libraloves-writing

[libraloves-writing]

how does fugitive!könig feel about naive!farmer!reader? does he love her or is he pretending? how did he help her during her pregnancy? I love your texts!💞💞

fugitive!könig × naive!farmer!reader

part 1

warnings: +18, smut, sex pregnancy, emotional manipulation, murder!

after that encounter in the barn, the relationship between you and könig changed. he promised you he'd take care of you and that you should trust him, which you did.könig didn't have to hide his feelings for you anymore; you were all his now.

he took advantage of every situation to tell you how much he loved you and, in the process, to fuck you until you were almost breathless. you let yourself be carried away by him; after all, you loved him and were going to trust him completely.

your belly soon began to grow as the weeks passed. at first, you didn't understand, and your concern grew at the lack of your period. were you sick?

when you told könig, his eyes shone with excitement at the news. he reassured you, saying that you shouldn't worry about anything, that "that's normal when two people love each other," he said.

the news reached you when he took you to the village doctor and confirmed your pregnancy. you didn't have time to ask questions because könig convinced you it was good news, very good news.

könig saw the need for the two of you to get married as soon as possible. the ceremony was at home, intimate and simple. now you bore not only his last name but also his baby's. thus began married life.

as your pregnancy progressed, könig made sure you rested and didn't overexert yourself, taking the utmost care of you. he would get up earlier in the morning to prepare your breakfast and begin the farm chores. however, he also took care of you during the day, massaging your feet and holding your swollen belly to relax your back.

könig decided to change his appearance, growing a mustache and slicking his hair back. his body had also changed, gaining muscle and a few pounds, but still remaining the tall, strong man he was.

for your part, the pregnancy had only made you more beautiful, according to könig. your hair and skin shone, and your breasts had grown in a way that made könig drool every time he saw them.he fell asleep caressing your belly while sucking on your breasts, moaning happily until he fell asleep.

your hormones made you start to desire him more, asking him to stay with you for five more minutes before he went to work outside. and könig couldn't refuse.he made sure to fuck you in the way that was most comfortable and pleasurable for you. his favorite position was cowgirl, so you set the pace and he could see your breasts bouncing near his face. he loved hearing you moan his name every time he spoke to you.

"look at you, riding my cock like a bitch in heat. so full of me, but always wanting more..."

his large, calloused hands caressed your buttocks, helping you fuck yourself with his cock. and they could go on for hours on end, your arousal never going down, and könig would get hard just seeing you carrying his child.

you gave birth to a baby girl in the spring. you named her daisy. könig was over the moon, happier than he'd ever felt.

soon, you grew accustomed to motherhood and the housekeeping that könig had so insisted you follow. you passed by the house, carrying daisy on your hip as your dress blew in the breeze. könig continued working on the farm, knowing that when he entered the house, he'd see you there, waiting for him, excited to tell him what daisy had done during his absence.

"you're such a good mom, fuck, feel how you make me feel."

könig brought your hand to his crotch so you could feel his hard member. daisy was already asleep in her crib, so it was time for you to take care of him.

"at this rate, i think i'm going to put another baby inside you."

könig was on top of you, fucking you at a slow, deep pace while you caressed his back. one of his hands massaged your breast while the other rested on your stomach, feeling his cock slide in and out of you.

"do you feel it? do you feel how deep inside you i am? i'm going to fill you up again until you give me a little brother for daisy."

everything was going great until a young sheriff arrived in town. everyone was happy to have someone to look after them, even you, except for könig.

the problems escalated when he showed up at the farm one day with the idea of meeting everyone in town. you let him in and even offered him a glass of iced tea, which was meant for könig. the sheriff kept asking questions that seemed innocent to you. how did you meet? when did you meet? have you lived here long?

könig instantly noticed the way the sheriff looked at your chest through your blouse, not to mention the mischievous smile that formed on his face when he saw you blush at his not-so-innocent compliments. that idiot wanted to fuck his wife, you.

before könig could act, the sheriff showed up one afternoon when you and diasy were out in town.

"i know who you are. i saw your face on a most-wanted list."

the sheriff spoke, trying not to seem intimidated by könig's size.

"oh yeah? and what are you going to do about it?"

"i'm going to arrest you and save that young woman from a monster like you. in fact, i'm going to take your place."

before he could get the handcuffs out, könig had already smashed his head in with a shovel.

that night before going to sleep, you approached könig, who was cradling daisy in his big arms.

"love, we need to feed the pigs."

"don't worry, i've already taken care of that. they have enough food for several weeks."

[libraloves-writing]

Simon Riley who has found his match.

cw: 18+ | omegaverse; plus-size!omega!reader; a/b/o dynamics; suggestive

Yes, you are a sweet omega.

Perfectly shaped for Simon, with plush hips to grab, fat tits to bury his ugly mug into, and a scent worth dying for.

A true plump pocket-sized fairy—his words.

Docile when treated right; he's never heard anything else but lovely chirps and purrs coming from you. The occasional yelp when he smacks your ass to watch it jiggle or nips at your mating mark whenever cuteness aggression possesses him like a wicked demon.

That is until he comes home from duty, smelling like another omega one evening.

The moment you pick up on it, that incredibly biting scent of cherry blossom and burnt caramel, your nose twitches and you bristle, eyes zeroing in on Simon as he approaches you in the kitchen.

The scent is so overwhelming, you smell it over the herbal tea you're brewing.

"My love," he greets you gruffly, oblivious still, "how's yer day been?"

And you don't reply anything, but there is a sudden rumble in your chest. A soft yet warning growl steadily building up deep inside of you, like a tigress coming alive to protecting her territory.

Simon freezes over the sound, dark eyes widening imperceptibly like he's sensing an unknown threat in the dark. Reaching up, he pulls his balaclava off at once; dirty blonde hair disheveled and sticking up from his skull.

"Love?" He asks again, a more gentle inquiry.

Until it hits him, too. That saccharine, foreign omega scent clinging to his fatigues, his skin.

It immediately offends him as much as it does you.

His crooked nose wrinkles, brows furrowing with a snarl, though not because of you, "Isn't what ye'r thinkin'," he assures you, palms coming up as if soothing a wild animal. "Some daft rookies gettin' in a bloody fight. Had to intervene—"

Your teeth glint in the soft LED lights under the kitchen cabinets. The tea kettle starts whistling as the water boils. Standing there in your cosy bath robe and fuzzy slippers, growling at him for the first time, you look comically ominous.

Sweet, supple fairy.

Simon swallows thickly, his prick chubs in his cargo pants as your pupils keep dilating, your scent spiking with jealousy; spicy and dangerous.

He groans, "I'd never—"

"Go shower," you hiss, causing his jaw to snap shut tightly, throat bobbing. "Bring your bloody uniform to the dry-cleaner's tomorrow or I swear I'll burn them, Simon Riley."

His pulse throbs in tandem with his cock now, knees nearly buckling as he fidgets with his mask.

"Yes, ma'am," he nods, "anythin' else for my—"

You take a step towards him, growling, "Now."

And Simon has never ever scurried like this in his life before; a strange mixture of anxiety and arousal oozing from his pores as he strips on his way to the bathroom, chuckling like a madman under his breath.

[libraloves-writing]

Alien Boyfriend with a monster fucker Reader, except he's pathetically mundane and ridiculously human-like in everything but appearance.

Oh, you were thrilled when he first approached you, asking you to be his partner. The tall frame, additional limbs and downright horrific features had you shivering in anticipation. You could already picture yourself pounded into the nearest wall.

"Is this your experimenting lab," you asked with a knowing grin, dragging your hand across the foreign tools. Was he going to tie you up and use you as his pet?

"You could call it that if you'd like," he answered with mild confusion, "but I'm sure you're already familiar with the concept."

There was a ding, and he pulled a tray out of the nearest machinery.

"It's my kitchen. Care for some muffins?"

You made the tragic discovery that your alien suitor was a soft-hearted, friendly neighbor living the quiet suburb life. Where was the fear? The danger? Alas, the extraterrestrial being would do his best to give you what you wanted.

"Remember how you said I should become the leader of the masses with my terrifying powers?"

He stands before you proudly, the many rows of sharp teeth glistening in the light.

"Yeah?" you squirm in your seat, cheeks turning red.

"Well, you're looking at the new HOA president! I metaphorically destroyed them with my speech. Everyone voted for me."

[libraloves-writing]

Part eight of Bird Watching aka hot construction worker!Simon Riley x single mom!reader (18+ MDNI)

October 31st, one year ago

You had almost stayed home that night.

None too eager to spend the latter half of your Tuesday elbowing sweaty strangers as you shuffled around on a mysteriously sticky pub floor, you had at least tried to talk your way out of it, all in vain of course.

“I don’t even own anything that could remotely pass as a costume! What would be the point?”

“You own enough yellow. If we get you a big hat you could pass for the guy from curious George.”

“You know what, that may not be the worst idea-”

“No!” Your best friend had interjected, returning from the kitchenette with beers in hand, passing one over to her boyfriend in exchange for a kiss on the cheek as she sat on the old couch’s armrest. “She will not be going dressed as the man in the yellow hat, thank you very much. Besides, it’s a masquerade costume party, masks required. The monkey man will have to sit on the bench this year.”

“Oh well, I guess that leaves me out of luck.” You had shrugged, not in the least bit bothered by the idea of being left behind tonight.

“Yeah, nice try. I told you, go check in my room. We went through so many rejects before we landed on being superheroes.” She’d told you, pointing a manicured finger towards her bedroom down the hall. Her roommates had their own plans for the night, leaving her and her boyfriend to roam the city as they pleased, hopping from bar to bar dressed in cheap superhero suits from the sketchy costume store a few blocks down.

Though soon as she’d gotten word that you didn’t have any plans of your own for Halloween, your best friend was insisting that you join the two of them and come out, in spite of your adamant protests that you were fine staying in.

You didn’t have any qualms about Halloween, quite the opposite actually. You had countless fond memories from your childhood and youth, images of dressing up in costumes that looked ridiculous with puffy jackets stuffed underneath as mums instructed, going from door to door in hopes of gathering as much loot as your little arms could carry, being wary of the houses with decorations deemed too scary to approach.

You liked Halloween, you liked spending time with your best friend, hell you even liked her newest boyfriend more than the last few ones she’d brought around.

But work had been stressful as of late, the idea of showing up hungover the next day seeming less than appealing to you.

And so, you’d compromised.

You’d go out with them, take it easy on the drinks, and stay out until midnight. Soon as it wasn’t October 31st anymore, you’d be hightailing it back home to your warm bed and alarm clock due to go off in only so many hours.

“Fine, I’ll see what I can find in there.” You’d told her, shaking your head at the beer bottle she offered in your direction, making your way towards the assortment of costumes that awaited you.

That was how you had found yourself nursing an all too expensive gin and tonic in the back of an absurdly crowded pub that night, faux spiderwebs hanging from the ceiling illuminated each time the lights shifted and beamed upon the decor, paper ghosts and bats strung about, a corny Halloween playlist blasting through the speakers as a crowd of masked party-goers moved about.

Your friend had been right, she and her boyfriend really had gone through quite a few costumes before deciding on superheroes; there were pirates, Star Wars characters, vampires, classic masquerade masks, more than your indecisive mind really needed, to be frank.

Sifting throuhg the garments, your eyes had landed on a long, lacy white dress just as your fingers found the plastic of the mask belonging to its partner.

With only so much time left before your friend had wanted to head out, you’d decided that going as Christine from The Phantom of the Opera, while also wearing the Phantom’s half mask, was the best you were going out be able to pull off on short notice.

Part of you regretted choosing such a warm costume, constantly rolling your billowing sleeves up in hopes of getting just a sliver of cool air to relieve you from the heat of so many bodies in a small space, though from the looks of it, there wasn’t a soul in the room that wasn’t sweating in their attire either, save for perhaps the two shirtless lads pretending to be Magic Mike dancers in masquerade masks.

Besides, it’d only be another hour or so before you’d have fulfilled your duty as a best friend and could sneak off back to the comfort of your familiar four walls, you could manage the heat and music for a little while longer.

Your friend and her boyfriend were talking about something or another, and though they were right next to you in the booth, you could scarcely hear them over the pounding bass, opting instead to glance around the room at the creative, as well as the certainly put together at the last minute, array of costumes packing the room.

Gaze landing on the movement at the front door as the bouncers let someone else come in, you’d nearly choked on your drink when you spotted him for the first time.

Nearly a head taller than anyone else in the dimly lit room, his presence was one that didn’t have to demand attention, but instead earned it instantaneously.

He needn’t say a single word before the crowd was parting for him, as though his immense stature truly was one of biblical proportions, your eyes never once daring to blink as they followed his form through the sea of swarming bodies, only realizing that you were holding your breath when he stopped at the bar’s sticky counter.

The mountain of a man had hardly lifted a finger before someone behind the counter was turning to face him, prepared to take his order, the same bar that other patrons were waiting nearly ten minutes to get a drink from.

You hadn’t come out with the intention of seeking any fun outside of your trio of friends tonight, had never meant on straying from your plan to be home not long after midnight, hadn’t planned on even entertaining anyone who might’ve offered to buy you a drink or wanted a dance.

But you certainly hadn’t intended on someone like him walking in tonight.

Clad head to toe in everything black, the only contrast being the white of the skull mask he adorned, one which shone bright as a beacon guiding stranded ships to shore every time the pub lights flashed by him, not that anyone dared glance his way long enough to discern whether they were being led to safety or not.

You had perhaps given his oddly unique costume choice a second or two’s worth of thought before the rapid beating of your heart aginst your ribs decided for you that you didn’t care, perhaps he like you had to find a costume at the last second.

He’d been wearing a simple t-shirt, though the shadows cast across the taut skin of his biceps easily put the wanna be Magic Mike men in the crowd to shame, his physique resembling that of someone who didn’t exercise for vanity’s sake, but for a life that required such brute strength.

You were still trying to ignore the increasingly steady pulsing growing between your thighs when you’d been snapped out of your daydream.

“So what are we looking at?” Your friend had shouted near your ear to be heard over the fifth rendition of Monster Mash to be played through the speakers that night, before her lips were wrapping around the straw of her sour key cocktail, narrowed eyes following your gaze.

“Nothing.”

“Is it mister tall, dark, and scary over there?” She’d questioned, jutting her chin in the direction of the bar. You’d gone to rebuke her claim, to shut down her line of inquiry before it strayed further, but any words you might have come up with in your defence were futile when he’d lifted up the bottom of his balaclava with a single dexterous finger, inching the material up just enough to reveal a sharp jaw and a bobbing Adam’s apple as he downed his drink without flinching, despite the dark colour of the liquid telling you it was one that would’ve had you grimacing.

“No.” You’d managed to cough up after a second too long of not answering, grateful for the darkness of the bar hiding your redenning cheeks.

“It’s okay if it is. I get the appeal, dude’s fucking jacked.” She’d replied with a single shrug of her shoulder, a knowing smirk sent your way just as her partner in crime’s arm slung around her shoulders.

“Wha’?” Her boyfriend had asked, evidently already drunker than the both of you combined.

“She’s making heart eyes at the guy over there.” She’d turned to shout in his ear this time, pointing in the direction of the bar where skull face still stood.

“I am not.” You’d grumbled, though your words went unheard as everyone’s eyes were on the skeleton man in question.

“Wha’? The grim reaper?”

“Precisely.” Your friend had answered with a mischievous smile painted across her lips, turning to face you again, before passing her empty glass over to the man hanging onto her every word. “Go get me another one in the meantime, won’t you baby?”

As he’d agreed easily, you friend had stepped closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist as you both regarded the stranger across the room, the mass of bodies between you nothing more than a simple nuisance you hardly noticed when he was the view on the other side.

“You’ve been together less than a month and you’ve already got him this whipped?” You’d asked her, eyes never straying from the masked man who continued nursing an amber coloured drink.

“The sex is just that good. Speaking of which…”

“Don’t start.”

“And why the hell not?” She’d shot back at you, bumping your hip with hers as she leaned her chin down onto your shoulder. “You deserve some earth shattering sex every once in a while too. And skull boy over there certainly looks like he could rock your world.”

“I came out for you tonight, not to flirt.” You’d replied, though the confidence in your words was diminishing with each second you spent watching a pair of thick arms strain aginst a tight shirt.

“And I’m telling you, as your best friend, that you are more off the hook if you wanted to get laid tonight. In fact, I encourage you to do so.”

“What if he’s waiting on someone?”

“Then he’ll tell you so.” She’d replied simply, beginning to sway the two of you in place as Thriller came on over the speakers. “Besides, do you see anybody going up to him? He’s here alone, babe.”

“I’m not drunk enough for this.” You’d said, downing the rest of your drink in one swig before turning to face her head on, snapping your eyes away from the masked man for the first time since he’d walked in as your heartbeat pounded through in ears drums.

“Oh, relax.” She’d reasoned, putting two steadying hands on your shoulders and looking you in the eyes, as best as she could in the bar’s dim lighting. “Listen, we’re gonna do like we used to do with Yasmine, right? We’ll use my guy this time.”

“I don’t-”

“Girl, would you at least talk to him before you convince yourself you can’t do this? Look how big this dude is. Just imagine the size of his dick. Are you willing to let that slip?”

Daring to slide your eyes back over to his massive stature, you couldn’t help but to have gulped as you did in fact dare to imagine for one fleeting moment, just what it would be like to get a man of that size in your bed for one night.

“You’re right. I want him.”

“‘Ere you are, love.” Her boyfriend had said as he made his way back into your small circle, passing the drink along to your friend who instantly slipped it into your hand and tipped it towards your lips.

“You, drink this.” She’d instructed you, nodding as you downed the liquid courage without needing to be told twice, not if you were going to go through with this after all. “And you,” she’d added, focusing on the now confused man beside her. “You’re gonna help her get laid.”

“I’m gonna- wha’?” He’d questioned, increasingly baffled by the conversation he’d returned to.

“The guys in our friend group used to do this for one of our friends. You’re gonna pretend to be buggin’ her. She’s gonna go to the big man for rescuing and you’re gonna back off and come back to me.”

“Why would I do tha’? Surely she can just walk up to him?”

“Well if you wanted to see my tits tonight…”

“My lady.” He’d said quickly, offering you his arm as though he were a proper gentleman and not some drunk grad student in a superman costume eager to appease his girlfriend in hopes of seeing her boobs later that night.

Gulping down the last of your friends drink and chuckling at the wink she sent your way, you’d strolled ahead of her boyfriend fast enough that you couldn’t change your mind, the alcohol running through your system helping to pull you towards the bar with just enough bravado to properl you in his direction, hands unabashedly landing on a massive bicep before you could stop yourself.

“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” You could hardly hear yourself over the music and the ringing in your ears, though you knew he’d heard you, was looking at you, when his gaze landed on your face for a second before following yours, eyes falling on a sweaty superman behind him.

“You’re expecting me to believe that this is your boyfriend?” He’d asked as steadily as he could, gesturing not unkindly towards the skull masked man you were still holding onto, hoping desperately that this stupid college trick you and your friends used to use would still work.

You’d been grateful to be leaning against the bar top as you felt your knees suddenly threaten to give out, seeing as the masked stranger had just slipped a muscular arm around your shoulders and spoke in a voice so deep it sent lightning shooting down your spine.

“Husband. Actually. Best move onto the next one mate. She’s taken.” His gravelly Manchester accent had cut through the clamour of the pub, the feeling of the very same arm you’d been ogling now wrapped around you was rapturous. You definitely owed your friend for this one.

Your friend’s mate didn’t need much more than that before he’d been slipping back into the crowd, almost certainly expecting a snog now after this victory.

“Jesus, he’s been hounding me all night, wouldn’t take no for an answer, but you say all of ten words to him and he’s over it? Ugh, men I swear.” You’d said, learning your elbows against the bar top as you went to wave down someone behind the counter, intent on another drink.

You were all to pleased to feel a heated gaze on the side of your face, tilting your head enough to catch the stranger’s eye and sending him a playful smile.

“Funny way to say thank you.” He’d replied, taking half a step closer into your orbit none too subtlety.

“Hey, I was getting there.” You had laughed genuinely, relieved if not in slight disblief that you had him talking to you, had his attention now. “Would a drink be enough to repay you for saving me?”

He seemed to have thought it over for a moment, mulling his answer befor shifting an increment closer to you, relaxing the arm still slung over you shoulders as he easily got the bartender’s attention, despite your best efforts to do the same half a second ago.

“Only if you’like have one with me. Got to keep up the appearance that we’re here together now, haven’t we?”

“Hmm, suppose so.” You’d agreed with him easily, quickly snatching up the barstool next to you as its occupant left. You couldn’t help the deep blush that spread across your cheeks when the man next to you all too easily reach a muscular arm behind you to grab ahold of the stool and drag you closer to him, appearing as though he’d hardly used any effort in doing so. “So, what’s my knight in shining armour’s name, then?”

“Call me Ghost.”

Had his lips been free, Simon might’ve found the decency to apologize for the state of his apartment, a disarrayed sight that would’ve brought his first CO’s to shame, but as it was, his lips were a tad preoccupied dancing against yours.

It’s not like he’d been planning on entertaining tonight anyhow.

Certainly hadn’t planned on this being the outcome of coincidentally walking into a pub hosting a fucking mask party, while he took his own mask on its farewell tour for a night of pity drinking.

Hadn’t planned a pretty little thing all but stumbling into his lap, hadn’t intended on having so many drinks with her, definitely hadn’t meant on finding the things she said so genuinely interesting, hadn’t meant on staying out until the lights in the pub turned on and the owners were telling patrons to leave.

Sure, he had been to one to lean in and kiss you outside under the flickering lamppost around the corner as everything else around you faded into mere background noise, he had been the one to grab your waist tighter when your arms looped around his neck, fingers slipping into hair and under clothing, he had been to one to ask if you wanted to go to somwhere else after the whoops and cheers of a passing group of boys bled through into your reality

What he hadn’t planned on was for your flat to be nearly forty minutes away from the pub, when his was a less than five minute walk, the decision on whose place to go back to being clear though not his preferred choice, though it was all irrelevant when the difference meant getting your naked all the faster

He hadn’t planned on needing any condoms that night, or any time soon for that matter, not a single one or be found in the flat, something you reassured him was fine seeing as you were on the pill, and if he just pulled out, something he all too easily agreed to when your dress slipped off your frame and pooled around your ankles on his floor.

One thing Simon did plan on however, from the moment he’d decided he was going to be bringing you into his bed that night, was that the mask would be staying on.

Yours had fallen off or been ripped off ages ago, whereabouts unknown and uncared for as his frame pushed forward, widening the spread of your thighs that much more, as a massive fist came down and gripped your ankle, propping the limb up against his broad shoulder as he thrusted again.

Simon was far from being anywhere near a lightweight, especially when it came to his drinks, though even he had to admit, he’d been a tad excessive tonight, matching your drinks each time with two if not three times the amount of alcohol inside his glass, losing track of the number as it reached double digits.

He was a smart man, a well-trained one, no matter how many drinks he might’ve had, Simon was also aware of his surroundings, constantly surveying for potential threats or dangers, never leaving his guard down entirely, lest it be the first and list time he does so.

No, his memories of walking back to his flat together, of stumbling through the door as you couldn’t keep your mouths of the others, of ridding each other of every piece of clothing hiding the others warm skin, of landing in bed together in a tangle of heat and sweat and sparks, wasn’t because he was drunk of his drinks.

Simon was drunk off of you.

Each sound you made as his hands roamed the expanse of your naked flesh, every dip and curve, had him feeling higher than an addict.

Every touch you pressed aginst him, every inch of his skin you caressed, squeezed, scratched, and held had his head spinning faster than an overdose.

Simon fully intended on getting every ounces worth out of tonight, on squeezing each bit of pleasure he could out of you and the feast you’d presented before him, on making the most of this fuck as he could, intent on this being the only time.

You were a lovely thing, a soft thing, a much too beautiful and delicate thing for someone like him, for the man beneath the mask he still could not relinquish, not while he was still broken in the way he was, all sharp angles and points that would inevitably leave you hurt, worse off for knowing him.

He would let himself have something like this, someone like you, tonight, but only tonight, just this once.

Though Simon certainly hadn’t meant on cumming in you that night either.

“Please, Ghost! Fuck- I’m so- oh fuck!” Your cries had been the most beautiful symphony to his ears, no concerns about a heardboard banging against the wall when he had nothing more than a mattress and a sheet on the ground, his strong arms cushioning your head with every powerful thrust he gave your sore cunt.

“Oh? Wha’ was tha’? You weren’t about to cum were you?” He’d teased, slowing his pace to instead grind his pelvis against your throbbing clit, the pressure just right as you’d thrown your head back farther, Simon taking advantage of the expanse of your bare neck to press his warm lips to your pulse.

“I’m so close, Ghost- holy shit- don’t stop.” You’d pleaded with him fingernails dragging down the width of his back as you followed his rhythm.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He’d murmured in your ear, lips grazing the shell of your ear as he slowly picked his pace back up, getting you to that point of release for the fourth of fifth time that night.

He knew you were there when you tensed up around him, ankles locking behind his back and moans growing louder as you squeezed impossibly tight around his length, testing every bit of self-restraint he had left.

“Fuck, love. You’re so tight.” He’d grunted, still grinding his hips as to drag out your bliss. “Fuck- I’m gonna- wait- I-”

The words were lost on his lips as he couldn’t help but let out a guttural sound of his own, his heavy balls emptying into you without any hope of stopping it, warmth spreading through you as he continued rutting despite the overstimulation.

“Shit. I didn’t meant to-” He’d started, only pulling out of you after you’d both caught your breaths, leaning his heavy weight off of you and watching in slight horror and secret hunger as his cum covered cock pulled out of you, evidence of your shared release soaking the sheets.

“Shh, it’s okay.” You’d reassured him, glassy eyes staring into his own as your delicate hand held the side of his mask, thumb tracing the grooves beneath his eye sockets.”Like I said, I’m on the pill. And I’ll grab a Plan B on the way home.”

On the way home

He’d planned on you leaving, had planned on finding a way to avoid letting you linger in his sheets too long after it was all said and done, had intended on paying for your taxi fare and bidding you farewell.

What he hadn’t planned on was the odd pang in his chest when he heard you agree it was over.

“Si? What’s wrong? What is it? Simon?” You’d been trying to snap him out of his daze for at least a minute now, something suddenly happening in his brain to have him nearly unresponsive as he struggled to hear you over his thoughts.

“It’s me.”

“What was that?” As upset as you currently were with him, you still loved him, still wanted to help and support him if he was about to have an anxiety attack or something of the sort, his mumbling coming out too quiet and unintelligible for you to understand.

“It’s me.” He mumbled just a touch louder, more coherent, as his eyes began moving again, though not yet reaching you.

“You’re what, Si?” You tried to ask him, still perplexed as to what he was suddenly going on about, confused as to what revelation he appeared to have gotten in the middle of an argument.

“It’s me, love. Birdie, I- fuck.” He said, his gaze finally meeting your, eyes blown wide in apparent shock, an expression you’ve never sen before plastered across his face.

“Jesus, Simon. Sit, sit down, please.” You stood, grabbing his forearm and pulling him towards you where you were sat on a stack of moving boxes, helping him to do the same across from you, only letting go of him when you were sure the box would hold his weight. “What are you talking about? What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Love, I- I’m the dad. It’s me. I’m Rosie’s dad.” He said, gesturing towards himself with both hands, speaking as though this were breaking news.

“Si, I- I love that you call yourself her dad, I agree, but we’ve been doing that for months now-”

“No,” he interrupted you, leaning forward wit his elbows on his knees, a nearly crazed look in his eyes as he tried to reason with you. “No, birdie, I- I’m Rosie’s dad. I’m the one who got you pregnant last Halloween. I- fuck- I’m the dad.”

“Wha- what are you even talking about?” You stuttered, more than slightly flabbergasted that Simon would think this was something fun to joke about, knowing how sensitive of a subject this was to you. “That’s not even a little funny, Simon.”

“No, lovie. Listen to me- I swear to ya. O’Malley’s Pub, a fuckin’ Halloween mask party, right? You stumbled into me when some bloke was messin’ wit’ ya.”

If Simon noticed the blood drain from your face at his words, he didn’t comment, instead continuing in his explanation that left your ears ringing.

“You were dressed as that maid from the opera whatever, least ‘til I brought you back to my flat, round the corner from that same pub, am I right?”

“What- how could-”

“And then I fuckin’ came in ya, we spent hours in that bed and the last time of course I bloody fuckin’ came in ya.” He continued, sounding mad at himself as he recounted the events of that night, the possibility of it all being too astounding for your mind to comprehend.

“You’re lying again!”

“Birdie, please-”

“No! How could you possibly be her father? What are the odds that it was you that night, Simon? That you’re not only her father but when I walked up to that fence last year and every person on that damned crew told me to talk to you? That you were the one who showed up and came through for me. There is no way! I can’t believe you would-”

“Stand up.”

“W-what?” You asked incredulously, watching as his eyes never left yours, though his chin jutted out towards the box you were still sat atop.

“Stand up and open that box, love.” He replied simply, his calm demeanour unwavering you now more than anything else. You still felt red in the face, your pulse pounding in your head as you felt tears threatening to spill over.

For some reason you still stood, you still turned around and glanced at the box in front of you, one of Simon’s from the flat you’ve never visited before, not when he always came over to yours.

The box was simply labeled ‘Work’ in Simon’s sloppy hand writing, a black sharpie telling you this box was one you’d never seen the inside of before, should it be from his old career in the military and not his new one of hammers and nails and hard hats.

“Open it.” He told you, eyes softening when you tilted your head slightly to glance at him. “Please.”

As furious and confused and exhausted and conflicted as you felt at that moment, you still opened that box, still lifted up the folded camo print pants that were stacked at the top, sifting through the heaps of clothing until your fingers found something out of place.

Eyes locking with Simon’s, you’d hardly needed to glance down at your hand to confirm what you’d just pulled out into the open.

That damned skeleton mask.

If there’s anything I love more than a run-on sentence, it’s a cliff hanger… and thus the night Rosie was created 😉

We’ve only got two more chapters to go with this pair! I’ve been having so much fun writing this story, it’ll be bittersweet to watch it come to an end, but equally excited to tie it all together

- M 🫶🏻

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[libraloves-writing]

the courtship (john price x f!reader)

victorian london ish, SMUT, virgin reader, breeding kink, historically INaccurate, 5k wc

medieval marriage fic here (similar ish)

-

“lord, er, captain price.” you duck your head as you curtsy, inwardly cursing your fumble. the earl of a grand estate outside of london has returned from two years of war to attend the first ball of the season and here you are, words drying in your mouth. you met him once, in your first season out three years ago, and subsequently never again as he was called away. the rules of society are fragile and webbed as you try to not contemplate the propriety of him approaching you when you were barely acquainted so long ago.

when you tilt your head, you realize he’s already greeted you by name and seemingly asked a question, coffee brown eyes crinkling as you open and close your mouth. “i’m sorry my lord, would you mind repeating that?” you ask meekly, a gloved fist tightening against the periwinkle fabric of your dress. a new one, your first in two years, your mother’s attempt to make you into an appealing single lady and not a resigned wallflower.

“i remarked how surprised i was to see you still unmarried.” he comments tactlessly, his voice a dagger that aims at your deepest insecurities. you’ve resigned yourself to certain spinsterhood, but his tone is almost a jest of the circumstances you find yourself in. you straighten your shoulders and drop the demure tone you acquire whenever you step into a ballroom.

“i have yet to find a gentleman to my standards, my lord.” his eyes twinkle like he’s in on a private joke. unlike men of his age, at least a decade older than you with riches that would buy them a pretty wife whenever they desire, his body is as thick as a strongman. the gentleman’s clothes he dons feel like a farce, battling with his muscled stature despite their expensive tailoring. when lord price steps forward, all that mass inching towards the hem of your skirts, you inhale a breath.

something underneath your stomach flutters.

“and what might those be?” your eyes find your mother’s across the room, her urging clear with how her grin is stretched almost manically. lord price steps to the side, blocking your view until it’s only his crystal blue eyes. he inclines his head, an encouragement to answer his question, and the sparse greys in his beard sparkle in the chandelier light.

“someone kind and inclined to intelligent conversation. a man who can see over the hill of his own self importance. most crucially, he-“ except you don’t get to continue, because in your few minutes of conversation, word has reached the Mothers of the season that lord price has returned and is still wifeless.

“my lord, how good of you to return!”

“my lord, you must remember my oldest, she was not yet out when-“

“my lord, how valiant your actions have been. may i-“

swaths of fabric, chiffon and lace and silk, drown your vision as they descend. you find yourself being moved back to the wall by pushy elbows and inked fans, the crowd seemingly forcing you back into your wallflower cage. you lose lord price’s gaze as he’s surrounded, and after waiting for twenty minutes, there’s no opening to talk to him again, short of shoving yourself through the fabric.

your dance card remains empty, bar one pity dance from lord garrick, the son of your father’s close school friend. when you dance, a waltz where garrick remarks on who he’s going to court this season, you swear eyes follow your movements the whole time. but when you turn, the gaggle of mamas and lord price is gone.

the carriage ride home is silent, your mother’s disappointed gaze following you all the way to bed.

-

in the morning, you force yourself to swallow any disappointment. rumors have abounded as to the restrained ferocity of lord price, and he is not the kind of husband you desire. neither gentle nor calm, someone who would give your freedom without much demand. yes, you are much better off without any thoughts of lord price floating in your head.

after your maid readies you for the day, in an older dress that your family can’t afford to replace, you plan the day ahead. perhaps you’ll ask to shop in town with one of your sisters, not yet out, or take a turn in your garden, ignoring your mother’s curses when you get dirt on your hem. as you descend the stairs, you think of the novels in your father’s study. maybe you could steal a new one today, something to chase away any thoughts of-

an explosion of color stops you in your tracks. multiple bouquets, a rainbow of scents and shades, stand on the table in the middle of your receiving room. your mother stands in one of her usual day dresses, muttering about the language of flowers and the cost of them, nearly not recognizing your presence until you clear your throat.

“mother? what’s all this?” the manic grin is back as she tugs you into her side. “now, you may not lose this chance, dear. and you must wear the new walking dress we bought for you. you must smile and nod and do not make that ghastly noise you just did.” you blink in confusion at the barrage of etiquette comments. “mother?” she huffs like you’re stupid.

“lord price has asked you for an afternoon promenade in the park today. a little forward, i might think if you were in your earlier seasons, but he could’ve presented you with a daisy from our very own flower bushes and i would’ve agreed. i’ll chaperone, of course, so we must break our fast and get changed.” the day passes in a whirl of nibbled food, your stomach too fluttery for a proper meal, and pampering, your hair done in a fashionable style while your maid prepares your dress. mother convinces father to allow you the carriage to deliver you to the park, not wanting her pristine preparations to go to waste by walking. the hours fly like a dream and too suddenly you find yourself on the way to the park, the most popular area for a promenade.

the carriage stops at the entrance, and you inhale sharply at the sight of lord price already waiting. your mother pinches your thigh as a reminder to her etiquette lessons and you get moving, taking lord price’s hand to help you out of the carriage. “good afternoon, my lord.” you murmur, eyes cast down as to concentrate on not falling out from the carriage. but of course, your toe catches in your too big walking shoes, a hand me down from your older sister, and you stumble immediately, almost planting yourself in the grass.

firm hands grasp your waist over your corset, catching you before your tumble. lord price plants you firmly, his grip as warm as a brand. you stand there for a moment, eyes squinting in the sunny day as you try to discern his features. your mother’s voice cuts through the air, a remark about the weather, and you step out of his grip, inclining your head in thanks.

“do i intimidate you?” he asks as you take his arm, your mother keeping pace a few yards away. you jerk at his words, unused to such an indelicate question. “i, well, perhaps a bit.” you answer, focusing on the trail you walk and not the overwhelming scent of man next to you. he hums contentedly, seemingly satisfied with your admission. the cynical, spinster part of your brain marks that as a point against him, his effect on you clearly predatory.

you ignore the alarm bell that blares.

“you danced with lord garrick yesterday.” he remarks. your brows crease in confusion, then quickly smooth as your mother’s voice rings a reminder about delicacy in your head. “he’s a family friend. i’d like to consider him an older brother.” lord price doesn’t respond, his eyes searing a hole into your head. how infuriating, his expression completely unreadable.

“you seemed to dance with every young lady in the country.” it comes out as a bite, startling yourself as much as lord price. you sigh, sure to have ruined your one chance out of spinsterhood.

he surprises you with a chuckle, loud enough that it vibrates in your skin.

the other couples and groups around you turn in interest. you’ve never seen lord price have a full smile, let alone a laugh, and you practically glow in the satisfaction of it. “every moment i handed one off, another appeared in its place. my feet were aching more than a day on the battlefield.” you grin, then drop your smile as you realize how toothy it is. how improper. however, his response emboldens you.

“then why ask for a walk today, my lord?” you wonder aloud, almost self consciously. he doesn’t acknowledge how you’re fishing for a compliment, simply tightens your hand in the crook of his elbow.

“i’d like to court you.”

you nearly stumble in surprise, quickly recovering before anyone notices. “truly?” it’s not a polite response, but you can’t help the wonder in your voice. no one has ever spoken those words to you, ever lady’s dream.

“i was rather hoping the flowers made my intentions quite clear.” all you do is nod, blinking rapidly. he resumes a note of conversation, some tale as to how he’s acquainted with lord garrick, and though lord price does not check any box on your list of husband qualities, you find yourself quite liking the idea of a courtship.

-

the next weeks pass in a blur of opera visits and museum invitations and dances, lord price’s humongous hand in your own. at the edges of it, something frays. he is kind to footmen and valets, but disregards many of the peerage. your father highly dislikes him, his accomplishments unseemly for a peer, but your mother is just glad to finally have a prospect for you. he’s friendly with viscount riley and mr. mactavish, a scottish embassy gentleman, but every other gentleman seems to despise his presence.

you have the distinct feeling that to be his wife would force you into the same dislike as well.

a month into your courtship, the rumors start.

a new conflict brewing in france. troops being called in, a patriotic worry in the air. when you ask lord price over tea in your family’s singular parlor, he doesn’t elaborate on any details. he sweeps you into a conversation on french versus english philosophers, much to the chagrin of your mother in the corner, and you can’t help but get lost in the discussion of how the indian philosophers are much more advanced, any thoughts of lord price leaving falling to the wayside.

it’s the next ball when you find out. you’ve arrived earlier than lord price or any in his group, and the ladies of your age have taken advantage. suddenly everyone wants to be your friend, wants insight on the three single men lord price holds kinship with, their looks appealing to all eligible ladies. lord garrick with his charming smile and honey-dripped words, mr. mactavish’s humor and his unimaginable wealth that comes from war equipment, and even viscount riley with his mysterious scars and hulking manner.

they’re there, too, to investigate your courtship. they poke at any cracks and disappointedly find none, sighing when you reference the newest yellow roses lord price’s had delivered to your home only two days ago. your happiness is evident in the brightness in your eyes, and of course the vultures cannot resist but to peck.

“and do you think he’ll propose before he’s deployed next week?” miss madeline graves, a niece of lord phillip graves, asks with a smirk on his face. your heart drops to your stomach as you gape at her words. “pray tell, whatever do you mean?” she blinks like she’s surprised at your confusion, smiling demurely at the other girls before leaning in. “i overheard my uncle in his business talks yesterday. lord price and his entire division, including lord garrick, are to leave for three months by the end of next week.” she pauses for effect, head turning like an owl’s as she takes in your shocked expression. “you didn’t know?”

you flee immediately, pleading a headache as you gather your skirts and head for a nearby sitting room to catch your breath. deploying for three months? he hadn’t mentioned it last night, dining at your family’s table without a care in the world. was this all a minor dalliance before going back to his true home on the battlefield? have you just been entertainment, see how far he can make the wallflower attach herself to him before he leaves? and you’re left here, to sheer social ruin.

in your haste, it’s no surprise that you bump into a body. hard muscle is like a stone wall, but steady hands catch you before you can flail backwards. “sweetheart?” his new name for you hits like a vial of poison, and you can’t stand to look into his eyes. “leave me be.” you attempt to push him away, but he holds your wrists in one hand, unyielding. not wanting to make more of a scene, you tug him with you into the corridor. the nearest open door reveals a study and you march through it.

“when were you going to tell me of your deployment, my lord? waving from the back of your military carriage?” you spit venom, reeling around so he drops your hands. lord price is unbelievably handsome tonight, his beard almost soft in the light. his face doesn’t change at your accusation like he knew of your complaints before they’d been voiced.

“you aren’t invested in this courtship.” he replied, not even addressing your point. lord price steps forward and you follow with a step back, the two of you in a silent dance until your back hits the desk in the study. light from the hallway floods in, a reminder that the door is slightly open, but you barely notice in your rage.

“i haven’t been invested? you’ve been playing with me like a child’s toy, my lord.” to your horror, a tear slips down your cheek. lord price steps forward again, his feet brushing your skirts. “i’ve told you to call me john, sweetheart.” your traitorous heart thumps at his words.

“and i’ve told you that’s improper. my mother-“

“i don’t care about your mother. say it.” his hand, dusted with hair and scars, grasps your chin lightly. lord price, john, tilts your head upwards until you can’t escape his gaze. “john.” you breathe, and his nostrils flare like a wild animal. his thumb brushes your skin, and you practically curl into it.

“you didn’t tell me you were leaving.” you mumble, another tear falling. his thumb moves to wipe it off your face. john removes his grip to feed his thumb, wet with your tears, into his mouth. he sucks hard like a candied almond, and removes it with a pop.

you’re speechless.

“marry me.” john demands. he grips your torso, uncaring of the weight of your body and skirts combined, and lifts you onto the desk. he steps forward into the cradle of your hips, the fabric of your skirts stretching to accommodate him.

you don’t want a husband like this. pushy and belligerent when he doesn’t get his way. too frank for his own good with no regard for social rules even if he is an earl. he handles you like he owns you, hands still on your waist. and he still hasn’t acknowledged his own deployment.

“no.” you sniffle. john grins like a cat who’s got the cream, settling his weight further into you. to your horror, a feeling practically permanent with this man, john leans in to nuzzle your neck. gentle lips brush the skin there and you shiver at the feeling.

“you’re an absolute brute, johnathon price. i won’t have you as my husband.” you demand resolutely, inhaling sharply as john kisses your jaw. your first kiss and it’s like this, hidden away in a baron’s study. “tell me more, sweetheart.” he murmurs into your earlobe, biting it as the words leave his mouth. your hands settle at his shoulders, a perfect position to push him away, but they lay limp. “you’re a liar.” he tugs at your ear with his teeth. “with deplorable social skills.” he licks the skin of your neck and your hands tighten around him. “you didn’t tell me you were leaving.” his tongue drags upward, catching another tear on your skin. his beard is rougher than you though, like a scratchy towel against freshly bathed skin.

“i’ve had to fight off every lady for your attention.” john kisses your cheek, your nose, the side of your mouth. his hands tighten around your flesh, almost like he’s irritated with the barrier of your corset. “you don’t want me. i’m a spinster you’ve been playing with to pass the time.” the truth finally spills out.

john captures your lips hungrily, like he’s been deprived of all food for weeks. he’s insistent, his lips rough and demanding. teeth pull down your lower lip and a whine escapes your throat, a sound you’ve never heard before. “i want you as my wife.” he rasps as his hands trail upwards. despite your layers of fabric, he finds the outline of your hardened nipple. callused thumbs rub at both of your tits, a vibration becoming increasingly urgent in the bottom of your belly.

“this is improper, my lord.” john deprives you of his mouth, tugging it away to trail down your neck. over the fabric of your dress, a pale pink that matches the flowers in your hair, john captures you nipple in his mouth. he’s sure to leave a wet spot, even as he switches from one to the next. your hips start to rock against the desk, needing something you can’t even name. your fingers find john’s scalp, tugging him up until he’s captured your mouth again.

“you will marry me, sweetheart.”

“you are incorrigible and intolerable-“

“dear me.” a low voice rattles through the room, and you freeze under john’s lips. they cock in a smile, so small you think you’ve imagined it, and quickly leave your skin.

you have to blink to register the moment. viscount riley stands with lord garrick and mr. mactavish, who has the widowed lady laswell tucked into his grip. the viscount is expressionless, as is lady laswell, but mr. mactavish is holding a playful grin. your eyes find lord garrick, pleading silently to your childhood friend, but he winks and your skin goes cold.

“lord price, explain yourself.” lady laswell demands, her brows not moving an inch. you jump in before john can. “please, you saw merely a lapse in judgement. can we all agree that nothing untoward happened?” the group is silent. viscount riley shakes his head an inch and your stomach drops.

“what my fiancée meant to say,” john squeezes your waist as to emphasize the point, “is that we were celebrating our recent engagement and got carried away. isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

fiancée. engagement. sweetheart. you’ve been a rabbit this whole time, unknowingly walking into a fox’s den like you were blind. captain john price, lord and gentleman, always gets what he wants. the courtship was nothing more than him playing with his food.

you’re a spinster. you hate him a little but you admire him more, and he laughs at your terrible jokes and doesn’t reprimand you for speaking of jane austen and her novels. he’s completely torn up your list of husband qualities you demand.

and in his own primal way, he cares about you more than any other person ever has.

what more could you want?

“that’s exactly what i meant to say, fiancé.” you peck his cheek for emphasis. he squeezes your waist like a reward. the group simply smiles and nods. john helps you down from the desk and captures your lips in a short kiss, uncaring of your captive audience.

“shall we share the happy news, sweetheart?”

-

a week ago, john applied for a marriage license for your union in the heart of london’s st james cathedral. you find out this fact on the morrow after he hammers out the details of your dowry with your grim faced father, more displeased to lose his money than his daughter. your mother faints from shock when john announces your wedding to be a week from the day, a mere two days before he is to deploy.

the next week comes in flashes. wedding gown fittings, only the best for the earl’s new bride. john’s meetings with his soldiers that go on all day. you only see him once in seven days and you worry that he’s forgotten you at all.

“how are you?” his thumb finds the gentle skin of your hairline, tracing down the line of your face. you’ve convinced your mother to let you talk unchaperoned in the parlor, reminding her of your impending marriage in two days. “you’ve barely seen me.” you mumble, grumpy and displeased from the business of wedding preparations. john yanks you onto his lap, skirts and all, so fast you can only blink.

“you’ll need to practice for when i’m gone.” he reasons, smirking when you lean your head into his chest with a frown on your face. “i can’t believe you’ve compromised me and now you’re leaving.” his hand covers your own, stopping you from picking at the wrist of your sleeved dress. “you’ll know when i compromise you, sweetheart. in two days time, to be precise.” terrible, terrible man who refuses to comfort you. you tuck your head into the crook of his beard and rub against the bristles there, content as he hums. he holds you, occasionally kissing your forehead as you wonder how you’ve gotten into this mess.

-

in two days time, you are trussed up like a pig with an apple and shoved into layers upon layers of wedding fabric. the day passes with a morning ceremony, john’s hands gripping your own as you promise devotion and servitude. he laughs at that line, like he already knows you plan to lash back against any restraints he tries to put on you. the feast is a breakfast of pastries and meats and you can’t focus with his hand on your thigh at every opportunity, a reminder of the ring on your finger.

and suddenly, you’re alone. in the apartments he owns for the london season, with a plan to return to his country estate the next day. afternoon light streams through the windows of his bedroom, all military with its precise cleanliness and lack of decoration. john looks at you like a hunter, wild with hunger. “turn.” you follow, turning to face the enormous bed in front of you. steady hands clasp your head, freeing you from the pins in your hair. after that comes the hundreds of buttons that start at the nape of your neck, his fingers deft and sure.

he leaves only for a moment to drop the pins, then comes back to free you from the gown. he loosens your corset expertly, faster than your lady’s maid, and you can’t help the thought that escapes you. “you’re quite adept at corset loosening.” your shoulders slump at your own stupidity as his hands freeze. john spins you until you meet his eyes and the sternness there.

“any person before you does not matter.”

you exhale sharply, then nod.

he finishes the corset that way, pulling at the laces with more force than necessary. he pulls it over your head and throws it somewhere on the floor. your shield of clothing is gone, your chemise the only fabric protecting you from his gaze.

john starts on his military dress, unbuttoning his jacket and tossing it to a nearby chair. he does the same to his pants and boots until he’s naked, everywhere.

you can’t help but to stare. at the bearishness of him, the dark hair speckled on his hands that expand to the rest of his body. his beard now seems like a concession to the wildness of his chest hair that leads down to his cock, standing proudly. your husband is a predator in a human body, standing confidently as you peruse his looks. “sit.” you do immediately, feet dangling from the massive height of his bed, a luxury you’ve never seen covered in pelts and furs like a caveman.

john crouches and catches one of your feet, still encased in your white wedding shoes. he frees your foot, then kisses the arch of it. john licks your ankle bone, then works his way up to the hem of your chemise where your thighs tremble. before you can stop him, he goes back down and does the same with your other foot.

you’re shaking, with both nerves and excitement, when he reaches your chemise again. “what have you been told?” his fingers duck under the fabric, lifting it up slowly to lay on your stomach. “from my mother, duty.” he chuckles, one thumb running down the seam of your cunt against the hair there. “as usual, your mother is incorrect.” john presses his thumb down right at the top of the seam and you gasp, a heady friction rubbing against your nerves. “it’s pleasure. bliss. making love.” his thumb drags down and pushes inward, his eyes on you as he watches for a reaction. you bite your lip as your nipples peak and sensitivity makes itself known in your bones.

“are we making love, my lord?” you punctuate your question with a whine as he starts moving his thumb in a circle, pleasure quickly building. “yes, wife. we’re making love.” he leans forward, thumb still moving, and kisses you. you wrap your arms around him immediately, having been deprived of him for the past few days. your body follows its instincts as your legs wrap around his torso, the angle even better with his movements. “when you’re gone, will you do this with anyone else?” you ask, needing the answer before the deed is done. before you fall into this endless abyss he’s pushed you into.

“no. i’ll show you what i’ll do with my cock when i’m away and what you can do with your cunt, yeah?” you nod vigorously, your kisses turning wet with spit as you finally allow yourself to show the affection you’ve been wanting. his fingers move at a steady rhythm and your stomach tenses. “john, what’s-“ you moan as he continues, his unoccupied middle finger pushing into your seeping hole. “that’s an orgasm, baby. can feel your walls fluttering. just let it happen.” you do, letting your stomach relax as pleasure rushes out of you. he keeps going as you pant, bones liquid as one finger becomes two and wet sounds echo in the bedroom.

just two fingers makes you feel like your body is expanding. his cock is red and angry and you know from visiting the zoo how the rest of this goes. “you’re not going to fit, my lord.” he grins against your skin. his head drops to your chest, where your chemise still hides your tits. he mouths at your hardened nipples, turning the fabric see through with spit. john does the same to other, and that familiar spark makes itself known in your stomach. “john, i’m going to- going to-“ he bites your nipple and you whine, clawing at his muscled shoulders as your heels dig into his back.

“you’re going to come, baby.” he tugs the chemise down with his teeth so he can properly bite at your nipple. his fingers, filling your cunt with their beckoning motion, brush against a spot deep inside you. you come again, more

prolonged than the first time, squirming in his arms as you ride his fingers. he adds a third and you protest until he kisses you again, your body limp and defeated.

john tugs off your soaked garment and frees you from any remaining fabric, stockings ripped somewhere on the floor. you don’t care, obsessed with how his hairy chest rubs against your nipples as you buck and writhe. john’s hand leaves your cunt to grip his cock, the other hand petting yourself face gently as he murmurs. you’ve never heard of a man using the word baby in such an intimate fashion; you want to curl into his skin and live there forever. he chuckles as you kiss his neck, nipping at the muscle on top of you.

your husband, your husband.

“let me fill you up now. give you a baby., sweetheart.” you nod, opening your legs wider as you feel his cock rub through your folds. he notches it in and pushes slowly, bending one of your legs near your face to open you open. it’s an uncomfortable stretch but it doesn’t hurt, much like your mother said it would. you can’t imagine how it would with your slick coating your thighs and john’s hands. your husband finds a rhythm, rocking gently until you’re aching for more. you run your hands through his hair as he pants, thoroughly how undone he looks by your presence.

john promises you sweet words, that he’ll make you come on his cock the second time. that he’ll lick you once he’s done, once he’s sure it sticks. that he’ll give you a baby before he leaves, that you’ll fuck in the carriage to ensure it. you run those four letters over your teeth, having only heard them when passing the pubs of london once or twice in your carriage.

john comes with a grunt, warmth flooding your cunt. you sigh at the feeling, tugging him down onto your body. to live like this, utterly attached and connected. “how often may we do this?” you hear yourself asking, running your nails down his broad back, then up to the nape of neck. “every moment of the day.” he grumbles, kissing your sweaty shoulder. “that leaves no time for reading or conversation.” you argue with a smile on your face. “you can do both sitting on my cock, sweetheart. i’ll teach you.”

john shoves a pillow under your ass, tilting your hips with his cock still inside you. “i’ll make it take.” he promises, and you curl further into him, all soreness and sweat. the new countess price, ruffled and warm in your husband’s hold.

before he deploys, john shows you how to make love in every possible manner. on the carriage bench, bent over his study desk, the floor of his parlor, outside on the grassy grounds of his estate.

you wave him off from the front door of your new country estate, the largest earldom in england. one hand rests on your stomach, and although there’s no way to know, you’re sure you’ll have a present to greet him with when he returns.

-

i have been reading a lot of lisa kleypas historical fiction and this is scratching my itch

[libraloves-writing]

COD Families: The Airplane

Main Masterlist| COD masterlist

Trapped at 35,000 feet. No exits. No mute button. Just dad reflexes, baby wipes, and chaos in a metal tube.

Get ready for dad instincts, travel panic, and in-flight meltdowns and you just watching,wondering if you married a soldier who trains babies in a base

John Price “Captain Dad, Flight Commander”

You’re boarding the plane. Price has the kids in line like it’s a military op. Backpacks packed with snacks, headphones, coloring books, wipes, emergency plushies. “Eyes on me, kids. This is a six-hour flight. No casualties, no mutinies, no crying unless it’s from turbulence.”

Mid-flight, your toddler kicks the seat in front. You hear a deep voice: “Negative. Stand down, soldier. Feet down. That’s an order.”

The passenger turns around… and doesn’t complain because Price is glaring politely.

Meanwhile, baby starts crying—he’s up in seconds. “Bottle, now. Mission soothe activated.” And somehow, he still looks hot doing it.

Simon Riley — “Silent Seat Assassin”

He doesn’t say much… until the toddler tries to throw crackers at another passenger. Then his voice cuts through like steel: “No.”

One word. That’s all it takes. Your kids sits back down like they just got sniped emotionally.You oldest crawled on your lap,begging for that strawberry flavoured gum you have.

He’s actually great mid-flight—calm, observant, soothing the baby on his lap with a gloved hand gently rocking her. “Look at that… stars out the window. See ‘em?”

But the moment someone behind you complains about baby crying? Ghost turns slowly, leans just enough to be terrifying. “She’s a baby. What’s your excuse?”

Silence restored.

John MacTavish “Chaos Dad in the Skies”

He thought this would be fun. Now the toddler is trying to crawl under the seats and the baby just spit up on his hoodie.

“WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME YOU COULD BRING SCREAMING GREMLINS ON A PLANE?!”

He’s bribing the toddler with mini Oreos, also eating the Oreos, and currently building a fort out of the vomit bags and SkyMall magazines.

Somehow becomes besties with the flight attendant. “Oi, you got extra cookies? For the gremlin. Or me. Both.”

Eventually rocks the baby to sleep on his chest, looking exhausted but proud. You held your toddler as you both watched old disney movies. “Okay, I survived. Barely. Did I level up?”

Kyle Garrick “Mr. Prepared, Still Got Wrecked”

He had a plan. Activity books. Downloaded cartoons. Extra diapers. Two types of snacks. The baby ate a crayon in the first hour.

Your toddler keeps loudly asking things like: “Why do planes have butts?!” “What if we land on a valcano?!”

Gaz is sweating. Trying to reason, explain, apologize to strangers, and hold a wiggling baby at the same time. “I didn’t train for this. This is harder than counterterrorism.”

But eventually? One baby asleep on his lap. One toddler drawing on his arm with markers. “I’m never flying commercial again.”

Alejandro Vargas “Fun Dad, Loud Family”

Everyone knows you’re that family when Alejandro boards. Baby strapped to his chest in a carrier. Toddler on his shoulders like a parade. He’s passing out stickers to strangers like: “Sorry in advance. We’re loud, but we’re cute.”

Baby starts crying mid-flight? “Ay, princesa, no llores—Papá está aquí.” (Don’t cry, princess. Papa’s here.)

Toddler starts jumping in the aisle? He joins them. Plays with them. Distracts them. Suddenly, the entire row is clapping for him because he got both kids to nap. You’re just staring like: “…Did I marry an actual baby whisperer?”

König “Giant Dad, Tiny Seat”

König… is struggling. The baby is fine. The toddler is calm. He is suffering.

His knees are pressed against the seat in front. The tray doesn’t fold down. The seatbelt digs into his hips. And the toddler just fell asleep across his lap.

Still, he sits there—frozen in pain—like a stoic, exhausted statue. “…I am fine.” You: “You’re literally crying.” “…Silent tears. Not real.”

Eventually, the baby wakes up and snuggles his chest. He melts. “Okay. This is worth it.”

Phillip Graves “First-Class Drama”

He booked first class for the whole family. You told him not to. He did it anyway. “My babies are flying luxury.”

Toddler throws their apple juice into the aisle. The baby screams every time Graves stops singing country lullabies. Rich people are glaring. Graves smiles wide. “You paid for silence. I paid for memories. Sorry, champ.”

Then he pulls out a hidden iPad with Peppa Pig, noise-canceling headphones, and a sippy cup like he’s been here before.

By the end, the kids are passed out and he’s drinking sparkling wine. “Call me when we land. I’m officially retired.”He said,putting on his sleeping mask.

[libraloves-writing]

He fell asleep on you

John Price- Captain

He bops his head forward mid-sentence, accidentally dropping his cigar.

“You know... you can rest. Just a little afternoon nap for el—”

“Shut it. I’m not old,” he grumbles as he finally gives in, resting his head on your shoulder.

Without hesitation, you yank him down, guiding his head straight to your chest. A heavy sigh leaves him.

“...That’s fine too,” he mutters, fully sinking into you.

You smile and gently drape a blanket over him like he’s the world's grumpiest, most precious weighted pillow.

Simon Riley-Ghost

He doesn’t say anything. He just… dives.

Face first into your tits. Arms wrapped around your waist. You scratch gently at his scalp, your fingers gliding through that soft undercut. He goes eerily still under the blanket — no twitching, no movement — just heavy, slow breathing.

But you feel him. His warm exhale right against your skin. The safest he’s ever felt is right there, buried in you.

''no biting this time,please''You said with a smirk

''...'' Bites as answer.

John MacTavish- Soap

He sprawls across your lap dramatically, like a man who just came back from war. His face nuzzles into your stomach, arms wrapped around your hips.

You laugh softly and start tracing his features — nose, jaw, cheek. He hums in response, half asleep. “Mm... yer hand’s magic.” This man will literally purr under your touch like a spoiled cat. And don’t you dare move, unless you want a very groggy and pouty Scotsman clinging to you.

Kyle Garrick - Gaz

Starts out upright, head resting lightly against your shoulder, trying to act like he’s “just relaxing.”

“…You know you can like… rest. On me,” you offer.

He glances sideways, nods like it’s no big deal, then slowly shifts position — head on your lap, arms folded, face upturned. You gently brush his hair aside. Within minutes, he’s out, and you tuck a blanket over him with a little smile. He looks so peaceful, it physically hurts your chest.

Alejandro Vargas

You notice his head bobbing forward, eyes barely open as the TV plays in the background.

“Amor, ¿quieres dormir?” you ask, and he nods groggily.

He pulls off his socks, stretches, cracks his neck — then shuffles over and rests his head on your tits without shame, eyes closed. Keeps his face to the surface to...you know,breath.

Your fingers trail over his abs, slow and comforting. He sighs in delight. “Mm… keep doing that.” He’s your big golden retriever boyfriend, and this is his favorite spot in the world.

König

He curls into your side like a giant baby. Face hidden in the crook of your arm, body half-wrapped in the blanket like a burrito. You stroke his hair gently, whispering sweet nothings in English or German — he doesn’t care which. You feel his entire body relax against you. Completely safe. Completely yours. Despite his size, he’s your quiet little cuddle bug. Just don’t tell anyone.

Phillip Graves

He never lays on people. Too much pride. Too much swagger. Except this once.

And when he does? He collapses. Full body weight on you, face smooshed into your chest, one leg flung over your thigh. He starts snoring within minutes. He’s drooling. Your leg’s going numb.

And yet, you smile and stay perfectly still. Because, deep down, even Phillip Graves deserves someone to crash into.

Nikto

At first, you thought Nikto didn’t do rest. The man walks like a tank, breathes like a threat, and sleeps like he’s waiting for betrayal. He never lets himself drop his guard — even in sleep, he’d prefer to sit upright, fully clothed, masked on, eyes barely closed.

But then there was you. Warm. Soft. Safe. And one night, while watching a slow movie with his head in your lap, something changed.

His breathing slowed. His shoulders uncurled. His mask stayed on, but his hand clutched the hem of your shirt like a child clutching a blanket.

And then, it happened.

He fell asleep on you.

Dead weight. Unmoving. Snoring just faintly, breath brushing your stomach. You reached down, carding fingers through his hair under the edge of his hood, and he melted — barely flinching, just burrowing in deeper.

Protective war machine? Sure. But right now? He’s just a tired man who found the one person who makes his demons go quiet.

And you don’t dare move. Because if Nikto trusts you enough to sleep on you… That’s not just love. That’s devotion.

[libraloves-writing]

Go to sleep, little baby

TW: 18+ MDNI, language

Part 1 here, part 2 here, part 3 here

You're in your home with your twins. You're sitting on your couch with the babies still in their seats, fast asleep, sitting directly in front of you so the four men sitting before you can't see them.

You don't want them to see. You want this nightmare to be over.

You're done crying. Snot is drying on your shirt. Your breasts ache with the need to either pump or feed. Your feet hurt from standing and you just want to be alone.

You want to cry to the universe for being so unfair but it didn't matter.

It never bothered to help you before.

The men are silent.

Johnny tried to speak but John, the man who introduced himself as he sat beside you as you drove him, gave him a sharp look and he was silent.

Johnny was brimming with excitement. Not just one but two babies sat before him. The father- no, fathers, his best mates right beside him.

Life couldn't get better.

Price watched you intently. Saw the way your eyes welled with tears but you refused to let them fall. The way you refused to look up. Your fingernails digging under your nail bed. Your teeth biting the skin off your bottom lip until you bled. Your broken breaths.

"Think it's time for us to see the little bugs, alright, love? Need ta see who I gotta congratulate." Price tool the reigns, directing and commanding as always. You almost gagged.

You didn't want them to see. You wanted them to leave you alone.

It took a moment, you needed a breath, a pause, a prayer and a leap of faith that it would all work out before turning your beautiful boy around so everyone could see.

Even you couldn't deny that he was identical to his father.

Simon's eyes teared up and he let them fall. He didn't reach for his baby, but he pulled his masked away and let his face, scars and crooked nose and all, be known for his boy. Johnny gave him a hug, whispered kind words of encouragement. Kyle couldn't believe it. How closely they looked to one another.

Did your genes even try?

"Name for the little tyke?" Johnny asked, a smile on his lips as he watched the little boy yawn wide and tilt his head and fall deeper into sleep.

"Thomas." You whispered and Simon broke even harder.

Forcing Johnny outside with him, Simon vomited.

You were confused, almost hurt by his reaction. You didn't think it was a bad name -

"Tis not you, love. Or Thomas. Beautiful name. You picked perfectly, alright? Means a lot to Simon. Means a lot to us." Price soothed, and you shouldn't be soothed. You shouldn't be at all. But you were.

That was wrong, right?

Price took the seat by Kyle so they could see Simon's other child together. Little blonde hair, blue eyed-

Kyle.

That's the only thing Price could think of when you showed them both a perfect replica of Kyle.

Beautiful brown skin, little curls that held her bow. Perfect lips. Cutest fingernails.

She opened her eyes and Kyle couldn't help but well up.

"Eleanor." You whispered, drinking in their reactions. Price was taken off guard, a rarity that you didn't know. Kyle looked in love, in shame, hurt by how she got here. Kyle's eyebrows scrunched up before he smiled, closing his eyes and soaking it in.

"My mums name." He croaked out eventually, making you pause.

How...strange.

Apart of you knew he was lying, but nothing about this entire ordeal was normal.

He could be lying.

But you'll have to wait to confirm.

Simon and Johnny came back in, Simon more composed than before. He was taken back by the second child and her resemblance to Kyle. He wanted to laugh.

Of course.

Why would any of this be normal? Straight forward?

Not in their lifetime.

"She's beautiful, mate." Simon whispered to Kyle, pressing a quick kiss to his head. Kyle lightly laughed, squeezing his arm around Simon's shoulders.

"Same to you. He's your mini me." They both chuckled, taking it in that they both had a baby.

That they had you to thank you for such a beautiful thing.

You wanted to say you were irritated and done and wanted to be alone but honestly...you were just tired. You ached. You were hungry.

Could you trust these men?

"I'd like to talk to you 'bout what happened. Proper." John seemed to get his voice back, seeing something in your eyes and he was desperate to latch on. To feed it. Fix it. Make you whole. You hummed, feeling overwhelmed by it all.

"I have to feed the twins and change them. Put away groceries and cook dinner. Then clean. Then take care of the babies again." Johnny's ears perked up, excited to help and excited to stay longer.

"I can make dinner, lass!"

Eleanor began crying.

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Part 3 here

[libraloves-writing]

Doe hybrid!reader x predator hybrid!TF 141 x herbivore hybrid!KorTac

Part 2

Previous

Ghosts arm was strong and firm around your waist as he hauled you away from the KorTac members. His musky, dark, predatory scent felt almost twice as strong now that you had been exposed to something sweeter.

A small, pouty chirp escaped you. There was a warm buzz in your chest now, and a pleasant little thrum that traveled down your spine. As if someone was strumming your bones like a guitar. The 141 flanked you and Ghost on either side, each with their canines bared and their ears flattened to the back of their heads. “What the hell?” Gaz snarled as his tail thrashed angrily behind him.

Price’s voice followed, even lower and angrier, “is this some kind of joke?”

Your instincts were going haywire. For the first time in so many years, you wanted to scent, you wanted to grab at their antlers, you wanted to know the feeling of being mounted again and again.

“Fuck…” Ghost grunted behind you. “Price, she needs something to tone this down. Now.”

A defensive grunt sounded from within KorTac’s group, drawing your eyes back to them. The tallest one, König, he shook out his antlers, as if to remind every one of how much damage they could do. He was truly an impressive sight, a moose hybrid wasn’t a very common thing. Even just looking at him sent a little rush of heat to your lower belly. He let out another animalistic grunt, but before he could step forward and possibly charge, another, Horangi made a move. “We are here to get introductions in order,” he said firmly, his anger barely contained behind his mask. Or by the irritated flicks of his white, floofy tail. “Let her come to us.”

“We came here to make sure we wouldn’t kill each other during this mission. Not to watch you all take turns with her.” Price snarled, each word reverberating low in his chest.

“Ya lads ‘r barkin up the wrong tree if ye think we’ll let ya just pass ‘er around.” Soap stepped forward, triggering the slow, predatory advance of 141. Only they didn’t make it but a few steps.

Without warning, a loud, piercing call erupted from one of the KorTac members. Nikto stepped forward, shaking out his antlers and stomping his foot firmly on the ground. Before the elk hybrids call could even stop ringing in your ears, Hutch and Fender had shifted to brace themselves protectively on either side of their team. Like hybrid battering rams just waiting to be released.

Finally, your tongue started to move. “Guys, let me go! Please!”

“Not happening,” Ghost answered behind you, not even thinking twice about it as he watch KorTac brace for conflict.

Now, it was more than initial shock and fear that was brewing inside you. Anger had joined the mix. Here you were, you had been fully prepared to step back and watch them embrace their instincts with what you thought would be another predator task force. You had shown them nothing but understanding. An angry, high pitched squeal of anger erupted from your lips. Finally, you were starting to put up a fight. Your legs kicked out and your head reeled. “Let go of me, Simon!”

He grunted, ringing his second arm around you to try and keep you from squirming free. Now, your anger was starting to burn. “Simon Riley! Let me go now, or I swear to God I will kick you in the balls so hard the children will no longer be an option in your future!”

Wouldn’t you know it, his grip loosened, and your feet hit the ground. Not only that, but all the eyes of your team and KorTac were now honed in on you. Your team’s with looks of utter surprise and a bit of horror at your threat. And KorTac’s with unmistakable grins that crinkled at the corners of their eyes. You stomped your foot down and let out a sharp, angry huff. “Not but a few minutes ago I was fully fucking prepared to step back and watch for hours as you all embraced your instincts.” Your voice rose to a shout as you glared at your own team. “I haven’t embraced mine, or even had the chance to, for years!” Again, your foot came down in a hard stomp against the grass. “Years of not scenting, not being around a proper herd! If you all don’t back off and let me have this I will literally throw a tantrum.”

It felt childish, sure, but the anger that was building as a knot in your throat was very real, and practically palpable as your scent thickened with an almost citrusy smell.

Remaining frozen in place, Ghost, Gaz and Soap all turned their eyes to Price. Sure, they could feel their own way about the situation, but what mattered was how Price felt. You swallowed back tears, trying to not think of the very real possibility that he could say no. But his darkened gaze didn’t hold any anger towards your reaction. In fact, his baby blue eyes softened as they took you in. Sure, they darted back to the KorTac members with a skeptical sneer, but when he looked back at you there was no hiding his sympathy.

“If you need us,” he said, his voice quieter than it was before. “Just call for us.” With that, he nodded at the others. Gaz and Soap turned and followed him to the edge of the small grove, where they would most likely wait for the next hour. But Ghost lingered for a moment. “Please be careful.” He almost whispered, looking between you and the large men who were now slowly creeping forward.

Even despite your earlier threat, the utter vulnerability in just those three words made your heart want to tear itself in two. “I will be.” You echoed, enjoying the lingering warmth of the moment as he nodded and turned away.

You sucked in a deep breath, and then turned back to the KorTac members. Before you could even fully look their way, another strong arm wrapped around your waist and lifted you clear off the ground. Deep rumbling grunts reverberated through you, followed by the glorious feeling of a nose and mouth pressing to your scent gland for the first time in years. An embarrassingly needy moan fell from your lips, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your head fell back against the man’s shoulder, only to look up and see a massive rack of moose antlers and a sniper hood that was hooked on König’s crooked nose. A deep, pleasing chuckle erupted from him, passing through you and setting all your nerves in a buzz. “My eyes are down here, sweetheart.”

“Hey big man, let us have a turn!” Horangi called from below. Him and Aksel were practically bouncing on their feet with anticipation.

König let out another grunt against your neck, giving you a squeeze before slowly lowering you. A soft, pouty whimper fell from your lips in disappointment. But you barely had time to process it before you were sandwiched between the two buck hybrids.

You were in absolute, blissful heaven. Constantly being surrounded and passed from man to man. You had never seen this much stimulation. When you got past the initial rush of instinct, you finally gained enough sense to stifle your whimpers against their necks. You buried your nose where their scents were strongest. All the while your hands eagerly felt around whatever antlers or horns they could. By the time Horangi and Aksel were done, all three of you were bearing dark marks on your neck, and your tail had experienced more attention than you could have ever dreamed of. Next you were passed off to Hutch and Fender, the bison hybrid and bull hybrid. They were a tad rougher than the rest, grabbing at your hips and waist, bunching your tail in their fists, rutting against you as they buried their noses in your neck. You whined, squirming between them, but there wasn’t much you could do. After them, you were briefly passed back to König, who hoisted you up like a rag doll and practically crushed you against his muscular chest. By the time you were passed to Nikto, your eyes were half lidded, and your body was blissfully useless. “Little doe,” he practically purred as his hands ran from your hips to your waist. He was tall too, the second tallest of the group, with a large set of elk antlers that sprouted from his head like two ancient trees. You pouted, reaching up and lazily curling your hands around them. They were strong and smooth in your palms, a testament to Nikto’s health and strength. His chest rumbled into a low sound of approval as he reached up and slowly pulled off the mouthpiece of his mask. He jaw was sharp, and his nose was slight arched from being broken one too many times. Light scars dotted his skin, nearly like Simon if you didn’t know better. Your chest vibrated with soft, content purrs as you tilted your head back. Nikto was gentler than the others, cradling the back of your head as he nuzzled into your thoroughly marked neck. Low, pleased rumbles echoed your own as his other hand slid down the small of your back and gently pinched your tail between two fingers. “Such a sweet little thing,” he murmured when you nuzzled into his neck in return. You rubbed your cheek against skin and sucked in deep breaths of his scent.

By the time it was all over, you were practically boneless. Nikto hoisted you up in his arms, clicked his masked back into place and let you rest your chin on his shoulder. Your half lidded, gaze finally fluttered shut, leaving you a purring, boneless mess in his arms as he and the other KorTac members got ready to leave the safe zone.

Now the introductions were taken care of, it was time to actually go to work.

Don’t worry my darlings, there is more where that came from!

Thank you to @midoriiakina for the idea of “my eyes are down here, sweetheart”. Literally hilarious

[libraloves-writing]

Nikto w/ witchy partner 🌒

Getting back into writing for Nikto to get in the headspace for my Frankenstein AU. Also inspired from pursuing my own spiritual practice, hope you enjoy!

Nikto isn't naive to magical practices. He knew the beliefs and superstitions of his own culture, so he wasn't surprised when you introduced him to your own.

It started off with a small drawstring bag, which you instructed him to always keep on his person but to keep it out of sight, with the simple explanation that it would protect him. He placed it in a pocket of his tactical vest and honestly forgot about it. Until a mission where a fatal piece of shrapnel missed him by a hair. Upon returning to base and shedding his tactical gear, the forgotten satchel fell from its pocket. Nikto picked it up, noticing the black fabric fraying and its contents spilling out. With a handful of clove, rue, and salt, Nikto realized he should have died that moment, but whatever you gave him nudged fate just enough to do what you wanted. To bring him back home.

[libraloves-writing]

Ghost getting super emotional when he drinks. Mostly over nothing.

You drive him home, get him into his flat. He’s hanging onto you desperately.

“Don’ leave me, lovie,” he hiccups, pulling you tight to his chest. “You’re so damn sweet.”

Simon cries against the pillow as you get him ready for bed. He’s too drunk to do it on his own.

You gently strip him and help him get into some pajamas as you listen to him tearily explain that he loves you and doesn’t want you to ever leave.

You assure him you’re not going anywhere and he quiets down for just a moment. Then he’s crying again, curled up against your stomach. He’s holding onto you, fingers digging into your supple skin.

“You’re just- you’re just so sweet!” He sobbed against your belly. “I don’t deserve how nice you are, I love you.”

You listen intently to him, reassuring him softly as you play with his hair until he falls asleep.

[libraloves-writing]

we all love rowdy, feral soap but lets think for a moment.

Soap as a overly cautious partner, he's seen hell on earth and wants you as far as possible from it.

He's the type of partner who'd insist on you taking every vitamin, eating veggies and giving any meds on time, because he got sick on the field once and it nearly costed him a leg.

He'll scold you for listening to music too loud, because he's nearly 30 and contemplating a hearing aid.

If you're sore? Hot baths, massages because he wants his hen happy and still wouldn't mind some hands-on help.

Restless? He'll fix that. He needs his sweetie all tucked in before it gets too late.

Soap knows what it's like to be pulling through by a thread, and when he see's your pretty eyes starting to get worn down by life. He must step in, and nothing could stop him.

[libraloves-writing]

PLS I NEED TO KNOW WHAT COD MEN WOULD BE LIKE IF THEY WERE THOSE HUSBANDS OF THE WIVES ON THE TIKTOK THAT ARE LIKE 'packing lunch for my husband's 12 hour shift' PLEASE 😭🙏

this.

they would be showing them off at every lunch, each of them proudly displaying the food their sweet birds cooked up either the night before or at the crack of dawn.

definitely fighting over who's is better. they have to make it into a competition about who's bird loves them more.

soap is smug about his, always having to one up the lad next to him. the type to be like "you got a note? well, does yours have a kiss mark? didn't think so."

and to counter that, gaz asks, "is your fruit cut into heart shapes?" which causes soap to sulk because no, his fruit isn't cut into heart shapes.

but he definitely talks to the missus about that one.

gaz chides at the scott because despite his note missing a lip print, his lunch is packed full of love. continues to comment and compare their meals, each one becoming increasingly aggressive in the nature of their competition

price would shake his head at their back and forth banter, telling the lads to settle down because it wasn't a competition (it most definitely is, and price would think he won, hands down).

his wife packed his favorite foods, along with a note and a pack of limited-edition cigars he had been eyeing on his laptop (with readers on).

what more could a man ask for?

sitting silent at the table, balaclava pulled over his nose, is simon. while he does take pride in his full meals that his pretty wife cooks up for him, he doesn't feel the need to show it off.

until the guys turn to him.

"got anythin' good in there, lt?"

"bet the missus didn't pack his lunch like ours do."

because they couldn't believe that simon would tolerate anything of the sort, but they're so wrong. he would tolerate anything if it meant making the missus happy.

in his lunch, he's got a note with hand-drawn skulls and stars, skull print napkins that are the worst quality he's ever used, but it puts a giddy smile on your face, and a little something extra.

"mine left a thong in here."

they all go silent before the other three are muttering under their breaths.

"lucky bastard."

[libraloves-writing]

nsfw. husband!werewolf x wife!reader (one) – monsterfucking, smut, (forced) nudity, hubby!werewolf is proudly anti-clothing, nipple play, cock warming, bodily fluids (mentioned)

husband!werewolf who encourages nudity.

for the life of him, he can't understand why you'd want to wear all those itchy, suffocating clothes. hiding yourself from him, from the world. his begs for you to forgo them come in the form of soft mewls and his naked body grinding his bare cock against your side. leaking out stains to purposefully ruin your garments.

when that doesn't seem to work, he shifts to new methods to keep you nude–undressing you with his own bare hands, usually after you've fallen asleep for the night.

you always wake the morning completely naked–with him tonguing at your nipples, tasting them like they're his breakfast. growling and mumbling about how he wouldn't be able to do this if you had those useless rags on. wouldn't be able to love up on you like you deserve.

"wanna see all of my wife."

he grabs a handful of your hip to turn you. dragging his mouth across your skin to kiss you sloppily. coating your mouth and chin with the drool pooling in his mouth because he can smell the sweet soak between you legs much easier like this. the wolf can rub his tip along your slit more comfortably now, too. stuff himself inside your weeping pussy to let the warm pulse of your walls lull him back into a light sleep.

HUSBAND!WEREWOLF TAG <3

[libraloves-writing]

thinking about john price with a sweet little thing who’s maybe just a little…slow. she has a soft, innocent and naive disposition, and flounces through life wrapped up in a dainty sundress and her head in the clouds.

price has spent his whole adult life killing and strategically destroying enemies, and to have a darling little bird who’s too sunny and innocent for this world feels like a blessing he doesn’t deserve. and maybe he has a bit of a thing for you being dependent on him, but who can blame him?

if you talk about wanting to get a job, maybe start bringing in some more income, he just frowns confusedly at you. he’s working, and he rakes in an honestly disgusting amount of money, so don’t you worry about that sort of thing, love. is this your way of asking for a credit card with a higher limit?

and don’t think he’ll let you know any more than the bare minimum about his job. you might hurt that sweet little brain of yours worrying about him if you knew :( if you do try to broach the topic, he tugs you into a deep kiss, tongue flicking at your lips until you’re a breathless, hazy mess, barely able to string together a thought. then he’ll ask about dinner, and you’ll be too distracted to keep pressing on the topic, only able to agree with whatever he says with a breathless giggle.

[libraloves-writing]

monster boyfriends with carved muscles are great, don’t get me wrong. but I want more monster boyfriends with power lifter bodies. i’m talking a few inches of fat on top of their huge, sturdy bellies because they’re so strong they have to eat a whole deer every day just to sustain themselves. your monster boyfriend so focused on being the strongest for you that he needs the extra fat to burn. and it’s the perfect cushion for your ass when he’s pounding you senseless.

[libraloves-writing]

Overprotective!Simon my HUSBAND.

He's never been worried. Not at home, not when he could fight any assailants off himself. Hell, they'd be fucking loose in the head to think they could take him on. It's not like he had much to show either--he didn't have much in the ways of luxury, simply because he chose not to purchase it.

Until he met you. He was nervous then, suddenly fixing shit around the house he'd let slip by him--the broken security system, the hole in the ceiling where he'd ripped out the smoke alarm because of its incessant 'low battery' beeping. Sure it was dangerous, but he hadn't cared before.

What never changed was the fact he'd had guns all over the house. You told him before that you'd feel sorry for whatever poor bloke thought he could grab a quick check off of your home, and he'd laughed in response, told you not to worry about it. He'd deal with it, after all, should push come to shove.

So he's prepared when he hears rustling from downstairs, and the beeping of the security system he'd had installed beeping away beside his ear--quiet enough for you to never notice, loud enough for him to wake up. He slips out of bed, sooths the crease that forms between your brows when his warmth leaves from beside yours, and grabs the pistol under the bed.

Whoever's broken in is about to feel bloody sorry for even trying.

He's efficient. Makes quick work of checking upstairs, deems it all clear before he's creeping down the stairs--the perpetrator's back in immediate sight. He's rifling through the desk in the study, thumbing through cabinets for cash, or anything expensive.

He only notices Simon when Simon wants him to. It's a firm press of the gun to the guy's head, causing him to jump, flinching under the touch. "What the hell--"

“I’d shoot y’point blank right ‘ere if I could, but the missus is sleepin’ upstairs. So y’ve got thirty seconds t’fuck off before I turn y’into a stain on the carpet," Simon interjects, checking the clock on the wall absently. Like it's just an average weekday to him.

"Hey, hey man, I'm just--" he raises his hands placatingly, dropping the papers he had been holding.

"Aye. Don't give a fuck. Would rather not stain the carpet, though, missus really likes this one. Said it's real soft n' nice on 'er feet."

Simon catches the door as he practically sprints from the home, only to avoid it slamming--he wouldn't want to alarm you, of course. He hums, shuts it quietly, and goes to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

When he's back upstairs, shuffling into the bedroom, your wide eyes looking at him and quietly asking him where he went--how dare he leave you when you were cuddling, he smiles, places the glass on the nightstand and sneakily slips the gun right where he'd first gotten it.

“Nothing, luv, was thirsty, needed t’grab some water.”