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miss-vanta-likes-to-write · 7 hours ago

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Idk what's going on in the Clark Kent fandom...but uh this was magical.

Hey! I don’t know if that’s something you are okay with writing or not (I tried to check but I couldn’t find a post with what you’re not comfortable with writing), but you said you’d like some prompts, so maybe… Clark who sees reader holding a baby and whose brain goes « you should give her one ». (No pressure! I could come up with anything else if that’s something you don’t want to write.)

breeding kink clark kent the man u are (THIS GOT FLITHY I APOLOGIZE!)

The baby is impossibly small in your arms, warm and heavy in a way that makes you instinctively soften. You sway a little without thinking, murmuring nonsense under your breath, and the child blinks up at you with sleepy eyes before settling against your chest.

Clark’s heart stops.

He’d been standing a few feet away, awkwardly nursing a paper plate of finger foods, when he saw you reach for the baby. And that should’ve been harmless. Sweet, even. But his brain, his ridiculous, runaway brain, offers up a single, traitorous thought the second your smile breaks across your face, I should give her one.

He nearly drops the plate. Heat crawls up his neck, behind his ears, the way it always does when he thinks something he absolutely shouldn’t. You’re just standing there, looking natural and radiant, and he’s suddenly imagining entire lifetimes; cribs in sunlit corners, bedtime stories read in your voice, a little someone with your laugh tugging at his hand.

“Clark,” you say softly, tugging him back to the present. You’ve turned toward him, the baby nestled against you like you were made for this. “Want to hold him?”

His eyes widen, panic sparking. “Oh, uh, gosh, I’d better not,” he stammers, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I’m not very… I wouldn’t want to, you know, drop him or anything.”

You laugh, gentle, and the sound is both his undoing and his salvation. “Relax, Smallville. He doesn’t bite.”

But Clark can only shake his head again, a little too quickly, clutching his plate like a lifeline. Because it’s not about the baby. It’s about how much he wants to step forward and tuck himself into that picture. It’s about how the sight of you, soft, smiling, cradling something so delicate, makes his chest ache with an impossible, unspoken wish.

He swallows hard, forces a small smile, and tells himself to breathe.

Because what he wants is too much.

And yet, as you sway with the baby and glance back at him with that radiant grin, the thought won’t leave him.

You should give her one.

It’s hours later and Clark still can’t shake it.

The picture of you with that baby has branded itself into his brain; seared in, like sunlight he can’t blink away. He sees you swaying, humming, the baby’s cheek smushed against your chest. He sees your arms curled protective and sure. And every time, the thought slams into him with brutal force:

I should give her one.

He’s pacing his apartment now, glasses abandoned on the counter, shirt hanging loose around his shoulders. He feels feverish, strung too tight. Because it’s not just a sweet little daydream anymore; it’s everywhere, thrumming in his veins like a second heartbeat.

When he shuts his eyes, he sees you in his bed instead of that living room, your thighs bracketing his hips, your head tipped back, his hands on your waist as he drives into you. He sees your lips parting around a moan, his name breaking from your throat when he spills deep inside you.

Make you full. Make you mine. Give you everything.

He groans, dragging a hand over his face, but his other is already pressing down the ache in his sweatpants. He doesn’t mean to imagine it in such detail, but he can’t stop. Your skin damp with sweat, your voice shaking as you beg him not to stop, the delicious thought of you round and swollen because of him.

And it’s worse because it isn’t just sex. It’s you. The way you laughed at him earlier, teasing, calling him Smallville. The way you looked down at that baby like he was the safest place in the world. Clark aches with it, because it’s not just want, it’s need.

Need to claim. Need to give. Need to see you undone beneath him, carrying proof of just how much he adores you.

By the time his head tips back against the wall, breath ragged, the thought has looped into a desperate prayer. Just one can't hurt. God, let me give her one.

Later that night, you’re tangled in Clark’s sheets, the air still heavy with the storm of everything that’s been building between you. His mouth is everywhere, your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, the soft curve of your stomach, like he can’t decide where to worship first. His kisses aren’t neat; they’re hungry, wet and desperate, leaving your skin flushed and damp in their wake.

His hands span your waist like they were made for it, big palms sliding you closer, lifting you like you weigh nothing. When he finally pushes into you, it’s with a shuddering groan, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as if he’s been holding himself back for a lifetime. The stretch of him makes your breath hitch, makes your nails bite into his back before you can stop yourself.

“Gosh, you feel so good,” he rasps, voice already wrecked, every word vibrating against your skin. His hips rock into you slow and deep, savoring, grinding just enough to make your toes curl. He pants like each thrust is costing him every ounce of his famous restraint. “So perfect, sweetheart. Made for me.”

You whimper, and your nails drag down his back. The sound that bursts free of your throat is filthy, shameless, and it unravels something in him. His thrusts quicken, the careful farmboy control slipping into something harder, rougher, hungrier.

His mouth finds yours, kissing you hard, like he’s trying to swallow every gasp. The sheets twist under your fists as his hips snap harder, pounding into you in deep, relentless strokes that make your body arch up off the bed.

“Want to keep you like this,” he gasps, teeth grazing your jaw, voice breaking under the weight of his own need. “So full of me...‘til you’re dripping with it, ‘Til you take every drop.”

Your moan is sharp, needy, and his breath stutters at the sound. He doesn't normally talk like this, but you feel yourself growing wetter at the words, the desperate rasp in his voice. He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes blown wide and glassy with lust, cheeks flushed pink. His glasses are long gone, hair wild and damp with sweat, every inch of him undone above you.

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you honey?” His voice is ragged, almost desperate, hips grinding harder as if trying to bury himself deeper. “Let me give it to you… make you mine in every way?”

The pulse between your thighs clenches around his thick cock, betraying you. Your breath catches, your head tipping back as heat burns through you. “Clark,” you whimper, but it’s encouragement, not warning. The way you clutch at him, the way your legs lock tight around his waist, tells him everything.

And that’s all it takes. His control snaps. He grips your thighs, spreads you wider, and presses into the tightest part of you with a desperate grind that makes both of you cry out. His eyes squeeze shut like the thought alone could undo him.

“Want to put a baby in you,” he confesses, the words raw and trembling against your ear. “Ohmygosh, I can’t stop thinking about it. You holding one today made me crazy. I need it, need you...need to see you round with me, sweetheart.”

The words hit like lightning, filthy and raw, lighting up every nerve in your body. And instead of recoiling, you arch up against him, clutching him closer, dizzy from how much it turns you on. “Yes,” you breathe, half-moan, half-laugh, delirious with pleasure. “God, Clark, yes.”

His answering sound is half a growl, half a sob of relief. He kisses you like he’s drowning, hips driving harder now, each thrust deep and punishing, filling you until you can barely think. The bed creaks under the force of him, your cries muffled into his mouth as he fucks you through every ounce of pent-up longing he’s carried.

“Sweetheart, oh, sweetheart, you don’t know what you do to me,” he babbles, voice breaking with each snap of his hips. “Been dreaming of you like this for so long...dreaming of filling you up, making you mine.”

You’re lost, nails raking his shoulders, clinging to him as your body spasms around him, dragging him deeper into the spiral.

Every thrust is a promise, every groaned endearment threaded with that desperate, intoxicating need to give you everything. His forehead drops against yours, his words dissolving into messy prayers and confessions he can’t hold back.

And when he finally falls apart inside you, it’s with your name on his lips and that prayer echoing in his chest, raw and wild: just one, let me give her one.

But his hips keep moving even as he spills, grinding deeper, like he can force the fantasy into reality, like he can brand you with the weight of his want. And you let him, gasping his name, clinging tighter, blissed out and undone under the storm of him.

Your body is still fluttering around him, aftershocks making your thighs tremble, when you realize Clark hasn’t softened inside you. If anything, he’s harder. Thicker, swollen, still pulsing deep where he’s seated.

“Clark,” you gasp, overwhelmed, but he just swallows the sound in a desperate kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, his mouth claiming you like he’s starving. His hips roll, slow but deliberate, grinding into that sweet, bruising spot that makes your whole body jolt.

“Can’t stop,” he mutters against your lips, voice ragged, broken open. “I'm sorr, sweetheart, I can’t...don’t want to.” And then he drives in harder, deeper, the force of it punching another moan out of you, your back arching helplessly. His eyes flutter, dark and heavy with hunger, like every clench of your body around him is dragging him closer to the edge again.

Before you can catch your breath, he shifts, hooks his arms under your knees and folds you in half, pressing you flat into the mattress with his sheer size. The stretch steals your air; your thighs are pinned to your chest, your lungs tight, his broad chest caging you beneath him. And his cock...God, he’s everywhere. Buried so deep you swear you can feel him pressing into your stomach.

Clark groans like a man possessed, the sound torn from somewhere deep in his chest. “That’s it. That’s where I want to be. All the way inside, sweetheart. Every inch. Want you stuffed full of me.” His forehead presses to yours, sweat dripping down his temples, his thrusts now sharp, punishing, relentless. “Gonna keep you like this until you’re bred full. Until you’re mine.”

You claw at his shoulders, nails dragging red lines across muscle that won’t ever bruise, not to push him away but to anchor yourself as he pounds into you. You can feel him leaking into you already, thick and hot, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even falter. His stamina is merciless, and he’s using every ounce of it on you.

“Clark, please!” you choke, half-pleading, half-gone, body already tightening, building to another climax too fast to fight.

He hushes you with another kiss, deep and messy, then pulls back to pant filth into your mouth: “I’m gonna fill you again, sweetheart. Plug you up ‘til it takes. Don’t want it spilling out, want it stuck inside you.”

The words ignite something feral in you. You clench down around him so hard it drags a growl from his chest, and the next second you’re crashing into another orgasm, your walls fluttering around him like you were made for this.

Clark groans, his thrusts slamming harder, hips driving you deeper into the bed until the headboard rattles. His big hands pin your thighs wide open, holding you in the mating press like he never intends to let you go.

“Sweetheart, so good, gosh, you’re so good for me. Milking me dry,” he babbles, voice breaking with each piston of his hips. “Perfect body, perfect everything, taking me so well. Gotta keep filling you until it sticks. Until you’re carrying me everywhere you go.”

The filth spills out of him unfiltered, and you can’t even think to be shocked, it just winds you tighter, sends you spiraling faster.

And then he breaks again, spilling inside you with a guttural groan, his whole body shaking as he grinds deep like he can force every drop to stay inside. His cock pulses hot, thick ropes painting your cunt, but still he doesn’t soften. He stays hard, locked inside you, throbbing, plugging you.

You sob his name, shaking, but Clark only kisses your wet cheeks, your trembling lips, as if to soothe you through it. “Can’t get enough,” he pants, voice hoarse, eyes wild and impossibly tender all at once. “Need you round, sweetheart. Need to see you carrying me. Gonna keep going ‘til you’re dripping every time I move.”

And he proves it, rolling his hips, pressing you even deeper into the mattress, relentless. You’re past words, body overstimulated and slick with sweat, but every thrust makes you see stars, every grind wrings another broken moan out of you.

Your body shatters again, trembling violently beneath him, and Clark’s breath hitches at the way you squeeze around him, milking him for more. He groans and spills a third time, keeping you folded beneath him, your thighs locked against your chest.

He’s babbling into your ear as he fucks you through it, the sweet farmboy words tangled with filthy confessions, “So beautiful like this...my perfect girl. Gonna make you a mama, sweetheart, gonna give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

By the time the tremors fade, you’re limp under him, tears on your cheeks, a blissed-out wreck pinned in place. Clark’s still buried inside you, still hard, still pulsing. His chest heaves against yours, but the fire in his eyes hasn’t dimmed.

He rocks into you again, slow but certain, his voice breaking as he whispers the prayer that’s been haunting him since the moment he saw you cradling that baby.

Hours later, the room is wrecked. The sheets are a tangled mess, damp with sweat and slick, the air thick with heat and the faint scent of sex that clings to everything. Your body feels boneless, every muscle trembling, your skin humming like you’ve been struck by lightning again and again.

And still, Clark hasn’t let you go.

He’s curled around you now, your back tucked to his chest, his long arm draped heavy over your waist. His cock is still buried inside you from behind, still thick and hard and impossibly deep, a thick white ring around the base of him, evidence of the hours passing. Even in sleepiness, his hips give little, unconscious thrusts, rutting slow and lazy like he’s too far gone to stop.

You whimper softly, overstimulated and raw, but your body melts back into him, surrendering. You can feel the wet heat seeping out with every roll of his hips, dripping down your thighs, soaking into the ruined sheets.

“Shhh, sweetheart,” Clark murmurs against your hair, voice hoarse and dreamy, like he’s talking in his sleep. “Still so good for me. Taking me so perfect. Can’t believe you’re mine.” He presses a sloppy kiss to your temple, his breath warm on your skin.

You make a soft, broken sound, half-protest, half-need. “Clark… can’t anymore…”

But he hushes you gently, rocking into you from behind, grinding deep and slow, plugging you full all over again. “I know, baby, I know. Just a little more. Gotta keep it in you… can’t waste a drop.” His words are slurred, dreamy, but the way his cock drags inside you is deliberate, coaxing another wave of pleasure out of your exhausted body.

You sob into the pillow, toes curling, but it’s not fear. It’s bliss. A delirious, overwhelming surrender to him, to the way he loves you, to the way he can’t stop.

Clark kisses the side of your face, the curve of your jaw, murmuring between kisses, “Sweetest girl… my everything… gonna keep you safe, keep you loved, keep you so full of me.”

Another slow, deep thrust has you clenching, whimpering, your body betraying you by giving him another fluttering climax even though you thought you had nothing left. Clark groans softly at the feel of it, hips pressing deeper, keeping you snug against him.

“Baby you’re so perfect,” he breathes, almost reverent now. “Even tired… even wrecked like this… still milking me dry.” He nuzzles into your neck, his lips brushing your damp skin. “Sleep, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”

You drift somewhere between pleasure and exhaustion, delirious, body pliant in his hold. Clark’s hips keep rocking, steady and gentle, filling you over and over while his arm tightens around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

And the last thing you hear before you finally slide into sleep is his whisper, tender and raw, My girl. My perfect girl. Gonna give you everything. Gonna give you forever.

#muva has fed me

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miss-vanta-likes-to-write · 7 hours ago

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Aye yo....next time add that bitch to the post @miss-vanta-likes-to-write <- her right there

#author problems #writer problems

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miss-vanta-likes-to-write · 8 hours ago

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do you like this photo

Lmao what is thissssssss what am I supposed to do with this photo 😂

He wants you to use all of his holes

#ask vanta

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miss-vanta-likes-to-write · 12 hours ago

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I wish y’all got as outraged abt racism in fandom as y’all do abt ai usage + ‘stolen’ fanarts lmao.

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miss-vanta-likes-to-write · 15 hours ago

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I wrote this while fighting sleep like a toddler yall this isn't even the rest of this idea

One more and then I'm going to bed.

How about a reader who runs a red room? I'm thinking she lures men to their death, but they don't even know they are about to be tortured on live streaming for paying customers. She has been at this for years, took over for her mentor and while in the beginning she hated it, thought it was messy but she would rather be hosting than being the hostage.

Simon is a frequent flyer of these depraved live streams. It's a guilty pleasure because, unfortunately, blood and gore get his dick hard, and he thinks the pretty woman who hosts these snuff shows is nice and funny despite her line of work. Whenever he is gone for a long period of time and comes back, she welcomes him back to the live stream and gives him special treatment.

"Specter? It's always good to have you in the stream love. Missed you these last six months. Any request you have is my pleasure."

And Simon eats it up. Even if other people are in the stream, paying exorbitant amounts of money in bit coin, she always caters to him first. Makes him feel special. Makes him feel like she cares about him and his needs.

Maybe he should find her and ask her to marry him.

Say whatever you want, but like Simon would if he's a little sick in the head. He's goes on "vacation" to track her down only to get sucked into some cult like shit and he falls even harder for his little murderer. ♡♡

#vanta talks

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miss-vanta-likes-to-write · 22 hours ago

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One more and then I'm going to bed.

"Specter? It's always good to have you in the stream love. Missed you these last six months. Any request you have is my pleasure."

Maybe he should find her and ask her to marry him.

#vanta talks #dark!simon #simon riley x reader #dead dove fic #dddne #black!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #hmmm #🤔🧐#simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley

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miss-vanta-likes-to-write · 24 hours ago

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Like imagine!

Kate does her best to at least make sure they all get benefits and paid what they are owed for their services. It's a lot of lawyer talks and back room meetings and she makes it possible for all records of that failed mission to be sealed up and burned.

John convinces his guys to live with him in his ancestral home out in the countryside. Just to be away from prying eyes.

Simon has to give up cigarettes and drinking for his health, and he's prone to fits, anger, irritation because of the sudden life style change. Poor man is blind in one eye.

Kyle doesn't have his left leg, and he hates having to relearn how to fucking function. He straight up abandoned his own family, too ashamed to go home. His mom and dad were proud of him and his line of work, and he felt like half a man and a failure because of this.

Johnny while not suffering too many physical ailments because of the botched mission has horrible depression and anxiety. It was his bombs that went off too early that caused this chain reaction. If only he timed it thirty seconds late his friends wouldn't be like this and they'd still be the 141. He gets terrible night terrors of Kyle telling him to kill him because he wanted to go out on his own terms.

John Price just wants his boys to feel better, and he'll do anything to get that. His guilt is enough to fill the ocean.

Where are the fics of Task Force 141 being dishonorably discharged!?!?

Do I need to cook for that too??????

Hear me out!

It was a mission gone horribly bad. John made the best call he could with a bleeding out Simon and a near dead Kyle and an exhausted and scared Johnny. He abandoned their mission, knowing that the consequences were going to be severe.

The consequences wouldn't compare to him losing all three of his boys. By the time their s.o.s was called in and they were rescued, the higher ups were already discharging them. Simon wasn't even out of his emergency surgery for a collapsed lung, and Kyle wasn't even patched up and his severed leg made into a stump for a prosthetic.

It was a right mess and all of John's hard work in his career was effectively for naught.

At least his boys are alive, though, and he's thankful for that.

#vanta talks #task force 141 #hmmm #🤔🧐

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miss-vanta-likes-to-write · 1 day ago

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Where are the fics of Task Force 141 being dishonorably discharged!?!?

Do I need to cook for that too??????

Hear me out!

It was a right mess and all of John's hard work in his career was effectively for naught.

At least his boys are alive, though, and he's thankful for that.

#vanta talks #task force 141 #hmmm #🤔🧐

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miss-vanta-likes-to-write · 1 day ago

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🥹 don't speak to me. Losti is writing.

He had actually been reading when you stepped from the bathroom, hair damp and breathing easier than you had all day. The hesitation is what got you. You glanced around the room like you always did, leaving the hallway. Kyle caught your eye and smiled as he settled a finger in his novel.

“Wanna come snuggle?”

The offer is innocuous. Not the first time he has offered in the few weeks they had all been home. You waffled. When he shifted open the thick blanket, showing his sincerity of the question, you caved.

This is my favorite part because I can feel the atmosphere and vulnerability and it's too much.

Broken Beyond Bearing | Part 9

… . …- . -. / ..-. .- -.-. .. .-.. .. - .. . … / .. -. / .—— ——- ——- / — .. .-.. . …

Part 1 found here | AO3

John did nothing with you. He let you scramble back, eyeing the socks on your feet with a touch more attention than you felt the black wool warranted. Scooting down the hall, you hide behind your bedroom door. Once behind the safety of the wood, you stand. Forehead pressed to the wood, a cough erupts. The harsh, dry sound shouldn’t produce the coppery taste in your mouth that it does. Jumping at raised voices and the slam of the front door, you step back from your own.

Dressing in clean clothes, you work on tucking all the bits of you that Johnny had watered back into their dark corners. Simon wouldn’t want to see them, and neither Kyle nor John felt safe enough to leave the weakness of being known accessible. Pack didn’t mean that all relationships were held equal. John and Kyle paralleled Simon and Johnny. They all loved together and each other, but in the dark of the night, you could pinpoint who each man reached for first. Johnny helping you through your heat didn’t change the fact that you sat outside the warmth of their bond.

Stepping back into the shared living space, you catch sight of Johnny stepping through the front door. He slammed it behind him. The way it hung on the frame prevented you from seeing whatever face was tied to the whiff of cloying rage that seared your nose hairs. Johnny shook all over, a dog shedding water from its fur.

Fingers, bumpy with calluses, slid into your palm. You reacted, unthinking. Yanking your hand away, you turn to address the thre— There stood Kyle, thumb still pinching your hand to his fingers where it now hovered near your head. His blank expression spoke to you, Mami Wata calling to you in her mother tongue—one you failed to learn even as you discovered pantheons beyond your ancestry.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

The request is not one to be denied.

Silence has become your shield once again; you nod and let him pull you through to the back sliding door. The birds chitter and flit from bush to bush as you pass. Kyle shifts to holding your hand fully. Fingers slotted together. The touch keeps you close to him, shoulders brushing and lifting the warmth in his scent that wraps around you. It seeks entrance into your mind. Earth and the horizon and the barest hint of something unknown pull at your scenes. It would be comforting if you could trust it.

Nearing the road, you pluck the threads that will allow you to gain answers.

“Why do you all let John lead?”

Kyle slowed, looking you over as he contemplated how to answer. His nose scrunched. He lifted your arm, crossing it before your body until you had completed a twirl and now faced up the road to home, fingers still tucked into his.

“Omegas have only been allowed in the military for just over twenty years now.” Kyle started forward, the mud of the road sucking at his boot with each step.

Using his fingers as an anchor, you do your best to keep up, listening and absorbing beyond the wet sounds of earth failing to swallow. The more information you had on John and Kyle, the better you could keep yourself safe. The beaten beta in your mind whispered that nothing would save you from Simon’s wrath at losing ‘his’ omega. He reeked of someone who had hoarded what he considered his and fought to the last breath when pushed. Pain calls to pain. You knew the desire to bite into something and never release for fear of never finding it again. He would never know it, but you likely understood him better than any of his pack mates.

Wolves recognize crows share in the bounty of the dead.

They can still choose not to share.

“John wasn’t in the first wave of recruits; he fell somewhere between the second and third. They couldn’t stop him. John was the first omega to obtain the level of captain,” Kyle smiled, the savage set of his teeth saying more about the pride in his lover than anything else. “He could have gone on to become a general, but the crazy bastard doesn’t want to leave the field. ‘m glad for it. He’s saved my ass more than enough times.”

Humming in reply—you didn’t know quite what to say—you wait for him to answer your original question. Silence often led to answers.

“We let John lead us because he has earned our respect and trust.” Kyle paused, lifting his face to the sky. He stood, breathing, for long enough that a puff of feathers darted in front of your legs.

“I’ve never met someone worth taking that chance on.” The words slip from between your lips, stolen like smoke on the wind.

Kyle’s hand tightened around yours.

Staring at your feet, mud suckling the edges of the winter boots that were not ideal for muddy treks, slipping further and further into the muck, you wait for the tipless blade to pierce your neck.

“I hope you find someone to risk it for.”

The kindness in his voice reached between your ribs, fingers of pain digging into the back of your sternum from where they clamped between the bones. It lingered. That pressure that spoke of one more breath being the first and the last and the one that finally changed things. It forced a cough from your lungs.

When you could breathe, you started forward, now pulling Kyle toward the building he called home. God…you wanted a home, somewhere safe to die.

Simon’s silent censure stung. It itched; the deep bone level ache that itched and told you if you could simply peel away your flesh and rip the nerve out by the root, the pain that wasn’t pain but an itch, would stop. Johnny��s anger at him redirected like lightning through a Faraday cage and zapped at you.

It had been three days since the rest of the pack returned. Forever felt like nanoseconds that required each one to be experienced.

Johnny sat next to you each time the opportunity presented itself. Ignoring the open space carved in his shape next to Ghost increased the tension on the load of emotions swirling around everyone. The ratchet strap cinch could only bear so much torque before the teeth started snapping.

Trying to stay small sucked. You had gotten used to stretching out on the couch, in Johnny’s lap, taking full deep breaths, in the time Johnny had spent alone with you. Escaping on walks should have been a reprieve. It wasn’t. Kyle started to join you, humming as he fought the mud by your side. Soon enough, Johnny joined, watching the two of them laugh and shove and fall into the muck, wrestling and laughing, made your heart both ache and cry.

John started to pull you from the cross hairs of Simon’s rage. It had evolved into staring contests.

He would give a sharp whistle and catch your eye from the kitchen. Tearing your gaze from Simon’s, you would stare at the man until he would sigh, rub a hand over his mustache and beard, and tilt his head to join him.

He taught. It seemed like something John couldn’t help but do was direct and nurture. He would care well for pups. The thought of pups hurt like a bad knee in a low-pressure system. Sarah had gloated when she told you what they took.

It started with potatoes. He set a dozen of them in the sink. The dirt that fell to the stainless steel darkened as it touched spots of water dotting the bottom.

“Do you know how to peel potatoes?”

His voice is low in your ear, his presence at your shoulder is strong but not boxing you in. He treated you with the same distance and cautiousness one would a buffalo.

You shook your head. Cleaning you could do, but the extent of your cooking knowledge had all come before the age of fourteen.

“Okay, first thing we are going to do is wash the dirt off them,” John reached forward with a hand already in your vision, flicking the water onto a low stream. “That means scrubbing the dirt off them as well as you can. They don’t need to be perfect, but we don’t want to be eating worm shit.”

The casual way he talked about worm excrement punched a laugh out of you. The laugh trailed into a cough. It came and left quickly this time, tucked into your elbow and left there with the swallow of the coppery taste in the back of your throat. John had a smile on his face when you turned back. It changed his entire face. The crinkles around his eyes and warmth in his blues kicked you in the chest. You needed that smile like an animal at a salt lick—it held something critical that was missing in your system.

Rubbing his thumb over the potato he had picked up while you were distracted, he left you with a comment that stitched itself into your mind.

“You have a beautiful laugh.” Shaking the water off the root, he set it beside the sink. “Let me know when you are done with these, and I’ll show you the next steps.”

John stepped back then. Focusing on the color of the vegetables and the feel of the water through and over your fingers, each is scrubbed until you are pleased with the cleanliness. The sounds of someone shifting, working, behind you brought such a strange comfort. When you told him you were ready, John showed you the next steps: how to hold the blade, which way to pull the skin away from the flesh, when a spot needed to be removed, or when it would be large enough to wait.

Dinner that night tasted better in your mouth for the effort. You joined in the laughter at the table where you sat squished between Johnny and Kyle on the bench seat that backed up to the wall. Despite their lives being made for four, you fit sometimes.

Simon left his serving of potatoes untouched.

John joined you on the after-dinner walk; he didn’t mention the tears.

You hated caring.

Your bed slowly became a rotation of scents. John left sweaters on your pillows, Johnny tucked himself between your arms every other night, and Kyle replaced your bedspread with one that you had seen him wrapped up in the night before.

“Wanna come snuggle?”

Crawling into the couch and belly flopping onto him, you settled your head on his chest. The steady thump, thump of his heart, combined with the weight of the fabric settling on your back, caused you to relax. Kyle went back to reading above your head.

You lasted all of two minutes until you were tapping your fingers where they lay tucked against his ribs.

“Did you need something?” His voice rumbled under and around you.

“No. Sorry.”

He hummed. Paper shifted above your head before Kyle’s elbows settled next to your ribs.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” His cadence remained slow, as if he were unfamiliar with the routine of reading aloud.

You listened until drifting off, the story of a pridefully prejudiced woman and a prejudiced man stuck firmly in his pride, fighting to find their footing. You prayed they found peace.

Broken Masterlist | Masterlist | Taglist

@lucienofthelakes @gg-trini @talia-the-gemini @thriving-n-jiving @z-wantstowrite @asialovesyou09 @literallegendicon @canthavetoomuchchaos @reinekoya @jsptmoche @demothers-empty-blog @hbaasaad @sun-daddy-yoriichi @wiciclesatmidnight @kaoyamamegami @little-mini-me-world @corvid007 @skeletonsucker @feyresqueen @dreamland08 @sweetybuzz25 @minxx3d @ovxlovxy @night-shadowblood-writes2 @dravenskye @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @throwing-up-butterflies @myeyesonlyfouryou @Gazsluckyhat @viennakarma @listen-to-navi @MindsofJade @nocturnal-nyx @my-anime-garden @cheeseman69696 @Infectious_Art @LilynotDilly @kiris-poprock @danielle143 @yunchen898 @rainbowangel @Dreamland08 @altkn1v35 @infectious-art @hellsdaughter95 @little-mini-me-world @littlelovebug98 @sweetlittleblackrose @awildflowerblooming @clockboyy @lucienofthelakes @avgdestitute @muraaaaaa @delaynew @shitaaba @littlefallenrebel @wunder-blunder @edibleramen

#muva has fed me

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miss-vanta-likes-to-write · 2 days ago

Text

Incredibly weird about this 😔

『ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱ』

『L.T.!K. Garrick x Black!Reader』

『Series Master List』

『PT 1: Silent Treatment』

His phone sings and chimes the standard alarm that never fails to wake him up. It's Sunday morning, and he's already regretting Saturday night's choices. This time, Kyle is just glad he's waking up in his own bed and not someone else's. The smell of breakfast hits his nose just as he's silencing his alarm, and he's suddenly out of bed.

He shouldn't be able to smell breakfast because Johnny is out of town…also Johnny doesn't make coffee and he's smelling coffee in the kitchen.

The bedside drawer slides open, and he pops the false bottom out to grab his gun. Paranoia that he inherited from Price still lingers in his body when it comes to home safety. He creeps to the door and then down the hallway, peering around the corner to get eyes on the kitchen. A woman is in his kitchen cooking, and all of Saturday comes rushing back to him. Drinks, dancing, too many shots of liquor, and his sergeant goading him into showing that he could very much bag any woman he laid his eyes on. Unfortunately, the woman he bagged was still in his kitchen and not leaving his flat. The gun gets tucked into his sleep pants waist band, and his shirt is pulled down to cover it. One deep sigh later , and he's smiling when he enters.

“Oh Kyle, good morning honey, I thought I'd make breakfast for you.” She's pretty in general, light brown skin, waist length goddess braids, the type you find only on Instagram and in club sections. The only thing he recognized were her brown eyes, and that's why he went for her. They were almost the same as the fierce and angry eyes of the woman he wanted to bail out of jail on Friday night. He doesn't say anything for a moment before humming. He almost doesn't want to be rude, but he says

“Uhm, my roommate will be back soon, and-”

Her body tenses up, and she looks at him in shock. It's clear that she isn't used to being asked to leave. She probably does the leaving. It's a bit awkward as he stares at her and glances towards the front door.

She stares back at him and laughs in such a snooty way it makes Kyle's eye twitch. “Yeah sure, I'll grab my stuff and get out of here. You were fun, hit me up when you want another good time.” She flips her hair, and Kyle knows he must have struck a nerve.

Not even ten minutes later, he's alone in his place. The breakfast that the girl made was trashed. A waste, yeah, but he doesn't eat food that he didn't prepare himself or see prepared from strange women. At least not after the ex-girlfriend and spaghetti incident. He shivers at the thought and gags just a bit.

His phone rings again, and he groans. He's still got a headache from drinking, and the last thing he wants is to spend Sunday not nursing it. He's never letting Squats talk him into fuckery again.

“Yes kid?” He grumbles into the receiver as soon as he answers. On the other end it's loud, music playing, people laughing, signs of a Sunday brunch that's in progress. It's his sergeant, De’Shawn ‘Squats’ Williams, he sounds day time drunk at ten thirty in the morning.

“Hey, LT! I was calling because one, wanted to make sure you were still breathing! Last night you got hammered and took a whole dime home, wanted to make sure it wasn't another spaghetti incident! And two you gotta get down here, it's bottomless drinks for like fifteen pounds!”

Kyle huffed a laugh, “You take one trip to the States, and you speak like you're from Atlanta? We don't even have dimes here.”

“You get what I mean!” He shouts over the music, “Billy, she's here too but Captain Riley won't answer his phone!”

“And he won't. You know he doesn't particularly care for those things.” Kyle shook his head, “But I'm not going. I'm heading down to the precinct.”

De'Shawn groans like a toddler being told no, “Ugh, LT you're killing me and you're still pressed on her? She spit in your face! Also I'm sure your old precinct is tired of seeing you…”

“My cousin is an officer there still, so I'm always welcomed.” He pointedly ignores the reminder of what happened on Friday night.

The girl with an all black ensemble, dressed as if she herself was a mercenary and had stepped off a battle field. When he had seen her throw a smoldering tear gas canister away from a group of people, he knew he found something special. She was bathed in blue lights and the bright orange glow from the fires that were started during the riot, and appeared ethereal. It was unfortunate that she aimed the tear gas directly at the police, fully and intentionally for the sake of whoever she was protecting to get away.

He thought that her selflessness was courageous and attractive. Kyle asked about her towards the end of the night, asked about the woman with the tactical vest that had medic and a cross spray painted on her. When he found her behind bars, she was stripped of her armor, angry brown eyes watching everything and everyone. Her curly hair slicked with sweat, brown eyes red from the tear gas that no doubt caused her discomfort.

“LT, look we'll be here for the most part, swing through if you're still up for it.” De'Shawn sighs.

“Roll call is at six thirty in the morning sharp, don't show up hungover. Ghost will make you run laps.”

“Sure thing, peace!” He says before hanging up, the music and laughter on his end had grown substantially louder.

『』『』

“No she still hasn't asked for a lawyer or anything, do you plan on posting her bail?” Mason explained, he didn't even look up from his paperwork. Still in the middle of processing incidents from Friday night going into early Saturday morning.

“Really, is anyone coming for her on Monday?” Kyle asked as he leaned back in his chair across from his cousin.

“Why are you concerned? Do you plan on pressing charges for her assault on you?” Mason finally looks up with a raised brow.

“Of course not, just curious.”

“Hm sure you are.” He dead pans, “Do not try and fuck her…she threw a tear gas canister at my boys.”

“No,” Kyle defends instantly, “She was protecting people.”

“You just won't be on my side will you? Also this isn't military ethics, this is police and civilian laws and ethics.” He snaps his folder shut with an eye roll. Then after a moment of silence Mason sighs in defeat, “You can have Alex let you back there for five minutes to talk to her, after that go do something productive lieutenant star struck.”

He tries to hide the small smile on his face, but he knows his cousin can tell it's there. Kyle is up and out the door before anything else can be said. Secretly he hopes nobody is coming for this woman on Monday and that he will be the one to bail her out.

『』『』

The jail cell you sit in is a bit drafty, uncomfortable, and the overhead lights buzz loudly. You know it's not meant for comfort, but going on day two of being held hostage is insane. You don't bother with the one phone call, your brother will be in shortly to start your bail process. The police have tried to talk to you, but your lips stay sealed and shut. The polite good morning from some young, bright eyed, bushy tailed boy was ignored and he almost seemed to pout at your lack of response and dead eyed stare.

“If I don't come back with you guys and get arrested, tell Cecil, and he will come and get me.”

Were the last words you had told your group before going to save a pair of stragglers that were hurt and moving too slow. Your hands were still tender from grabbing the hot metal canister. The thick gloves you wore did their job for the most part. Your eyes finally don't feel like hot pokers are in them. The goggles that traveled everywhere with you had been given to another medic who had foolishly worn contacts.

“You're still here?” His voice, soft and smooth, greets you. He's prettier when not in riot gear, dressed as a civilian. A gorgeous smile, perfectly straight white teeth, brown eyes that sparkle with something, and that something can't be a good thing. In probably his only moment of good judgment, he doesn't get close to your holding cell. “Just wanted to swing by and see if you were okay, my offer still stands.”

His offer to get you out of this predicament, scotch free, record free, but with several strings attached. He isn't slick, wasn't slick when he made the offer while you were in distress. Your jaw clenched tightly, your molars grind together. For a second you think about spitting at him but you can already hear Cecil cursing you out. Instead you cross your arms and look away from him, the corner of your lip raises into a scowl.

Undeterred he continues this futile conversation, “We didn't get a proper introduction.” He chuckles, “My name is Kyle.”

He waits as if you're going to say anything, knowing damn well you won't. But you gotta give it to him, the open hostility doesn't phase him much. Next move you make, crossed legs with your body angled away from him.

“You must be a pro at the silent game.” He jokes, “Is anyone coming to get you?”

“Please stop talking to my client.” Cecil arrives before another offer can get made. He's not dressed like a lawyer at the moment, he looks like he just came back from a music festival. His brightly colored pink and blue hair is covered in glitter, he's dressed in a mesh shirt and black cargo pants. You have never been so happy to see a white guy in your life. He makes quite the sight with faded Fairy themed make-up and kandi bracelets and necklaces all over him.

The officer stares at him with a neutral face, probably upset that whatever scheme he had was interrupted. You however finally smile at Cecil, relief evident in how you sag just a bit.

Kyle glances at you and smiles, “You have a good one sweetie.” He nods towards Cecil and leaves the corridor.

Once he's out of ear shot Cecil lays into you, “Why is it always you that ends up in these messes?” He whines, “I had to cut my gang bang trip short to come get you!”

“Thank you Ce.” Is all you say, “What's the damage?”

“After some calls and stuff, we can weasel you out of this. Olandria said that we can-” He pauses and glances over his shoulder down the hall. An officer and Kyle are down by the door chatting quietly from what you both can see. “We'll finish this after.” He then looks at you and grins for another reason, “Oh did you notice my nipple rings?” He taps them and they light up.

The absurdity of the whole situation finally hits you. You've been arrested, you've been in a mini war zone that started off as a peaceful protest, and your brother is here fresh out of a festival half naked showing you his light up nipple rings. The laugh you let out is loud and boisterous, “Light up nipple rings Cecil? You've gotta be kidding me!”

“What? They were a gift from Carlos, who by the way is a total hottie.” He defends his choice in jewelry with such passion.

Meanwhile, down the hallway, while waiting with Officer Alex, Kyle can't help but smile. Your laughter and smile aren't directed towards him yet, and you haven't said two words to him, but the sound of you makes him feel warmth in his chest. Fierce, stubborn and sweet? He's gotta have you, and he'll do anything to make it happen.

By any means, necessary.

Tag list: @uraeus56 @dach1ck3nn @vixyyvix @awildflowerblooming @happyant02 @little-mini-me-world @shitaaba @heynowheynowwwwy @lostintransist @gxuxhdjdu @gazsluckyhat

Also special thanks to @lostintransist for the call sign. I love it!

#Losti tag #vanta talks

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miss-vanta-likes-to-write · 2 days ago

Text

👀

『ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱ』

『L.T.!K. Garrick x Black!Reader』

Chapters

idea/blurb

Silent Treatment

Tag list: @uraeus56 @dach1k3nn @vixyyvix @awildflowerblooming @happyant02 @little-mini-me-world @shitaaba @heynowheynowwwwy @lostintransit @gxuxhdjdu @gazsluckyhat

#vanta talks #pretty boy

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