but it's done and I can move on from this one. I struggled so much with this chapter omg. Also, I just wanted to make it clear that I am not from the UK, I've never been to the UK, I'm simply going off of prior knowledge and what Google can tell me. So, if there's any inaccuracies, I am so sorry.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

You’re expecting the knock when it comes. You’d been standing in front of your door for almost five minutes, and you get it open almost before he’s finished, hand still raised. He gives no sign that betrays his surprise, if he feels any at all, instead he simply looks you over before turning on his heel and marching towards the door. 

You close your door behind you, slipping down the hallway after him. It’s raining again, though you had prepared for that, flipping the hood of your jacket up as you hurry after Ghost. He threatens to disappear in the darkness of morning, slipping between the street lamps like a specter. It’s not often you get to see the true danger in them, the threats that they pose, the things that make them good at their job. You can imagine how many on his opposing side have been caught unawares by the way he seems to flow with the darkness around him. 

You are significantly less graceful and quiet, feet slapping the wet pavement as you speed walk to keep up with the giant alpha. You can almost imagine the look on his face as you plod along behind him. If your lives depended on your silence at this moment, well, it wouldn’t entirely have been your fault. If he didn’t walk so fucking fast...

He’s at least courteous enough to hold the door open for you, though perhaps that was simply something that was deeply ingrained in him. Manners that become unconscious practice, even when you despise the person you’re with. He leads you down the hall towards the practice room again, unlocking it and flipping on the lights. He empties his pockets and removes his shoes and sweatshirt, before moving to one of the punching bags. 

You can already predict what your lesson today will entail. Your knuckles have almost completely healed since your little fit a week ago. You quickly strip off your jacket and toe off your wet shoes, moving to join him without having to be told. 

“Do you know how to wrap your hands?” He asks, holding out two rolls of hand wraps. 

“No.” You shake your head. It’s not entirely true. They had shown you once while you were with the CIA, but that had been weeks ago and you’re sure you’ve forgotten the right way to do it. Even if you tried, he’d likely sigh and do it himself anyway. 

He lets out a breath, pocketing one of the wraps before grabbing your right wrist. His hands are just as rough as you remember them being the day you punched Corporal Allen, calluses dragging against your skin as he meticulously wraps the fabric around your fingers. You watch him, trying to memorize how to do it in hopes that maybe, eventually, you’ll surprise him and manage it yourself. 

He finishes your hands quickly before wrapping his own. You flex your hands, trying to get used to the feeling of the wraps. They’re not too tight, shockingly. You had half expected him to choke your fingers until they’re purple just because. But, you also know Price will be looking for any mark or sign of injury as soon as he sees you at breakfast. The thought of him laying into Ghost for even a bruise as your stomach twisting, and not in a bad way. 

“Make a fist.” Ghost says, crossing his arms as he stands in front of you. 

You stare at his bulging muscles for a second too long, quickly curling your fingers as your face warms. 

He takes hold of your hand, inspecting your fist. “Not bad.” 

“I did grow up with brothers.” You murmur. 

“Did they ever hit you?” He asks as he turns you to face the boxing bag. 

“Only playfully.” You say, missing the subtle edge to his voice. “Dad would have caved their heads in if they ever tried.” 

You can’t see the way he’s staring at you as he stands slightly behind you, but you can feel his gaze as it lingers for just a second longer than you expected it to. You’re not sure if maybe he doesn’t believe you, or maybe he knows there’s more to the story. You’ve hardly spoken about your family since your arrival, but they seemed to accept the fact that they haven’t been your family for years now as a valid reason.

“Get into your fighting stance.” He finally says, moving around you as you take the stance you had perfected last training session. “Good.” He says, looking you over. “Now throw a punch at the bag.” 

You squeeze your fists, imagining Corporal Allen’s face on the bag before you throw a punch, barely managing to move the bag. 

“Punches like that are what will get you hurt.” Ghost says, extending your arm. “You can throw your weight, which is good. That’s why you were able to throw Allen off his feet. You’re asking for a broken arm, though. Keep your arm flat and facing downwards through the entire punch. Aim with the knuckles and twist your lower body for support.” 

He throws a punch at the bag, the sound of his fist hitting it loud, and you watch the bag swing back and forth violently. He could probably punch through you if he wanted to. Your pitiful punch wouldn’t even stun him. 

He stops the bag from swinging, having you throw repeated punches at it. He fixes your form and technique as you go, teaching you different kinds of punches. Your arms quickly get tired, and you know you’re going to be sore again. Maybe you should take up some weight lifting or something. You could ask Soap to help you. 

You go until your arms feel like they're going to fall off, your shoulders burning. “I can't anymore.” You whine, breathing heavily from the exertion of throwing punches for 30 minutes. 

“You have to learn to push through the pain.” He says, looming over you. “You think in a fight, everyone will just stop because your arms are tired? Or you're a little sore?”

He has a point. 

You take half a step back as he invades your space, leaning down close to you. “If they're out for blood, they won't even stop even as you're bleeding out in front of them.” His eyes are dark, biting into you, speaking volumes of his knowledge and experience. You wonder how many times he's been in that situation, how many times he's had to fight quite literally for his life. He steps away from you, moving towards the center of the mat. “Come on. I'll teach you some combinations.” 

You don't want to follow him. You want to curl up in a corner and nap for the next four hours. You don't doubt he'll find a way to force you, though, so you move to the center of the mat with a sigh. 

He teaches you different combinations, working through them over and over. You're sloppy, mixing up which punch is which, which move means what. It only gets worse as you get more and more tired, but Ghost is relentless. 

Finally after almost an hour and a half of training, he calls it. Your legs are shaking and you can barely lift your arms to unravel the wraps from around your hands. You sink onto the floor, laying out flat on the padding as you try to catch your breath. 

“Come on.” Ghost says, lacing up his shoes. “You'll have time to shower before breakfast if we get back now.”

“Wait. Just gimme a minute.” You breathe, not even sure you have the willpower to get up from the floor, much less the muscle power. 

He lets out a sigh before approaching you, bending down to slip his hands under your arms. “On your feet, soldier.”

He lifts you easily, far too easily. Your legs shake, nearly giving out as you're forced onto them. You pout, ignoring the ache in your bones as you're forced upright. 

“‘M not a soldier.” You murmur. 

“In here with me, you are. You want to learn to fight, you get treated just like everyone else I've taught.” He says, glowering down at you. “Now get your shoes on and let's go.”

Your brows pull into a frown, but you do as he says, slipping your shoes back on and your jacket. You had hoped perhaps he would have a little mercy, given your status and inexperience, but it seems you're not even being awarded that. You know part of it is his revenge for you invading his protective circle around Soap, for kissing Soap in front of him. 

The frown doesn't leave your face as you follow him back to the barracks, having to almost run to keep up with him. 

“You look tired.”

“I am. I had training with Ghost again this morning.” 

“How is that going?”

“It's hard.” You admit, sinking back in your chair. “He's hard on me. He sees me as a soldier, not an omega.”

“Have you brought this up to him?” Dr. Keller asks, crossing her feet as she relaxes on the couch across from you.

You nod. “Yeah. He said I have to push through it, because if I wind up in a real fight, they won't go easy on me.”

“Well, I can’t say he’s wrong about that. But, that’s still no excuse.” Dr. Keller tilts her head at you. “You could bring it up to Captain Price. He is your pack alpha, and he’s also Lieutenant Riley’s. I don’t doubt he’d bring it up to him on your behalf.” 

He would, but you don’t really want to stir the pot in that way. The last thing you need to do is become a tattle-tail. It’s quiet between you for a few moments, Dr. Keller shuffling her papers as you mark a clear end to that conversation. 

“How did you do on your assignment? I see you’re wearing a different sweatshirt this morning.” She says, eyeing you. 

You’re wearing Price’s sweatshirt, the one he gifted you. You’ve been wearing it almost every day, his scent still clinging to the fabric. Your face warms as she stares at you, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, but...I didn’t ask for this one. Price gave it to me after I told him about where my other one came from. I uh...I kissed Soap. And Gaz.” 

“Oh?” Her brows raise, and she writes something down on the paper. Your face warms even more as you watch her pen move with every letter. You can only imagine what she’s putting down. “Is that something you wanted? I know we talked briefly about it last time.” She says.

You nod. “Yes. I did want it. I...I also...kneeled...with Price...Did a couple times actually...” 

Dr. Keller’s mouth opens in surprise, her eyes shining as she looks at you. “You did? That’s huge! That’s an incredible development! Did you initiate, or did he?” 

“I did.” You say bashfully, sinking back further into the chair. “Both times.” 

Dr. Keller smiles at you, looking almost proud. “This is a big step in the right direction. How did it go? Were you able to relax?” 

You nod. “Yeah. It was nice. He was...gentle. He did it right.” 

“Good. How did you do coming down from it? I know it can be intense and difficult for some omegas.” She asks. 

You shrug. “Fine. I felt it a bit the morning after, but it wasn’t too bad. I fell asleep on him both times.” 

“Oh?” She lifts an eyebrow. “Did you stay with him?” 

You shake your head. “No, Gaz took me to my room both times.” 

“Good. That’s good practice, for when your heat comes. Shows how much trust they have in each other.”

You hadn’t really thought of that. There was a lot of trust involved in omega’s heats. Omegas have to trust their alphas to take care of them while they’re blind with insatiable need, but both alpha and omega have to trust a beta to keep them alive. Your heat will trigger Price’s rut and make him lose control for a while, and it will be up to Gaz to keep you both fed and hydrated. He’ll be the one to help you both afterwards as well.

“Have you started nesting yet?” Dr. Keller asks. 

You shake your head. “No. Don’t feel any drive to either.” 

Dr. Keller hums as she writes something down. “Well, it has only been two weeks. Though, perhaps if you can manage to ask for some things to make your space more comfortable, that might help ease you into it.” 

You chew on your lip, tugging at the sleeves of your sweatshirt. You know she’s right. Until you’re comfortable and feel safe enough, you won’t feel the drive to nest. You’ll need to nest before your heat arrives. Otherwise, it’ll cause issues for both you and Price. 

“When...when should I be worried?” You ask. 

“Hmm...” Dr. Keller looks at her calendar. “If you’re not feeling any sort of drive to nest by our next appointment, then I’d say we may need to consider using some exercises to help jump start it.” 

“Exercises?” You ask warily. 

“All easy things.” She reassures you. “Things like scent introductions, tactile explorations, and some bonding exercises might be helpful as well.” She writes something down on a sticky note. “I’ll explain everything in detail and you’ll get to choose whether you want to do any of it or not. No one’s going to force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, alright?” 

Tears prick your eyes at her words, and you furiously blink them back. It’s a little late for that kind of sentiment. Your presence here alone was thanks to a long line of people forcing you to do things you’re not comfortable with. It was easy to get lost in the excitement and the emotions of bonding with a pack, easy to forget that you would never have chosen this place had you ever been given the option to choose. 

You would have gone far from the military, far from this kind of life. It’s your duty to bond with an alpha, but what if you don’t want to? What if it’s all a front, and as soon as you’re claimed the curtains rise and suddenly everything is different? What if Price isn’t as kind as you’ve come to believe him? Just one squeeze too tightly around the back of your neck while you’re kneeling and everything would change. 

How easily he could take everything from you. 

“You want to talk about what’s going on in your head right now?” Dr. Keller asks, breaking the silence between you two.

You hadn’t even noticed you’d been staring off into space, lost in your thoughts. Of course she knows something’s changed. She’s spent years learning the ins and outs of omegas and all the secrets you can only imagine. She’s probably just as in tune with subtle changes as the four well trained soldiers that make up your new pack. Maybe even more in tune with them. 

You shake your head, keeping your gaze on the floor. 

“Remember nothing shared in this room leaves this room. It’ll always only be between us.” She says softly. 

You’re panicking. You can feel the pressure rising within you. You’re like a grenade and someone is about to pull the pin. You’re afraid you’ll spill everything to her, afraid you’ll let out things you’ve successfully kept buried for years and years. Things you’ve left behind, things you’ve had to move on from. Things you can’t afford to let out now. 

“I’d like to be done now.” You silently curse the way your voice shakes. 

Dr. Keller’s brows pull into a frown but she nods. “Okay.” She slips her papers into her notebook before standing. “Let me grab my keys.” 

You stand as she moves to her desk, grabbing her keys from the drawer. She leads you from her office, thankfully staying quiet as you walk through the rain towards the barracks. You’re still panicking, the turmoil inside you probably projecting the sour scent across the entire courtyard but you don’t care. You can’t. 

“Remember, if you ever need anything, I’m usually in my office.” Dr. Keller says as she drops you off at the door. 

You feel guilty as you hurry to your room, shoes squeaking on the tile. You feel bad for cutting the appointment off early, you feel bad for feeling the way you do. Later you’ll be grateful for Dr. Keller respecting your boundaries and not pushing, for following through with her promise and letting you be in control of the appointment. 

Right now you don’t care. Right now you can’t care. You’re too lost in your turmoil, the bitter scent of your distress seeping out from under the locked door. 

“...can ye talk tae me, hen? Let me know yer alright?” 

The soft voice coming through the closed door pulls you out from your burrow under the thin blanket. You blink blearily at your phone, trying to see the time. It’s just a little past the normal time you go to lunch with them. How long have they been knocking on the door? 

“Come on, lass.” Soap’s voice comes through the door again. “I dinnae want tae have tae kick in the door.” 

You force yourself out from under the blanket, pocketing your phone before quickly moving to your door. You throw it open, Soap’s eyes immediately scanning you as you rub tiredly at your eyes. You don’t doubt he’d kick in your door if he felt he had to. 

“Sorry,” You yawn. “I was asleep.” 

His eyebrows raise as he stares down at you. “Ye were asleep? Ye weren’t kidding about bein’ a heavy sleeper.” He leads you from the barracks, crossing the courtyard towards the mess.

“One time, when I was about two or three, my dad took us to some demonstration on base.” You say as you begin walking to the mess with him. “I fell asleep about halfway through and slept through a howitzer going off.” 

Soap lets out a laugh so loud it echoes in the courtyard. “Ye slept through a howitzer?” 

You nod. “Yup. My dad never let me live it down. I heard it all the time. ‘You’ll have to try hard to wake her, she slept through a howitzer once.’” 

Soap chuckles, leading you into the mess. “Ye are a deep sleeper.” 

You shrug. “I did say so. My phone will wake me up though. Alarms, calls.” 

“I’ll keep tha’ in mind.” He says as he guides you through the line, making your tray for you. 

You sit between Price and Gaz as usual, feeling a bit on edge still despite your nap after your appointment. You hadn’t gotten to sleep for very long, not nearly long enough to clear your head completely. You know they can tell, Gaz slowly shifting closer and closer to you, Price’s gaze flickering to you out of the corner of his eye every so often. Even Ghost’s eyes pass over you every so often as they sweep across the mess. 

You wonder if he feels responsible. 

You hope he does. 

Soap walks you back to the barracks after lunch and you spend the afternoon burrowed under your blanket again. You’re exhausted and sore after a long morning of training and your appointment. You wish you could sink back into sleep, let the emotions pass without you having to feel them, but you’re too awake now. Too aware of them as they prickle in the back of your mind. 

Dinner passes without incident, but you can’t ignore the feelings still stirring within you. You feel agitated and on edge, not even pacing your room helping you. You let out a breath before you put your slippers on, slipping out of your door. You make your way down the hallway, turning right instead of left like you would if you were heading for the rec room. The door is cracked open and you pause just before you reach it, suddenly feeling nervous. You shouldn’t really. There was no reason to be nervous, yet you can’t help the urge in the back of your mind to turn tail and race back down the hallway to the safety of your room. 

“You can come in, unless you’d prefer standing in the hallway all evening.” A voice calls from inside the office. 

Your face warms a bit at getting caught, but he could probably hear you coming down the hallway. He could probably smell you too. 

You push open the door, slipping inside before closing it behind you. Price stares at you from his desk as you stand there, shifting nervously on your feet. You feel agitated, on edge still. You’re worked up, and you don’t quite know why. 

“Everything alright?” Price asks, likely picking up on your nervous energy. 

Yes. You want to say, but then you’d have to come up with a reason as to why you sought him out, why you feel so worked up. You could just kneel for him. It’s what you should do, let yourself be eased into a peaceful state of mind. Let him take care of you. 

 “I don’t know.” 

The words are hardly more than a whisper, your voice trembling just as much as you are. Your chest feels tight, your breaths becoming shallow. You're not sure when he got up, when he even moved. His scent wraps around you, warmth encompassing your being as your face is pushed against his chest. 

“I need you to breathe for me.” Price says, pressing your ear against his chest. You can hear the steady thump of his heart, the air flowing in and out of his lungs. 

You close your eyes, trying to match your breaths to his. It's hard, your body fighting your attempt to regulate it. You close your eyes, focusing on the soft fabric of Price's shirt against your cheek, the warmth of his hand on your head as he keeps you pinned against his chest. It's not constricting or suffocating. It's grounding, keeping you from drowning in your own thoughts. 

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to as he holds you there, letting you calm down. You begin to slowly relax, your arms wrapping around his waist, fingers gripping the back of his shirt. 

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” He murmurs, lips brushing the top of your head. 

“I don’t know.” You whisper, still clinging to his shirt. “I’m just...I feel off. Ghost was being hard on me this morning and then I got upset during my appointment and I’ve just felt on edge all day and I can’t relax because I can’t get comfortable!” 

Price tightens his grip around you just slightly. “What do you mean?” 

You huff out a breath, squeezing your eyes closed so the tears don’t escape as the words leave you in a flood before you can stop them. “The blankets aren’t soft enough and the pillows are too thin and it’s too dark and I’m tired of smelling like bland soap!” 

Price hums quietly, squeezing you gently as a tear slides down your cheek. “Then we should do something to fix that.” 

“But I shouldn’t need it!” You cry, trying to push away from him, but he keeps you tight against his chest. “I’m supposed to be a good omega and adapt and learn to be comfortable where I am.” 

“That might be what you were taught,” He says, letting you push away from his chest, but he wraps his hands around your arms, keeping you in front of him. “But things don’t have to be that way. We should have taken care of something like this sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t even think of it. You shouldn’t have had to ask for it.” 

You blink up at him, genuinely surprised by his words. “I...what?” 

“We all have our own little comforts that we keep. Soap sleeps with a stuffed bear. Don’t tell him I told you that.” 

A small smile tugs at your lips at the mental image of Soap snuggling up with a teddy bear. 

“You deserve some comfort too.” He says, squeezing your arms.

“But, it’s not...regulation.” You say. 

“Doesn’t have to be.” He says. “You’re not a soldier. Even then, the only ones going in there are us. The only thing I can’t approve of is painting the walls. Unfortunately the prison grey has to stay.” 

You can’t help but laugh, wiping the tear from your cheek. “I suppose that’s alright. Just...as long as it’s not as dark and maybe a soft blanket or something. That’s really all I need.” 

He hums, staring down at you. You can’t quite figure out the look on his face, something shining in his eyes. “We’ll get it figured out.” He says, squeezing your arms again. 

“Get some shoes on. We’re going on a trip.” 

You look up from your book, staring at Price as he stands in the rec room. He’s dressed in civilian clothes, arms crossed as he stares down at you on the couch. You mark your place in your book, pushing yourself up to sit. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and unlike last week they had the day off, which means you do as well. 

“Are you going to make me hike through the woods for two hours again, sir?” You ask, pushing yourself up to stand. 

“No. We’re going into town.” He says. 

You blink at him. You haven’t been off base since you arrived, and you figured you probably wouldn’t be getting that opportunity any time soon. “Can I ask why, sir?” 

“We’ve got some shopping to do.” He says simply, turning and leaving the rec room. 

You stand there shocked for a moment before you’re following after him, slipping into your room to put comfortable shoes on and grab your phone and a jacket. You don’t even have a wallet to carry around to make yourself feel better. 

Price is waiting by the door for you, a car parked outside. You’re slow to approach him, suddenly feeling a mix of emotions. He’s doing this for you. He’d really taken your conversation last night to heart and now he’s going to go spend money on you that he doesn’t need to. 

“What’s that look for sweetheart?” He asks, standing in front of the door. 

“You don’t have to do this.” You say, staring up at him. He seems so tall like this, so...imposing. 

“Course I do.” He says, his gaze softening just slightly. “Should have done it sooner. You deserve to be comfortable too.” He says, turning to open the door. 

You follow him out, climbing into the car when he opens the door for you. He gets in the driver’s seat, the car rumbling to life. He drives to the front gate, passing off two ID cards to the guards. He passes one to you when the guard hands them back, the gate in front of you opening. 

“That’s your ID card. Gets you on and off base.” He explains as he drives away from the gate. “I doubt you’ll be leaving on your own, but just in case.” 

“Thank you, sir.” You say, slipping the card under your phone case for the time being. 

He glances at you, a small smile on his lips. “You can call me John, if you'd like. You don't need to be formal when we're in private.” 

“Yes, sir.” You make a face, biting your lip at your automatic response. “Sorry. Old habits.” 

“From the institute?” He asks. 

You shake your head. “My dad, actually. He was a firm believer in respecting authority figures. All ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ by the time we were old enough to know the difference.” 

“Sounds like my father.” He says, staring out at the road ahead. “Old grizzled military man.” 

“Do you still have contact with him?” You ask curiously. You don’t know much of anything about their families, their backgrounds.

“Not really. Beyond holidays, neither of us really make an effort to talk to the other. After mum passed, there wasn’t much to talk about.” He says. 

“She was the glue.” You say, watching the trees pass by the car. 

“Yeah.” He huffs out a laugh. “As betas usually are.”

“Do you have any siblings?” You ask, curiosity getting the better of you. You know next to nothing about them, while they likely know your entire life story. 

“No,” He shakes his head. “Just me. You have a lot of siblings.” 

You nod. “Seven at the time I left for the institute. Could be more now.” 

“They never tried to keep contact with you?” He asks. 

“Nope.” You turn to look out the window. “The institute didn’t really encourage it either, because we were being prepared to join new packs. That’s hard to do when you still have bonds with your old ones. I think they might have forcibly ended some. I know there were some omegas that tried to keep contact, but it became less and less until eventually it just stopped.” 

Price’s hands tighten around the steering wheel just slightly. You wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been paying attention. Silence settles in the car as he drives, farmlands passing until the houses start getting closer and closer together. You stare at the buildings as he drives through town, a blend of historical and modern. 

“It’s beautiful here.” You say, watching people and cars pass by. 

“I suppose so.” He says, glancing at you. “I grew up in this area.” 

You turn to look at him. “You did? I didn’t know that. Then again, I don’t know much about any of you.” 

“You can ask us, you know.” He says. “We don’t have to be that secretive with you. At least not about ourselves.” 

He pulls into a parking lot, opening your door for you and helping you out of the car. You slip your hand into his, holding it as you cross the parking lot. You stare up at the store. ASDA. You’ve never heard of it before, though you suppose the stores would be different here too. 

Price drops your hand to grab a cart, the store bustling with people. You hang onto the edge of the cart, staying close to Price’s side. “We’re here for you.” He says, guiding you through the aisles. “Get whatever you want.” 

He’s led you to the homegoods section, your eyes widening at the entire aisle of blankets and bedding in front of you. You try to take it all in, but you feel a bit overwhelmed. There’s so many choices, so many options. 

“Pick out as many as you want. Don’t worry about the price.” He says, before you can protest. “We get paid decently, but don’t have many chances to use it. Let me do this for you.” 

You stare up into his eyes, the sincerity in them, before you nod, turning back to the wall of blankets before you. You study them, running your hand along them to find the softest ones, doing as he says and ignoring the price tags. You settle on a couple soft ones, grabbing a throw blanket as well that you can pack around to the rec room if you want to. He takes you to the pillow aisle, and you settle on a pair of fluffy pillows, as well as a couple decorative ones as well. 

“Here.” He slips a big plush strawberry into your arms before you leave the aisle, your cheeks warming as you look at it. “Makes me think of you.” 

You preen at his words, holding onto the strawberry as you make for the lamps and nightlights, settling on a cat shaped one that will sit on your desk and changes colors. You pick up a few other items before heading for the toiletries, finally setting the strawberry in the cart as you zero in on the soaps and body washes. You smell all the strawberry scented ones, trying to find the perfect one. 

“Why strawberry?” Price asks as you put a strawberries and cream scented body wash in the cart. 

“Compliments my scent.” You explain as he leads you to the shampoo and conditioner. “We had a scent specialist come to the institute one time as an activity. We all figured out what our scents smell like and what notes compliment them the best.” 

An arm wraps around your waist before you can look at the shampoo, pulling you back against a broad chest. Price’s nose presses into your neck and he inhales deeply. He lets out a content hum, his beard tickling the sensitive skin of your neck. “I think you’re right.” 

Your face burns hot as he presses a gentle kiss against the side of your neck before releasing you. You stand there for a moment, trying to calm the heat rushing through your body and focus on the shampoo. You hear him chuckle as you shuffle forward, your face still burning as you smell the shampoo bottles. 

You settle on one, holding onto Price’s arm as you continue around the store, picking up a few other items and a couple for himself as well before heading to the checkout. 

You hold on to Price’s arm as you leave the store, sticking close to him as he loads the bags into the trunk. You can feel the slight tension in his body, the way his eyes scan the parking lot every few seconds. You can’t even begin to imagine how hard it must be for him to relax, especially out in public. How fast his mind has to be running, how alert he is to everyone and everything. A threat could come out of nowhere, could come from anyone. 

It must be exhausting. 

“Hungry, sweetheart?” He asks as he buckles his seatbelt. 

“Always.” You answer, leaning on the center console.

He smiles. “What are you in the mood for?” 

You blink at him. Most of the restaurants you know probably don’t exist in England. “Fish and chips?” You offer, pulling up the one British food you’re confident in naming. 

“Fish and chips it is.” He says, turning on the car. 

“I have yet to have real fish and chips.” You say, settling into the passenger seat. 

“Well, I know the perfect place.” He says, pulling out of the parking lot. 

You don’t have to go far before he’s parking on the street and helping you out of the car. His hand settles on your lower back, guiding you down the street to a fish and chips shop. 

It's too early for the dinner rush, the shop mostly empty and quiet. Price orders for you before guiding you to a table, and you let him sit facing the door and front window. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. They seem so relaxed on base, though you suppose that's the place they feel the most comfortable. You can't even imagine the kinds of things they've seen, the horrors they've been subjected to. 

You don't want to think about the things they've done. 

Your eyes snap downwards as Price's hand slides across the table, closing around yours. You don't want to think about the things he's done with those hands. The lives he's taken, the people he's tortured. Will he ever turn those hands on you? 

They've given you no reason to fear them yet. They've all been kind, polite. Even Ghost hasn't truly given you a reason to fear him, despite his obvious disapproval and hard exterior. 

You know nothing about them. 

You've known them for just over two weeks. You can't possibly have any understanding of who they are, how they express their emotions. What if they get upset? What happens when they get angry? What if you anger them?

“I know this hasn’t been easy for you. Any of it.” Price says, drawing you from your worried thoughts. “I know you were taught to expect this, perhaps not this exact situation, but something like this. Being sent off to some strange alpha to join their pack, bonding with complete strangers. None of us were expecting this either. It’s been an adjustment in a lot of ways, but I want you to know that we’ll take care of you. You need anything, you tell us. You want anything, we’ll do our best to make it happen. We’ll keep you safe.” He lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “I promise you that.” 

You want to believe him. You really do. They haven’t given you any reason to not believe it. 

It’s only been two weeks. 

You continue to talk with him as you eat, making light conversation, getting to know him a bit more. Despite the trickling uncertainty in the back of your mind, it feels good. It feels like a date, something you had dreamed of before you presented, something you had imagined happening when you finally got old enough to start looking for potential mates and packs. 

Of course, back then, you had thought you’d be an alpha. 

It had been expected of you. 

Price has his arm wrapped around you as you walk back to the car, his hand on your hip. It’s possessive almost, and it makes your stomach flutter. Price is the only one you haven’t kissed yet, well, besides Ghost, but you’re certain you’d wind up through a wall if you even thought of trying. It’s almost ironic that Price would be the last, considering he’s going to be the one claiming you, the one you spend your heat with. 

You stare out the window as the buildings fade into farmlands again. The sun is setting, painting the world in oranges and reds. You still feel a bit warm from Price’s possessive hold on you, his teasing in the store. You can still feel the tickle of his beard on your skin, his lips pressing against your neck. 

You jump when rough fingers trail down your arm, pulling it from where it had been resting in your lap. 

“You were right.” Price says as he lifts your hand to his face, pressing his nose against your wrist and inhaling for a moment. “Strawberries are the strongest note in your scent.” He lowers your hand again, lacing your fingers together. “What’s got you all worked up over there.” 

You stare at him, your face getting warm again. Of course he can smell it. You can smell the muskiness beginning to form around the edges of his scent. Desire. “You haven’t kissed me yet.” You say, moving his hand into your lap. “You're the only one that hasn't...well, besides Ghost.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh. “You sound disappointed.” 

You untangle your fingers with his, letting his hand rest on your thigh. “What if I am?”

His fingers flex against your leg, the muskiness of his scent strengthening. “Then maybe we should fix that.” 

The cocktail of scents in the car is intoxicating, and you feel bad for the poor beta soldier at the gate when Price rolls down the window to hand off your IDs. 

Price is out of the car as soon as it's parked, moving around to your side to open the door. He pins you against the side of the car as soon as you're out, caging you in with his arms. 

You stare up at him, head swimming with the musk laced in his scent. You can see his eyes shining in the light next to the door of the barracks. He looks like a hungry wolf, the back of your neck prickling with excitement. 

He leans down, breath fanning your face as he gets closer and closer to you. You press yourself against him, hands gripping his shoulders as he presses his lips to yours. His lips are surprisingly soft, his beard tickling your face. He growls quietly against your lips, pushing you harder against the side of the car. 

You let out a quiet sound in response, hands gripping his jacket. His hands slide from the car to your sides, sliding down to grip your hips. You can feel the muscle hidden beneath his jacket and shirt, the strength that he possesses. He may not be purebred like Ghost, but he’s still every inch an alpha. 

You let out another quiet sound as he pulls away, pressing a caste kiss to the corner of your lips. “Bloody hell, now I know what those boys were on about.” He breathes, leaning his forehead against yours. 

“They were talking about me?” You ask, pulling back slightly. 

“Only good things.” Price grins, leaning down to kiss you again. “Sweet as sugar.” He breathes, kissing you again. “And just as addicting.” He pulls away from you, his hands resting on your waist. “We should get your stuff inside so you can get it all set up. Want me to fetch one of the boys to help?” 

You bite your lip. “Or you could just do it.” 

He stares down at you, something flashing across his face but you can’t quite make it out in the low light. “You’re sure?” His voice is quiet, taking on that soft tone it often does when he speaks to you. 

“You’ll have to eventually.” You shrug. “Might as well start now.” 

He leans down, kissing you again before pulling away, opening up the trunk. He grabs most of the bags, only leaving the pillows for you to grab before he leads the way into the barracks. You open your door, stepping in first before he follows. You dump your pillows on the bed, and he sets the rest of the bags on your desk. 

“Blankets in the wash.” You say, digging them out of the bags, pulling the tags off. 

“I’ll take them.” He says, fishing out his stuff from the bags before taking the blankets from you. 

You switch out your pillows for the softer ones, organizing the decorative ones just the way you want. You squish the strawberry to your chest again, a smile forming on your face before you flop back onto the bed, sinking into the soft pillows. It’s almost perfect, you think. 

“Comfortable?” Price’s voice rumbles in the doorway, a smile on his face as he stares at you. 

“Much better.” You say, sitting up and placing the strawberry in its place. 

The two of you finish taking everything out of the bags, decorating the rest of your room. The posters on the walls, and the nightlight on your desk. It feels far more homey already, and you know you’re going to sleep well tonight once the blankets are out of the wash. 

“Thank you.” You say, looking up at Price. “This really means a lot.” 

“All in a day’s work, love.” He says, pulling you into his arms again. 

You lean against his chest, resting your head over his heart, listening to it beat steadily against your ear. 

You wake up suddenly, yet you’re not quite sure why. There’s no one in your room, your new nightlight easily showing you that. Your mouth is dry, but there’s a line of wetness down your chin. You reach across your nightstand, your phone illuminating the time. 

Just past one a.m. 

You smack your lips, feeling thirsty after the excitement of the day. You’d forgotten to grab water when you left the rec room and you huff out a sigh. You don’t want to get up, but now that you’re aware you’re thirsty, there’s no stopping those thoughts. 

You don’t even bother with slippers as you pad to the door, opening it up. You leave it cracked as you sleepily shuffle towards the rec room, the barracks almost dead quiet this late. You grab a bottle from the fridge, unscrewing the top before drinking a few gulps. It’s cold and tastes divine, soothing the dryness of your mouth. You screw the top back on, closing the fridge before heading back towards your room. 

You turn the corner, still half asleep, nearly yelping as you slam into a chest. You stumble back a couple steps, staring up at the covered face looming over you. You gulp, holding the bottle to your chest. 

“S-Sorry.” You stutter. 

“You’re out of bed.” He says quietly, voice rumbling in the silence. 

“Thirsty.” It’s all you can manage as you hold up the bottle. 

He stares at you for a long moment, eyes flickering all over your face. His chest is heaving, almost as if he had been running before you ran into him. His hands are closed into fists at his sides, knuckles almost white with how tense he is. You think for a moment he might be mad, but you can’t catch any whiff of ozone in the air. Your nose prickles at the scent, but it’s not anger. 

Your tired brain can’t make sense of it, yearning to sink back into the softness of your bed again. You slowly shuffle around him, taking cautious steps, waiting for him to reach out and stop you, but he doesn’t. He simply watches you go, standing there in the hallway as you slip back into your room, not moving until he hears the click of your lock slipping into place. 

NEXT ->

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[ghost-with-a-teacup]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 (𝐈𝐈)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader

Summary: After you reveal the truth of what your relationship really was between you and Miguel, everyone's keen on learning more. So what better way to give a little more insight than a dinner at your shared home?

Warnings: None~ Just back again with silly shenanigans and the softest of fluff :3

A/N: Hello, everyone! After the first part of 'What's In Between' blew up (you can read it here, thank you so much by the way, you're all so sweet), many people have asked for a part two, so here it is! Enjoy <3

The moment you break the news to them, the volume of the table booms to a fever pitch as everyone begins talking at the same time.

“W-WHAT?!”

“Married? No way,” Hobie says.

“How long have you been together?” Pavitr asks.

“I can’t say I saw this coming…” Miles says, eyes widening in surprise.

Miguel had been watching you the moment you snuck up on the group, but with the newfound panic from everyone he couldn’t help but make his way over to the commotion.

“You’re all being loud, what are you yelling about now?” Miguel asks, walking over and standing by your side.

“HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL US YOU WERE MARRIED?!” Gwen shouts.

“You never asked,” he blinks, “and also, it’s none of your business.”

“Miguel, as your best friend I am deeply offended that you haven’t told me after this long, does our friendship mean nothing to you?” Peter says, hand on his chest in pretend hurt.

“You are not my best friend,” Miguel deadpans.

“After I opened up to you no less, I mean, you were the first person I told about Mayday! All the details-” he continues, ignoring the comment.

“Not by choice,” he mutters.

“Does no one know about this?? At all???” Pavitr asks, “I mean, you two are married.”

“I mean, Jess knows about it,” you gesture, and she only grins.

“And now all of you do too,” Miguel sighs. “Vida mía, I thought we talked about this,” he admonishes.

“Oh, c’mon, it was cute how they were all trying to figure it out for so long. I was starting to feel bad,” you say, smoothing your hair back. He only stares at you for a moment before sighing.

“Fine,” he relents, “Can’t do anything about it now anyway.” He smiles softly at you, and the group watches in awe as their cold leader softens in your presence, but his gaze quickly grows dark as he turns back to the group.

“One word of this to anyone outside of this group,” he says with a pointed finger before trailing off, allowing everyone to fill in the blanks as to what he might do.

Everyone’s faces pale like a sheet at the unnamed threat (well, except for Hobie, he only watches with blatant amusement on his face), but you only laugh.

“Miguel, don’t threaten the kids,” you giggle. “Don’t worry, he’s all bark and no bite,” you whisper to them with a wink.

“Hey, that’s what I say!” Peter says.

“You are his best friend after all,” you grin.

“I have never said those words a day in my life,” he scoffs, but you ignore him, eyes lighting up with an idea.

“Oh! I have a lovely idea, how about you all swing by our place for dinner later? We never have guests,” you suggest.

Gwen gasps, “Really?”

“This…maybe doesn’t seem like the best idea,” Miles says as he shrinks down in his seat at Miguel’s glare towards you.

“I have plans tonight…though I don’t think they’d mind if I cancel,” Hobie says nonchalantly, but everyone knew there was no way in hell he’d miss something like this.

“What am I, cat litter?” Jess asks. She was the only person to have been at your shared home, having joined around the same time as you, and being one of the few people Miguel fully trusts.

“You know it's not like that, Jess,” you turn to her with a grin.

“Absolutely not, it's already a liability that they know querida, now you want them traipsing into our home?” Miguel argues, and you narrow your eyes at him, never one to back down from a fight. While it got on his nerves, it's what he loved about you too. He needed someone that wouldn’t take his shit.

“Miguel,” you say, giving him a look. “All our enemies are literally in alternate universes who, aside from those small tears, have no way to go cross-dimensional, let alone find us in the expanse of a universe. Besides, I think it would be nice,” you say, and Mayday seems to agree since she climbs right up into your arms, babbling happily.

“And don’t think I don’t know you have a soft spot for this lil ragtag team,” you smile, bouncing up and down as Mayday laughs.

He huffs, “I am anything but soft, especially for them. They never listen, don’t follow protocol, are immature, and the list goes on.”

“He’s lying,” you whisper, covering your mouth from his direction as though that would stop him from happening. Mayday grabs your hand though, playing with your fingers happily. “See how his ears are turning red?”

At that, his ears turn more red and the group tries to stifle their snickers to no avail.

“Querida,” he warns. “Do you feel the need to share anything else about me? Or have you had enough,” he asks, poking your shoulder. You place a hand on his bicep with a gentle smile, and his expression softens much to his dismay.

“Honey, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you grin. “Alright, it’s settled then! You’re all coming over tonight.”

~

You hummed softly to yourself as you moved around the kitchen, preparing the food for dinnertime when everyone would be coming over.

Then, you feel the hair rise on the back of your neck as a familiar presence makes himself known, strong arms wrapping around your waist as his head rests on top of yours.

“Vida mía, the food smells good,” he says softly before sighing. “But I’m not very happy with you today.”

You let out a sigh of your own as you turn off the stove before turning around in his arms to face him.

“Miguel, my love,” you say, smoothing out the collar of the pullover he wore before looking up at him. “I know you well, don’t I?”

“More than anyone,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting the tiniest amount as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Then it’s safe to assume that you’ve been wanting to hang out with more people in the Society apart from work-related things?” you ask, placing your hand on his chest.

“I can’t afford anything like that in this line of work, you know that querida,” he sighs, that familiar hardened look in his eyes for a moment.

“Miguel, your only friends can’t be me, Lyla and Jess,” you pout.

“Vida mía, you are my wife,” he says.

“Yes, and it's miracle enough that I was able to grow close enough to you to get to that point,” you chuckle, “so my existence in your life is proof itself that you are capable of growing close to people. I’ve seen you, I think you’re ready and deep down I know you don’t always want to be perceived as the cold and unfeeling leader of the Society. Why not start with them?”

“That’s not a decision for you to make,” he says, glancing away from you.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” you apologize, feeling a bit guilty that you threw Miguel into this without warning. “I should have spoken to you about it first but who knows. Maybe this is a good thing, opening your heart a little more,” you explain. “Don’t think I realize you’re the hardest on them because you believe in them,” you smile.

He huffs before pausing to think for a moment. “Sometimes I wonder when you snuck your little way into my head, querida.”

“Admit it, you’re growing soft,” you giggle softly.

“Never,” he counters, tickling your side which makes you scrunch up your face as you laugh breathlessly.

“OKAY! Okay, you’re one soft fluffy teddy bear, happy?” you say which only makes him continue with even more fervour.

“That is the most ridiculous thing I think I have ever heard you say, querida,” he snorts but finally relents.

“Yeah….I can’t even say that with a serious face,” you chuckle. “But you do have your moments, tough guy,” you smile, leaning up on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his lips.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” he rolls his eyes. That’s when the doorbell rings, and immediately your eyes light up.

“Oh! They’re here!!” you say excitedly, escaping from his grasp as you move to open up the door.

“Here we go,” he murmurs to himself, and you turn to face him.

“What was that?” you ask.

“Nothing, vida mía,” he replies, and you narrow your eyes in disbelief.

“Behave, Miguel,” you tell him.

“Wouldn’t dream of anything else,” he replies, and you grin before opening up the front door.

There, you find Miles, Gwen, Pavitr, Peter (alongside Mayday of course), Hobie and Jess all standing outside, chatting amongst themselves before turning to you.

Miles almost looks like he’s in disbelief like he couldn’t really believe this was your home quite yet.

“Hi!” Gwen starts.

“Took you lot long enough,” Hobie says. “Was starting to think we'd have to build a fire and cook it ourselves.” Gwen punches his shoulder, to which he lets out a little “Ow!”

“Sorry about him,” Gwen apologizes.

You just find yourself laughing at it all though.

“No apologies needed, we were a little preoccupied. Come on in, make yourself at home,” you say, opening the door a little wider for them to make their way through.

“Not too at home though,” you hear Miguel say, leaning into the foyer from the living room, arms crossed over his chest.

“Ignore him,” you say, giving him a pointed look to which he just stares at you blankly. “Dinner will be ready soon, I just have to set the table and we can eat, alright?”

“It smells delicious,” Pavitr says, “I’m starving.”

Mayday seems to agree as she crawls up from the baby carrier onto Peter’s head, making grabby hands from the top.

“Someone’s hungry,” Peter chuckles. “Got anything she can eat?”

“I have a few things, don’t worry,” you smile.

“It really does smell really good though, but it always does,” Jess adds.

“It’s nothing special,” you say sheepishly. “Just some of Miguel’s favourites.”

You guide them all into the living room. “Settle in! I’ll be done in a snap,” you say.

As you make your way back to the kitchen (with Jess joining you to help out), back in the living room the squad of spiders settle in almost hesitantly, a watchful eye monitoring all of their reactions.

No one dares say anything, only sitting around nervously.

“So…nice weather we’re having,” Peter says, trying to lighten the mood but even Mayday gives him a deadpanned expression.

Miguel sighs. “You’re all acting like there’s a ticking time bomb waiting for you to speak before setting off,” he says, still leaning up against the doorway.

“We don’t know, mate. Is there?” Hobie jokes, but Miles’ face drops anyway.

“There isn’t, for the record. I can be harsh but I’m not evil,” Miguel scoffs before making eye contact with Pavitr who looks like he wanted to ask something but was holding back.

“One question,” he says simply with a nod.

“How long have you two been together?”

“…a little over 4 years now,” he replies.

“How did you meet?” Gwen asks.

“I said one question,” he says before your voice cuts in.

“My universe was one of the first he visited! He hated me back then, though,” you laugh as you walk back in. “Speaking of which!! I have some things you might all want to see after dinner,” you grin mischievously.

“I thought you said I was the one that had to behave, mi corazón,” Miguel says, a warning tone in his voice.

“And I am, aren’t I?” you say, poking his side playfully. “Anyway, dinner’s ready,” you say, leading them to the dining room. “I know it's not much but-”

“How in the hell is this not much??” Hobie exclaims, and you just shrug. “You should see dinner with my family, then you will think that it’s not much,” you say with a chuckle.

On the table sat a wide expanse of food, all of Miguel’s favourites from Mexico. Empanadas as the appetizer, alongside pozole, ceviche, enchiladas, and chicken with mole poblano all served with a side of rice, beans, or homemade corn tortillas depending on each person’s preference.

You can see Miguel’s eyes visibly brighten as he looks at the food, settling in at the head of the table with you by his side.

“Come eat!” As you say that, everyone sits down before beginning to eat, everyone heading straight to what appealed to them the most.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” Miles says, eyes closed in bliss.

“Oye, don’t let your Mother hear that, kid,” Miguel says, but the corner of his lip was upturned in the tiniest of smiles. The most he would allow himself around this many people.

“Thank you, Miles,” you smile.

“This, uhh, how do you say it again? Poh-zuhl?” Gwen asks, and you laugh out loud as she turns pink, meanwhile both Miguel and Miles cringe slightly.

“I’m sorry for laughing, sweetheart. You’re almost there; it’s pronounced like ‘poh-zoh-lay’,” you say kindly.

“Ohh, okay gotcha. Pozole. It’s really good! Feels…comforting, almost,” she says.

“Yes,” you say, glancing at your husband with a soft smile, “it’s Miguel’s favourite. Says it ‘tastes like home’.” A chorus of ‘awws’ go around the table, while Miguel only holds the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

“Alright, alright. Enough with the cheesy stuff, let’s get back to eating, yeah?” Hobie says before shoving his fork back into his mouth.

~

Once dinner was finished (and after both Miles and Gwen insisted that they did the dishes despite much argument from you), everyone was settled again in the living room laughing and talking together, and while Miguel only said a few things here and there and sat by your side like a lost puppy, he did seem to be enjoying himself.

“Alright! Now, before everyone goes back home, I have one more thing I’d like to show you,” you say once it quiets down a bit. Standing up, you make your way over to a large bookshelf you and Miguel had built together when you first moved in together.

“I’ve gotten tired of having only myself to show these photos to, so this is the perfect opportunity,” you smile.

“Querida-” Miguel says, holding out a hand to block your way but you look at him with pleading eyes, and he can’t do anything but relent. He couldn’t say no when you looked at him like that.

With a triumphant ‘haha!’ you grab a photo album labelled with a date and a single word; ‘Ours’.

Everyone crowds around as you place it down on the coffee table, and you open it up to the first page.

Gwen is the one that gasps first, eyes wide with awe.

“You both look so beautiful,” she says softly.

There, front and centre was a photo of you and Miguel on your wedding day. You were smiling wide at the camera, a bouquet of your favourite flowers in hand while Miguel only looked at you with an expression so in awe it was as though you painted the stars in the sky.

“You clean up nicely, big man,” Hobie comments, and Pavitr nods.

“Weddings, my favourite,” Jess says, a fond expression on her face as she thinks back to her own husband.

“I had a bird fly into my face at my wedding…but they are nice,” Peter says, rocking Mayday gently as she naps away after the hearty dinner even despite the commotion.

You continue to flip through the photobook, pausing periodically for a little anecdote about each one. Miguel had long stood up to make room for everyone else, but he looked at you in the same way he did on your wedding day.

Like you were the light of his life, the one good thing he had amongst the millions of universes parallel to his own. Like you were his everything.

~

“Admit it, you like them,” you smile, the house finally quiet after everyone headed home. He only rolls his eyes before pulling you into his lap, his face going into the crook of your neck as he holds you close.

“There is a big difference between ‘liking’ and ‘tolerating’, sweetheart,” he says, rubbing circles into your hip soothingly.

“Yeah, yeah, tough guy. Whatever you say,” you reply, wrapping your arms around his neck and settling into his touch with a happy sigh.

You both sit there for a moment in silence, the two of you weren’t ones to fill silence with mindless chatter. If words needn’t be said then they weren’t.

“That was…nice, though,” he admits softly after a little while.

“I know,” you whisper.

~

~

~

“That won’t happen again for a long while though,” he says, pulling away to look at you, crimson eyes pleading with you wordlessly.

You can’t do anything but laugh.

Taglist (for those who requested a part two): @lotustv @mars-ifuknowmeirlplsgoaway @elliewilliamsactualgf @randomhumans-blog @iluvkonig @phillygraves @gothgirlziez

[emchante]

thighs

masterlist | requesting rules

summary: daniel notices how much you love his thighs, yet are too shy to mention it. he shows you what you've been missing by not telling him before now.

WARNINGS: 18+ content, thigh riding, use of good girl, slight dirty talk.

wc: 1.9k

a/n: hi!! i’m super excited to start posting on this blog. of course, the first post had to be dedicated to daniel and his thighs, so i hope you enjoy! requests are open, so if anyone has any prompts or ideas, please send them into my inbox! + a massive thank you to @thef1diary for beta reading this, and inspiring me to start the account.

daniel knew you loved his thighs, it wasn’t exactly a well kept secret. he was sure all of your friends knew too. your eyes wouldn’t leave the meat of his thighs when they were on display – which was often, god bless the extreme heat of most places you travelled to for making him wear shorts everyday.

it wasn’t something that you spoke about often though, in fact, daniel realised you had never really brought it up yourself. you were shy, didn’t really like bringing such things up yourself. daniel usually had to coax what you wanted out of you, and tonight wasn’t any different.

daniel trailed kisses from the nape of your neck, up your jaw until he reached your ear. he whispered sweet nothings to you, telling you how beautiful you were, how he would do anything you wanted. your face was on fire at the wet kisses, the sultry tone of his voice already starting a fire in your belly. you tilted your head to give him more access to your neck, but he pulled away from you, causing your eyes to follow him.

he moved his rose-inked hand to cup your jaw, allowing his thumb to gently stroke your cheek. you leaned into his hand, enjoying any and all touch you received from him. you only had your eyes shut momentarily before daniel gave your chin a squeeze, causing them to flutter open again.

“for me to give you what you want,” he started, his voice low. “you need to tell me exactly what it is.”

you smiled at his words. daniel, ever the gentlemen, always doing what you wanted. it was never any different. “i just want you, danny.”

daniel let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head as he looked down. you furrowed your brows, confused at his reaction. with a tilt of your head, you asked him what was so funny.

“you are,” he told you, looking back up. “always too shy to tell me what you want. always have to work for it to get it out, don’t i?” daniel explained, raising a brow with a grin. you felt your face heat up again, but it wasn’t due to arousal this time – not for the most part, anyways.

“what are you–” you had started to question him, but you cut yourself off with a surprised gasp as daniel moved you to sit on his right thigh. you looked to him for answers, but you were only met with a small smirk on daniel’s face.

“i see the way you look at my thighs, sweetheart,” he began to explain, moving his hands to rest on your hips. his thumbs rubbed small circles into them as he continued to speak to you. “you’re always looking when i’m in shorts, eyes always on me. you know how hard i get when i watch you squeeze your thighs together, all because you can’t contain yourself?”

your jaw dropped at daniel calling you out. you knew that you weren’t exactly subtle about your interest in his thighs, but his words made your full body heat up. you stuttered over your words, but you couldn’t get a coherent sentence out. all you managed to squeak out was a “sorry”, and it only made daniel laugh.

“sorry? for what?” he asked as he laughed, moving his right hand off of your hip to grab at your own. he moved it to rest on the fabric of his clearly straining shorts, making you gulp lightly. “you mustn't have heard me, your gaze gets me so fucking hard.”

you meekly nodded, not really sure how to respond to him. daniel knew what you were like though, he didn’t expect much else. he liked how shy you were, how easily flustered he managed to get you. moving his hand off of your own, he slowly ran it up your bare leg, allowing it to slip under your short skirt, smirking as his fingers grazed your clothed pussy.

“so wet for me,” he cooed, and you could only whine as his fingers were so close to where you needed them. you let yourself rut against his thigh once to show him you were desperate for him. daniel’s eyes darkened as he felt you move against his thigh, and he couldn’t contain the groan that left his throat.

slipping his fingers to move your underwear to the side, daniel’s left hand dragged you across his thigh once more to test it, and he couldn’t have landed the jackpot quicker. the feeling of your bare pussy against his thigh, starting to soak it due to how wet you were was all he needed.

“fuck, darling,” he moaned, his right hand moving back up to your hips so he could guide you through it. “you gonna ride my thigh? like a good girl?” he asked you, looking right into your eyes as he said it.

the friction of his thigh against your clit, along with the good girl caused a whine to escape your mouth. you nodded as you moved your hands onto his shoulders, gripping them tightly as you continued to rut against him, desperately lapping up the pleasure you got from your bare cunt against his tattooed thigh.

you suddenly came to a halt though, causing you to break out of the pleasure-bound spell you seemed to be entranced in. daniel’s brows were furrowed, his hands gripping your hips tightly so you weren’t able to continue your movements.

“danny please– let me move,” you pleaded with him, looking down at his thigh as you desperately tried to move your hips. his grip was too strong for you to fight against, and daniel only tutted, clicking his tongue to get your eyes to land on him.

“so now you can talk? i want verbal confirmation as soon as i ask you a question,” he told you, his hands squeezing your hips even tighter to make sure you understood. you were sure it was going to leave bruises tomorrow, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, in fact, the thought only turned you on more.

“i‘m sorry, dan,” you apologised, eyes pleading with him to continue so you could go back to what you were doing. he nodded, and repeated his question for you. “so, are you going to be a good girl and ride my thigh?” he asked you, eyes trained on your face.

you nodded again, but verbally confirmed it this time too. “yes, danny. i’ll ride your thigh,” you told him, making a small smile appear on his face. you tried to move your hips again, but daniel was still holding you in place. you whined in frustration, hopelessly trying to recreate the friction from moments ago but to no avail. he tutted, shaking his head at you.

“tell me you’ll be my good girl,” he commanded, eyes dark. one thing about daniel, he was always going to make you tell him you were a good girl. his good girl.

“going to be your good girl– but please dan, i need– your thigh again,” you plead, and if it wasn’t obvious by your constant attempts at grinding against your thigh, the urgency in your voice would’ve been a dead giveaway.

“alright gorgeous, you can have it,” he cooed, loosening the grip of his hands on your hips so you could move, but still holding them securely so he could help move you against him.

you couldn’t believe it had taken so long for this to happen, and it was so much better than any fantasy you ever had about it. each grind against his inked thigh sent sparks shooting throughout your body, the whimpers and moans escaping your lips were music to daniel’s ears as his dark, hungry eyes watched the way your body moved.

daniel groaned at the sight of your tits bouncing each time you rut against him, moving between watching them, and the facial expressions you were making due to the immense pleasure from his thigh alone.

“you look so perfect riding my thigh, sweetheart,” he started, making your eyes land back on his face as you focused on his words. “soaking it too, because of how fucking wet you are,” he groaned, and bit his lip at the moan you let out at his words.

he couldn’t stop himself from moving one of his hands up to your chest, toying with your hardened nipple through the fabric. the friction of the fabric, along with the touch of his thumb sent a streak of pleasure through you, head snapping back as you let out a guttural moan.

“can’t keep my eyes off these, either,” he continued, alternating between circling his thumb around your nipple, to squeezing the swell of your breast. “everything about you is perfect. made for me, weren’t you?” he asked, looking into your eyes for confirmation.

“made for you and you only, danny,” you sighed, panting as you felt yourself getting closer. daniel could tell too, your voice pitches up, and he feels your hand’s grip onto him tighter.

“such a good girl f’me. getting close, aren’t you?” he questioned, despite already knowing the answer. he just wanted to hear your needy, desperate voice say anything. you nodded frantically at him, high pitched whines escaping your throat.

“so– fuck, so close, dan” you breathlessly admitted, slightly angling your hips so your clit was getting more friction, and daniel knew you found a good angle when a sudden but pleasant moan escaped you.

daniel suddenly got an idea. “got an idea, sweetheart. it’s gonna help you feel even better, do you trust me?” he asked, waiting to see if you’d agree, or rather just let yourself finish like this. his eyes lit up when you squeaked out a please, hands gripping your waist a little tighter before he started to bounce his leg.

it was somehow better than before, a new experience which felt like absolute euphoria. you let out a shaky, breathy moan as your eyes rolled back, unable to control yourself any longer. daniel moved you back slightly, a little closer to his knee than his thigh, and it worked like magic, as it worked even better.

“fuck– yes, yes daniel–” you panted out, almost falling into the category of babbling due to how much you kept repeating almost incomprehensible chatter, too focused on the feeling of pleasure to respond properly.

“let go for me, c’mon. cum for me,” he coaxed you, feeling your thighs tighten around his own, before you came, chanting out daniel’s name as you rode your high. you immediately fell into daniel’s chest, body slouching as you sighed, smiling lazily when his arms wrapped around you.

it was silent for a while, the only noises being your heavy breaths until you recovered back to your normal state. daniel’s hand gently stroked up and down your back, leaving soft kisses on the crown of your head as he let you recover from your orgasm. you used your still shaky hands to push yourself up, meeting face-to-face with daniel as he smiled softly at you, leaning in to initiate a passionate kiss between you.

daniel carefully carried you into your shared bedroom not long afterwards, making sure you were a-okay before helping you get into fresh pajamas and getting you ready for bed. much to your dismay, of course, as you wanted him to clean himself up first, especially after the mess you made on his thigh, but daniel paid no mind to your whining, carrying on with his duties of making sure you were sorted for the night.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Overprotective

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!reader

Summary: Your son is due to be born any day now and Feyd is very protective. He kills anyone who so much as lays a finger on you, but it’s gotten out of control. 

Notes: this was an anon request. same Feyd x reader from The Harkonnen’s Sweet Thing and The Harkonnen’s Claim. *can be read alone*

Warnings: mention of murder and pregnancy. 

Words: 1100

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

“You’re mad,” Feyd says, his smile dropping at the sight of your frown. Your arms are crossed over your swollen belly as you lean back against the headboard of your bed. He closes the door behind him. “Why are you mad?”

You roll your eyes. He knows exactly why you’re mad. By your count, you’ve been pissed at him twenty-three times in the past month and a half and you don’t care for your widely-known highly-intelligent husband playing naive. “Don’t act like you don’t know. We only ever fight about one thing, Feyd. One.” 

Feyd sighs and steps closer to the mattress, but when you put your hand up, he stops in his tracks. Your throat strains as you swallow your grin. You still get little flutters in your belly when he demonstrates how you have that kind of power over him, but you cannot let him see the satisfaction on your face now. If he sees you smile, he will smile, which means you will have lost because he’ll know he’s won, and when he wins he gets turned on, so then you’ll get turned on, and then you’ll end up fucking. But you cannot be fucking right now. He needs to learn a lesson. His hard dick in his wife’s warm pussy will not achieve any lesson-learning. If anything, it will encourage his bad behavior. 

“You killed another one,” you tell him, and he doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed; though that’s far from surprising.

Feyd crosses his arms over his broad chest. “He touched you.”

“I tripped.”

“And then he touched you.”

“He caught me.”

“So you agree,” Feyd says with a sharp nod. “I’m glad we are on the same page.”

Your huff descends into a groan as the heels of your palms press against your closed eyelids. “Your wife—your heavily pregnant wife—would’ve fallen on her ass if he hadn’t.”

“He shouldn’t have let you trip in the first place,” Feyd tells you. “He was meant to ensure you have a clear and safe walking path.”

Your lips part, mouth opening and closing and opening again as you search for a response. However, you end up with the same one you always do: “You are unbelievable,” you reply, shaking your head. “Twenty-three servants, Feyd! It has surpassed extremes! You killed one for brushing my hair–”

“Touching—and she was pulling on it too hard.”

“You killed one for helping me dress in the morning when you had already been called away for a meeting.”

“I prefer you naked anyway,” he says, shrugging, a smug grin stretching across his face. “Naked and in this bed.”

You raise a brow. “And the one who helped me sit down so I could watch you in the arena?”

“Ah, that one—” Feyd waves his finger as he clicks his tongue “—that one thought I wouldn’t notice because you were so high up in the stands. I don’t like sneaky people,” he reminds you, though you’re plenty aware of how he handles deception and trickery. “You should have told me you planned to attend and I would’ve helped you well before it started.”

Ignoring his point, you retort, “You cannot keep killing everyone.”

Feyd groans. “My love, you’re in too delicate a state,” he says. “I gathered all of them together not two months ago and explicitly forbade them from laying a finger on you. It is not my fault if they break the rules. And what sort of Baron am I if I do not enforce punishment?”

You hum in dissatisfaction. “You do understand you put me and your child in more danger by not permitting their assistance?”

Immediately, his brow pinches. His head turns to look away from you and when his jaw clenches, you realize the weight of your mistake. A sickening feeling settles in your gut. Your face falls from frustration into total devastation. “Oh God, Feyd…”

“I do not put you in danger,” he says, and it’s so shockingly meek that your heart cracks right down the middle. Not once in almost two years have you heard that tone leave his mouth, and you think maybe his eyes have become glassy, but you’re praying it’s a trick of the low lighting in your bedroom. Feyd has never cried in front of you, if he's ever cried at all, and you hope you didn’t just unfairly yank that vulnerability out of him. 

“I’m so sorry. That isn't what I meant,” you whisper, sinking into your shame. You know it’s such a sensitive topic for him and you spoke without thinking. You reach your hand toward him. “Come here….please.”

Feyd stares at you for a long moment, but then he sighs through his nose and walks over to sit at your side atop the mattress. No tears—your breath shudders in relief. One hand grasps his and your lips brush his knuckles. The other cups his cheek as you guide his forehead to rest on yours. 

“You protect me,” you swear to him. “No one could ever keep me safe the way you do, and I know that's all you want, but our son is coming soon. We will need help. I can’t birth this baby without a doctor and that doctor will have to touch me. Me and our son.”

The heat of Feyd's heavy breath warms your face. You wait for his response but he doesn’t have one, and instead, he shifts to lie down. You adjust your body until you’re flat on the mattress beside him. “Sometimes,” he starts as he rubs his palm over your stomach, “I have dreams about the three of us living elsewhere. Everyone is forced to leave us alone and all we have to care about is each other and our child.”

Feyd kisses your exposed shoulder, and in that moment, you’re reminded of how different he has become. He’s transformed from someone whose sole ambition was to be the Baron—a man driven to control this planet and have the people of Giedi Prime bow to him; a man who sought destruction and pain and power—to a man who secretly craves a bit of peace for his family. Though no one other than yourself sees this side of him, it’s hard to watch him tackle that burden, especially when you know you’re the responsible party. 

“What have I done to you, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen?” you mutter as you press your lips to his forehead. 

He chuckles lowly and hugs you into his body. “You turned me soft.”

“You kill servants without batting an eye.”

“Fine,” he relents. “As soft as I’m capable of being.”

[ash5monster01]

reader riding drew starkey face for the first time

a/n: I switched this to Rafe because it made more sense in my head for the brief plot. I hope you don’t mind <3

Something New

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x FemReader

Warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, foreplay, oral, head (receiving), anxiousness, no strings attached, no use of y/n

Summary: Rafe wants to try a new position and despite your fears you agree, which turns out to be the best decision you could’ve made.

word count: 1.1k

Masterlist

Being with Rafe the first time was intimidating. The islands bad boy with the reputation of a good lay. When he directed his interest in you it was no surprise you were nervous. Why wouldn’t you be when he was deemed some legend and you were well, just you. Yet it happened anyway, lustful gazes turning into long nights curled in each others arms. He had lived up to his reputation and then some. You just prayed you were enough. That one day he wouldn’t decide to find better and move on when you were already down so bad for him.

“You smell so good” Rafe mutters against the shell of your ear, hard body pressed against your own. You could already feel his erection growing against your ass, making you thankful that the people at this party are too drunk to pay attention.

“Sounds like someone had too much to drink” you tell him despite the fact you brush your ass against his length, indicating you were into it too.

“Only one baby, I need you more” he mutters into your hair, fingers digging into your waist. You’ve learned that Rafe always told the truth, at least to you, so knowing he only had one drink and was this desperate for you already made your heart flutter.

“You trying to get out of here?” you ask and Rafe answer by grabbing your hand and dragging you towards the house. It didn’t matter this was his party, he needed you more. So when you’re both shut behind the locked door of his bedroom, you flash him a pretty smile while he takes off his clothes.

“Well what’re you waiting for baby, take that dress off” he tells you and you giggle, trying not to dwell on the pet name, while your hands pull the fabric up and over you’re head. When your bra is disregarded and your fingers push down the hem of your panties, you eye with curiosity as Rafe climbs into the bed.

“What’re you doing?” you ask, confused why he lays against his pillows as if he’s going to sleep. Normally he’d have you pressed against the wall before you ever made it to his bed.

“Getting comfortable” he says with a suggestive grin but you still haven’t caught on. You don’t have time to ask because he’s already motioning his hand for you to join him.

Panties now abandoned you crawl onto the end of the bed, moving up his form and trying your best to ignore how impossibly hard he is already. When his length meets your inner thighs you prepare to settle in his lap, expecting to ride him due to his request. Already dripping in need for him anyway.

“No, higher” he commands, body shuffling further down the pillows. Scooting up you meet his torso and he shakes his head with a grin. As if you were doing something wrong and he found it cute.

“Not much further I can go Rafe” you tell him and he rolls his eyes, hands settling on your bare waist, giving a teasing squeeze.

“Ride my face baby” he tells you and you can’t hide the shock that paints your features. Rafe wants to laugh but he’s more interested in seeing how this will play out.

“I don’t want to crush you, let me ride you normally” and you cringe at the words that leave your mouth. Yet his strength tightens around your hips, lifting you further up him while you fight the panic that rises in your chest.

“It’ll be fine, I just need to taste you” he beckons and you wriggle in his arms, hands grasping at the head board to steady yourself. When your core is perfectly centered over his face you do your best to look calm about the situation. The idea of even fully sitting your weight on him made your chest hurt but it fully contradicted how wet you were with the sight of him between your legs.

“Are you sure?” you ask again, hoping this confident facade you had built up wasn’t crumbling over a silly position like this. You had just never ridden anyone’s face before. It was already out of character becoming fuck buddies with the islands most eligible bachelor, you couldn’t crack under pressure now.

“God yes” and then Rafe’s grip on your hips pulls you down, your weight landing on him as his tongue immediately dips between your folds. It’s so euphoric your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head, whimpering everytime his nose bumps your clit.

You’re certain you’re making a mess all over his face. The pleasure is so intense you nearly forget the position you’re even in. Pretty soon you’re unable to stop the roll of your hips, grinding over his mouth and nudging your clit into his nose over and over again. When his hands glide from your hips to your ass, you’re fully riding his face like a desperate woman. You can feel his smile grow between your legs and as much as you want to scold him for being cocky, you’re to turned on to care.

“Oh God, right there Rafe” you whine, one hand leaving the headboard and falling to his head. He squeezes your ass at the praise and you start grinding into him faster. When you lower your hips just right he sucks harshly at your clit and you feel your orgasm begging to be released. You can’t tear your eyes from your knuckles which are white against the headboard and your torso shakes above him.

When one hand leaves your ass and reaches for your breast, you know he’s telling you to finish. It’s when he pinches your nipples between his fingers you feel it let go. The coil snapping as you finish above him. You feel your orgasm seep onto his chin and he continues to eat you through it. A very happy man indeed. When you’ve calmed enough to think you can move, you lift on shaky legs and roll beside him. He looks so smug, smile wide as you spot how hard he is. Pre-cum leaking everywhere from his angry red tip but he doesn’t even seem to mind.

“That was hot” he tells you and your heart flutters in your chest, cheeks tinting pink.

“Better than me riding you?” you tease, hand dipping down his stomach and closer to his length. His heavy cock twitches at the sensation and you’re fairly certain you’re about to become the smug one while he’s a whimpering mess.

“Anything is good when it’s with you” and you grin at the sentiment before wrapping your hand around his length and meeting your lips with his own.

[misc-obeyme]

Demon Brothers as Subs Headcanons

Almost didn't post this 'cause I'm feeling self conscious about it for some reason. So here's me being brave. I told y'all I was in a smut phase. I'm so sorry. Just gonna drop this and run, see ya.

GN!MC x the demon brothers

Side Characters as Subs Bros as Doms

NSFW MDNI

Note: There are a lot of warnings, but most of this stuff is just briefly mentioned. These are headcanons of things they'd be into.

Warnings: Dom!MC, bondage, blindfolds, gags, toys, praise, humiliation, degradation, spanking, edging, orgasm denial, collaring, begging, dacryphilia, role play, voice kink, dirty talk, biting, hair pulling, exhibitionism, shibari, food play, hot wax, breath play, blood kink, somnophilia. I THINK THAT'S IT.

Lucifer

He won’t do it until he’s comfortable with you. It takes some time, a little coaxing, and constant reassurance. You have to earn his trust if you want to see him being vulnerable. Once he’s agreed, though, you find him surprisingly compliant. He’s ready to take every order, easily falling into the role of obedience.

Once he’s fully comfortable with you, Lucifer likes to release all control. He wants to be told what to do, to surrender fully. He loves to be restrained. He enjoys watching you take the time to tie him up carefully. He’ll surprise you by requesting a gag. He likes to feel a bit helpless, like he can’t even speak to you, completely at your mercy. He appreciates a blindfold for the same reason.

Just as he wants you to give him orders, he wants you to enforce them, too. If he fails to do what you ask, he wants you to punish him for it. Lucifer has a high pain tolerance but a low humiliation tolerance. Pulling him over your knee for a spanking would be effective, but he might ask you to use an implement simply because he knows your hand won’t be enough. If he does manage to say anything about it, though, he’s blushing and refusing to look at you because the embarrassment is really the worst part. If you do punish him, it won’t be long before he’s whimpering in your lap, promising to be good and begging you to touch him.

Lucifer will swear you to secrecy. If you ever tell anyone, MC, especially his brothers, about any of the things he says and does during these times, he’ll kill you himself. These are empty threats, of course, because he wouldn’t do any of this at all if he didn’t trust you to keep it to yourself. He just feels the need to threaten you about it because it makes him feel better.

Mammon

He doesn’t have as much of a hang up about this and will readily agree to sub for you if you ask him. He’s going to be slightly embarrassed about it, but not enough for it to be an issue. And once you get into it, his embarrassment dissipates because he’s so focused on how good you make him feel.

Mammon is the one with a praise kink. He doesn’t like punishments and is far more likely to respond well to positive reinforcement. If you want to rile him up any time and any place, all you have to do is call him a good boy. He might even do things for you without you asking just to see if you’ll say it.

He also enjoys being tied up. He likes to feel that he’s entirely in your hands. He isn’t too fond of gags because he likes to be vocal. He’s always babbling the whole time you’re doing anything with him and it’s usually all begging. If you tell him to be quiet, it will be difficult for him. And anyway, it’s far more satisfying listening to him cry and whine and repeat your name over and over.

Mammon likes to be considered your property. If you want to collar him, he’s happy to wear it. He doesn’t care who sees it and if someone asks, he’ll tell them about it proudly.

While praise is his preference, he’ll be okay with a little humiliation, too. Please talk dirty to him, MC. Call him your little slut and he’ll be agreeing with you and asking for more.

He loves accessories and toys. Put that man in a harness, give him a cock ring, or one of those shiny bejeweled anal plugs. He loves to dress up for you, especially if it's in something sparkly or gold.

Also loves to be fucked. Let him sit in your lap and ride you (or your strap) and he’ll lose himself entirely. He won’t last long, but he’s also ready to go again quickly.

Leviathan

Although Levi is clearly the subbiest of subs, he’s also extremely nervous. You gotta calm that anxiety a little bit if you want him to make it through the experience without having a heart attack.

Because of this anxiety, he might not be willing to do it for a little while. He needs a bit of reassurance, to feel fully safe with you, before he’s willing to try it. Make sure you talk to him about everything ahead of time and establish some solid safe words.

Once he’s agreed, though… well, we all know Levi is the one with the humiliation kink. And not just calling him names, he wants you to degrade him. Tell him how useless and gross he is. Just make sure you give him some after care where you tell him that you don’t actually think that way about him. He won’t realize how much it matters to hear you say that until you do.

Alternatively, surprise him by praising him instead. It will shock him so much, he might start to cry. D-do you really mean that, MC?

Turns out, Levi is a bit of crier in general. It’s the embarrassment. He blushes so easily and when you make him feel good, especially in a humiliating way, he can’t help the physical reaction of tears. They’ll end up streaming down his cheeks by the time you’re done.

He’s not sure about punishment at first, but if you suggest it he’s willing to try it out. This can range from orgasm denial to spanking. He’s surprisingly receptive once he gets comfortable with the idea. He might find he prefers to be good, but occasionally he can get really bratty. So you might have to get a bit creative to bring him back in line. When you do, it flusters him so bad he doesn't do anything even remotely brat like for a long time.

Satan

Easily the most stubborn when it comes to getting comfortable enough to sub for you. It’s going to take a lot of trust and reassurance, even more than Lucifer. But eventually, you can convince him.

He will be much more receptive if you include something cute like a cat collar or even a maid dress. He likes the way you react to him and he also just likes to wear those things himself. They make him feel like he can let his guard down a little easier.

Satan does not like humiliation and will not respond well to this. He needs a gentle touch. He loves praise and a little pampering - he will be happy if you focus all your attention on him. He’ll accept a soft dom situation best. Tell him he’s a good boy, but be firm when you need to.

He has a voice kink. Tie him up and blindfold him then read erotic stories or romantic poetry to him. If you really want to rile him up, whisper dirty talk in his ear. He won’t like insults, but he will love to hear you describe what you want to do to him.

Satan also likes pain. Bite him, please, he wants to feel your teeth in his flesh. He likes the way the marks look on him, too, but he’ll insist they only arise in locations he can easily hide. He’s too embarrassed to let anyone else but you see them.

Requires plenty of after care, kisses, and praise. Take care of him well enough and he’ll even suggest it himself next time. But if you ever breathe a word of it to anyone else, he'll be in demon form so fast you won't know what hit you. Be careful because he will turn the tables on you, MC.

Asmodeus

Not even a question. Asmo is ready to do whatever you want, any time. He will sub for you without question, but don’t misunderstand him. He likes doing both and although he’s willing to do just about anything, he still has preferences.

He likes to be worshiped. He’ll indulge you if you want to humiliate him, but he thrives on being told how stunning and beautiful he is. He just wants to hear you say that he’s the only one you’re interested in, whether it’s true or not.

Although Asmo doesn’t have a problem with things that leave marks, he’s hesitant to do anything that could cause lasting issues for his skin. Just be careful with his delicate body, MC! But he’s also willing to let quite a bit slide in the name of feeling good. He does like a little pain with his pleasure and his favorite is hair pulling. Doesn’t leave a mark and it's easily fixed in the after math.

He also enjoys being on display. He always wants to have mirror sex or semi-public sex. If you’re into exhibitionism, he will agree to that readily. Let him perform for you (and anyone else who happens to be around).

Similarly, he’s happy to take orders that involve doing a strip tease or a lap dance. He likes to do role play and will dress up as anything you want. Also loves shibari, tie him up in some beautiful knots, please.

Finds punishments a little funny. He can get a little bit bratty about it. But if you seem like you’re really annoyed with him, he’ll switch to being obedient real quick. But he enjoys things like orgasm denial because oh what a rush! He sees it as a challenge. How much can he take? Far more than you’re likely anticipating.

Beelzebub

He will absolutely sub for you if that’s what you want. A very good boy who is willing to do just about anything to make you happy. He’s not embarrassed about it at all and he’s ready to dive right in.

Generally, he’ll do anything you want. Very easy, very compliant. He likes when you give him orders. He likes when you tell him what to do. He knows that if he does well, you’ll be happy with him and he likes that.

Beel likes praise, but he doesn’t have a problem with humiliation, either. In fact, it’s a little difficult to really humiliate him. He’s not easily embarrassed or flustered, he’s solid and steady, so you’ll have to work hard if that’s what you want. He likes to use a title for you, like master or whatever variation you prefer.

He considers any kind of food play a reward from you. If you involve the usual things like whipped cream or chocolate, he sees it as you doing something special just for him. And he’ll work hard to please you, even more than usual. Thank you for this treat, MC.

He can take a lot. He enjoys pain. Biting, spanking, hot wax, even choking, any of the above will be something he enjoys. He likes that he can feel both pleasure and pain at the same time. It gives him a rush and he gets excited about it, almost without meaning to. Similarly, he enjoys being tied up, blindfolded, or gagged. He likes when you’re in total control of him.

The only thing Beel really doesn’t like is edging. He’s fine with overstimulation, but edging will frustrate him. He can’t take too much of that and will absolutely devolve into begging you for release pretty quickly.

Since he's basically impossible to embarrass, he has no problem telling anyone and everyone what you get up to with him. You might have to be the one to tell him to keep it to himself, he just doesn't understand why anyone would care.

Belphegor

He likes the idea of subbing because he thinks it involves less work for him. But he is by far the brattiest sub of all the brothers. So he’s right because you’re the one with your work cut out for you. Be prepared to become a brat tamer.

He’ll take easy orders, but give him anything too involved and he’ll get petulant. Surprisingly, responds well to you being rough with him. If you’re going to be the dom, he really wants you to dominate him. He likes it when you manhandle him.

Yes okay he likes the breath play. But he also enjoys pain in general. He has a blood kink. Bite him and make him bleed. He’s gonna love any kind of vampire role play, he’ll straight up drink your blood if you want him to.

Belphie wants you to humiliate him. Tell him he’s a dirty whore, use him however you like. If you let him, he'll dish it right back to you, though.

Obviously into somnophilia. Is he asleep when you wanna fuck him? Go right ahead, MC. He doesn’t need to be awake for you to make use of him. Though if you start, he might wake up just so he can get off, too. If that happens, expect him to mouth off at you until you take him in hand.

Belphie is another one who will wear a collar all the time if you want him to. He likes strappy leather things and will gladly wear a harness or any other such items. He doesn’t care too much about blindfolds or gags, but he does like being tied up.

He doesn’t care who knows about the way he submits to you. If you want him to wear a collar, he’ll make sure it’s visible to everyone. Similarly into exhibitionism. It feels like he’s almost daring anybody to say anything about it.

side characters as subs | bros as doms | side characters as doms masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[tillsfan]

this new vivinos sketch got me thinking.

what if till was way more infatuated with ivan than we thought? what if the whole time, till was actually focused on the both of them, yet due to ivan’s low self worth and unreliable storytelling, we had a complete different perception of him. maybe he was more transparent about his feelings to the both of them.

it would be genuinely insane if when we finally get till’s pov of his life, we get so much more of ivan and much less of mizi than expected. like an even distribution.. main reason i’m thinking this is because of his comic, where he’s seen so much. more chill? around her

he seems a lot more different than what we’d expect based off ivan’s perception of him. this is one of the only instances where his story has been told from someone outside of ivan. it’s very interesting to me.. they’re both pretty prevalent in his comic. they both were in his head. even though it was told by io, i think it’s still worth noting.

i fully believe till acted different and distant around ivan because of his guilt after the meteor scene, as he was likely ashamed of himself. convincing ivan that he wasn’t ever in till’s mind. maybe till felt he didn’t deserve ivan after the fact? i’m sure he was convinced that ivan hated him for it as well. till was probably DWELLING over what happened. it likely weighed him down a lot. in r6, he could’ve been so broken both because of mizi and because he was also going up against one of his loves, someone who tried to help him escape, but he went back on it. in r7, we also saw the meteor scene colors in his ivan flashback. the meteor scene is so heavily associated with ivan specifically, but we’ve seen till so affected by it in multiple instances. mostly in merch. but still.

maybe a lot of his actions were based off of ivan as well, and not just mizi. he’s been shown to be flustered around ivan on multiple occasions..

this is just a “what-if” scenario ramble. i just think it’d be very interesting if it was significantly more different than expected… very very curious for till pov of things. i wonder how much different it would be. we could see how ivan really ruined things for himself, seeing him inhabit till’s mind So Much more than we would’ve ever believed. not saying this is 100% what would happen at all! just ideas.. with how much they’re gatekeeping his pov, i wouldn’t be surprised if his pov completely changed our perception of his relationship with ivan, and till’s character as a whole.

anyways till bisexuality is so real We are so back.

a few more sketches where till is shown to be flustered around ivan. they mean so much to me. ivan you are so clueless

[writella]

Thinking about Rick and slightly innocent, touch starved, virgin, fem!reader— ♡

Just smut this time, 18+, mdni, wc: 1.8k.

Read part two: here!

“I usually just touch myself at the top,” you explain, verbalizing your actions as you rub your clit with your middle finger, your pointer and ring brushing up against either side of your lips. You’re breathless, already panting. Doing this in front of him was too much. You just couldn’t believe this was happening, that he was here watching, enjoying. “Barely even put my fingers in- I get nervous- never feels good.”

“Never?” There’s a bit of surprise in Rick’s voice, but the grin he’s hiding loves every second of you showing him how much you need something- something bigger, something or someone like him and his fingers— his cock.

You pout with a hmph, “No,” you whine, your eyes trailing desperately. “They feel like nothing when I do it. And I don’t know how to make it feel good.”

Your actions, your words, it makes his tongue peek out of the side of his mouth. It’s only just a little, but a tiny bit drool is at the edge, almost rolling down and onto his chin. He licks it away before it falls.

His eyes are dark and lustful, dazed with the sight of you in only a shirt, underwear discarded, rubbing your puffy, wet pussy so fast right in front of him. He had been talking to Daryl outside the house, came up to get you for dinner at his, but then he caught you. He didn’t mean to, but the door was just a crack open: with one eye he could see your legs dangling off the bed, nose and eyes scrunched so tightly as your fingers played with yourself, whispering his name. That’s what set him off, the sweet little “Rick… Rick, Rick,” pants that came out of your mouth. That’s what made him come in without knocking. He told you not to stop.

And now, he stands right in front of your bed. Any closer and he’d be in between your legs. He can see you staring down every inch of him, eyes so wide, hopeful yet hopeless. You’re pathetically whimpering and whining at his own— those sparkly blue and wandering ones. He’s just as invested in the sight as you are.

You look at his pink parted lips and his tongue you want so badly in your mouth, and lower too, so much lower. You see his slick, curly hair, and that scruffy beard— you wouldn’t even care if it would make your sensitive lips burn down there. You want it. So bad. Your eyes go down further, seeing the way his hands are placed low at his hips, his groin jutted forward… Fuck. You need to see what’s underneath.

You rub your clit faster with two fingers now, biting on your bottom lip, looking at his fat bulge and wondering if he’s just getting hard or if it’s always looked big like that. It makes you feel like this one of your daydreams… you don’t know if your mind is enlarging it, but wow it looks good. You’d honestly sit on him right there, jeans and all with your bare pussy. Who cares if he’s been working all day, dealing with God knows what outside these walls. You’ll take anything. You bet even the littlest bit of something from him probably feels better than when you’re alone doing this anyway. You were tired of it, you wanted to be touched; you wanted to be fucked— fucked by Rick Grimes.

Rick finally sits on the bed. His face closer to you now as he asks, “You’ve ever made yourself cum, sweetheart?”

You're hesitant to answer but you shake your head, shy and slow. You feel embarrassed.

A chronic overthinker you were sometimes, you could never be in the moment and finally get yourself over the edge. Thinking about Rick always led to thinking about how you shouldn’t be doing it. He was the leader of your group, he had a daughter and a son, ones that you were far older than, but just enough to not possibly be their mother… at least not the eldest, anyway. This was wrong, but there he was: watching, staring, gazing. It only made you more and more wet, you almost couldn’t breathe.

“Poor baby,” Rick drawls and you whimper at the phrase.

He decides to relieve you, but only just a little bit by brushing his hand on your leg, stroking your thigh as he finally sits down next to you. It makes you gasp as you continue to pleasure yourself. Reaching lower to collect wetness to put over your clit. Your back arches at the feeling of him.

The sight makes him grin, laughing endearingly. Just that— just his hand, not even on your pussy and you’re already reeling.

“Such a pretty little thing, and no one’s ever made you feel good…? Can’t even do it to yourself either?” He tisks at the thought. “It’s a shame, honestly.”

All you do is whine. You want him to do it but you’re too scared to ask. You want him to want to do it, without asking, go all in and make you his. Why won’t he? It makes your moan, mix with a groan as you think about it.

You look up as his hand moves higher to your hip and his name comes out all desperate and needy as you plead, “Rick-”

“Yes?”

“Please.”

He ignores you. “Put a finger inside yourself. Let’s try again, okay? How about that?”

You whine his name again, but you still do as he says. Your hand trails lower, inserting your middle finger into your wet hole.

“Start pumping… and how ‘bout this time you try to curl your finger upward after you go in, hm?” You try, humming in response to his voice and his hand moving back to your leg, softly rubbing up and down your thigh as he watches you.

He notices your breath hitching. “Good girl,” he coos, “add another.”

You attempt to pump yourself faster now with the two fingers inside of you, looking up at him. Your pussy twitches and you jut upwards at the sight of him licking his lips. “Just pretend it’s me,” he tells you, “And don’t stop. I wouldn’t.”

His hand rests back on your hip, fingers daring to reach your mound as they slide slowly, but he’s hesitating. He wants you to do it all by yourself, but he sees your face, sees what just his voice and his watching does to you. You were always a good listener, a team player, never skipped on doing your part when he asked it of you, but this, this new power he had over you? It was something else. He can’t help but want to see what happens when he gives you just a little more.

His fingers now lightly ghost over your lips and your eyes implore. Your gasp is shaky. You’re almost holding your breath waiting for the full press but… he doesn’t do it yet.

He’s being a fucking tease.

The cockiness is evident in his voice when he asks, “Want me to?”

“Yes,” you moan, loud and instantly. It’s pitiful, you’re a mess and you want him so bad you couldn’t help it, but the beg worked. Right after, he starts rubbing harsh circles into your clit, making you vibrate.

“Oh- ohmygod, Rick.” You try to keep pumping yourself but it becomes hard. You’ve dreamed about his hands, right there on your most intimate parts, making you feel good and showing you how it’s supposed to really feel. And finally. He’s doing it. His rough fingertips felt like heaven.

Your own fingers stutter. His hand and yours are just too much for you, especially because of how deep and fast he’s rubbing against your skin and bone. “Rick, please,” you want him to go lower, take over, and he notices how your fingers slow.

“No,” he warns. “Keep goin’.” His voice is stern, stopping you before you do, he takes your hand and helps you pump your fingers into yourself before letting go. “You’re doing that yourself. Go faster.”

Your cheek falls to the opposite side of the bed, whimpering sadly at his words, but you continue.

“You got it,” he encourages. “Put another finger in.”

“Another?” Your voice incredulous as you ask.

“Gotta train yourself with your fingers before you get mine.” He pauses. “And before you can get up to my dick… How do you think it’s gonna fit if we don’t open you up?”

You let out a moan, it’s the kind that you had only heard on tv in the past. Just the sheer thought of him insinuating that soon he would put himself inside of you sends you spiraling. You add a third finger, it feels tight, but good, especially with him there.

“There you go,” he says, stretching out the syllables. He feels his jeans tighten further as he watches you.

And you only get wetter. The squelching sounds from below are nothing you’ve ever heard from yourself before. Your pussy shakes and sucks your fingers below with Rick rubbing and pinching your clit at the top. You speak between pants, moaning again, “Rick… Rick, its too much.” You’re trying to keep up your pace but you feel your energy withering again. You close your eyes.

“That means you’re making yourself cum soon. Keep going.”

“It hurts, I can’t do it!”

“You can do it,” he nods, “and if you don’t… I’ll just leave you here.”

A quick, “No!” and a string of “mmms” come out as you whine. You don’t want him to go, so you try, you keep up.

Rick lets go of your clit and it makes you gasp sadly at the loss, but he’s pushing up your shirt, exposing your breast. He takes one hand to rub your clit again and another to roll one of your nipples. “This is the only extra help you get,” he tells you. “Now are you going to cum for me?”

You nod, “Yes, yes,” you chant, “I can do it for you, Rick.”

“Show me.”

You continue to pump fast, curling your fingers as he suggested before. You find a spongy part that makes you feel extra tingling in your lower stomach and you keep trying to push up against it with each pump of your fingers. You decide to open your eyes again to watch Rick as his eyes trail between your breasts to below, you choose to focus the way your fingers look as they go in and out of you and how his hand rubs and shakes you at the top. Indescribable noises come out at the sight. “I’m losing it,” you tell him.

“Just keep goin’,” he tells you. “See it through.”

You start panting in between your stringy moans, it’s breathy and hurried and long. You force yourself to not stop. “I’m gonna cum, Rick. I’m gonna make myself cum!”

“I know, sweetheart. I know you can. Be a good girl for me, you got it.”

And then you do. The butterflies spring. You continue to pump as you ride your high and then it’s done. You came.

Rick smiles, licking his fingers filled with your wetness. He stands up, knees making their way between your own that lay on the bed as he starts undoing his belt. As he drops his pants and his boxers you see his cock spring up. It’s glossy at the tip and although you haven’t seen many, you’re completely sure it’s longer than most.

But it gets you scared. There’s worry in your eyes. Your lip quivers despite the drool that comes out on the side. How’s it gonna fit?

“You ready?” He asks.

“But I thought you said your fingers first.”

He kisses your lips, fingers caressing your cheek as he whispers, “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll go slow.”

Then he pushes himself in. Right to the hilt.

He didn’t go slow.

[webbluvrsugar]

omg size kink w ethan 1 bc that man is literally a giant + 2 bc your friends are always baffled on how the hell things even work with your size difference? i mean usually he’s much more submissive to you, which would surprise most people given his obvious physical advantage, but sometimes he does actually use that against you (esp when his emotions are high like when he’s just come back from a kill) bc he truly does let you be in control… until he doesn’t tehe🤭

a/n: how does you brain work this way omgggg!!! They have dorms in this one.

not proofread

﹒ ☆ 𓂂 ˚ ☆. ꙳ * ࣭ ࣭ size kink with Ethan Landry…

Ethan would never be the type of boyfriend to be dominant in your relationship, — not outside of bed, anyways — personally, he just found it more comfortable to let you lead him around, meanwhile, your friends found it funny, interesting, because… compared to Ethan, you were small, you often found yourself in situations where he towered over you, yet you can always order him around like a pup when you want him to and he’ll do it, and sure, they know how you two work, they just… don’t know how that would work in bed — it’s not that they were thinking about it…. It’s just that… Chad was hella drunk in that frat party and he couldn’t help but ask Ethan what everyone wanted to ask, and Ethan being.. well, Ethan, told his best friend right away even if he tried his best not to, he just prayed that Chad would forget it the next day.

Chad didn’t.

And maybe that’s why he told Mindy, that told Anika, that told Tara. After that, it’s like they started noticing little things he did that weren’t exactly submissive.

For example, if you’re walking in front of him, he’ll guide you with a hand on your lower back, sometimes, when he needs you to do something, he manhandles you, and if he’s especially stressed, he’ll hold you by the wrist instead of holding your hand. What hit the jackpot was when Mindy went to your dorm during a Saturday to do a project, a project you completely forgot, and that’s exactly how she found herself listening to your moans towards the door.

“P — Please, Ethan, slower..” you mewl, your hand reaching backwards to push on his pelvis, doesn’t last long, he pins it behind you right away.

“Shh, stay put, just fucking sit there and take it for a while, I know you can.” His thrusts are harsh and fast, one hand holds your head down while the other keeps wrapped around your wrist.

“What, you’re not gonna boss me around now?” He scoffs, it’s like he’s taking all the frustration of doing shit for you, on you, and he’s not kind or gentle the way he always is.

Honestly, Mindy thought Chad was bullshitting her, or that Ethan lied to her brother so he wouldn’t look bad, but now she doesn’t believe so, not when you sound like you’re getting murdered in there, whimpers so meek that she even finds it strange coming for your lips.

“Fuuuck, right there..” you moan into the pillow, your back arching in a pretty curve as you roll you eyes, Ethan makes sure he keeps his hands where you are, that his thrusts won’t slow down.

Mindy doesn’t spend any more time listening after that, she decides that this project you have to work on won’t happen today, so she just leaves.

“S — Shit, ‘m gonna cum, Ethan, I’m gonna —“ you gasp, he tugs on your hair, makes sure you can feel his fingers pulling on it as you finally find your release.

Next day, it doesn’t take more than two seconds of silence in the group for you both to start getting mocked.