readinglistfics

[readinglistfics]

Eventually, Darling: Chris Redfield x Pregnant!Reader

You were going to kill him when he gets home.

You hissed as you tried to shift yourself only to freeze up when the pain in your lower back throbbed and pulsed with an anger so hot it made your head swim. You gave up once again, butt sinking back down to the couch that had started to make the poor muscles sore from sitting for too long. Your nails sank into the upholstery, clawing at the overstuffed fabric as you at least tried to nudge yourself up, but the pain just erupted again. You sighed, defeated once again, and sank into your misery.

Maybe you should’ve listened to Chris when he brought up the idea of Claire coming to help you out for this last week.

It was weird to know that in just one week, Chris would be off work for at least six months unless something dire happened. You’ve become so used to his sporadic schedule that when you got pregnant, it was like your world was kicked off of its kilter when Chris was suddenly going on shorter missions and taking less risks. And speaking of the devil, you were suddenly reminded of what he did to you when you felt something inside of you constrict before a sharp pressure was placed against your bladder. You whined, sighing through your nose as you glared over your very large tummy at the phone sitting on the coffee table. You cursed at yourself internally, scolding yourself for making such a silly little mistake.

Ever since it became a bit harder to bend over or even get up from sitting, you’ve made it a good habit to keep your phone close by and on your person at all times. But today, your fleeting memory has cursed you. You had set your phone down on the coffee table for just a second as you grabbed a baby catalog from the side table. It was as you were in the process of sitting did you realize your horrible mistake. That was a few hours ago.

And here you are now; Butt hurting, bladder being used as a punching bag, bored from looking over the same shit multiple times in a catalog that didn’t pique your interest anymore, and your throat started to hurt. You had been calling out for your phone, trying to get it to call Chris or Claire or Jill- anyone! But the stupid recognition didn’t want to detect anything after you say “Call.” Technology may be advancing, but voice recognition really is stuck.

You hissed again when you felt another sharp kick to your organs, placing a hand over your growing belly and massaged the taut skin beneath the maternity dress.

You changed course; Going from cursing yourself for putting you in this position to cursing Chris goddamn Redfield for getting you pregnant. How could he?

And with twins, nonetheless.

You remembered the first time you told Chris you were pregnant almost eight months ago. You were trembling, wiping the bile that remained on your lip as you stared anxiously at the pregnancy tests sitting on the bathroom countertop. You had used all of them in the box, all five sitting there thinking, trying to detect if you were pregnant or not. You kept nervously picking the box up from the trash can, rereading the same shit over and over again from the back of the box. Fifteen minutes, over 98% accurate, easy to use. If you paid that much for this box, it should be a higher fucking accuracy! And there was a picture of a woman smiling while holding the stupid white stick. You threw the box back into the trash and bit back the feeling of needing to vomit again. Why did that woman look so fucking joyful but here you were sweaty, puking and trembling with building anxiety.

You kept glancing at the small clock you kept on the sink’s countertop, then back down to the tiled floor, then back to the clock. It was like time was teasing you, making this all go by so fucking slowly just to drag out the suspense. You took these stupid tests at a quarter to eight. Right? Or was it five til?

You decided to bite the bullet. They should be done by now anyway. It felt like you were reaching for the most important thing in the world. When you grabbed onto the first one, it felt so fucking cold in your clammy hands. You gripped it so tight you heard the plastic creaking. You kept your palm covering the little screen, you brought it close to your chest. Ripping the bandaid off, you uncovered the test.

‘Pregnant.’

You felt the air leave your body. You dropped the test and picked up the next one.

‘Pregnant.’

And the next.

‘Pregnant.’

You dropped it and picked up the last two with quaking hands.

‘Pregnant.’ And ‘Pregnant.’

Holy shit. It wasn’t like you both were avoiding this, to bed fair. You just didn’t think it would happen this fast. You didn’t think this is how it would feel. For some reason, you thought this would’ve been a bit romantic oddly. But no. You’re here, chilled from the cold bathroom, smelling of vomit and sweat holding sticks you’ve peed on while looking like a bit of a disaster.

You didn’t know what to do. The panic started to set in. What do you do? Doctor- Gotta call a doctor and confirm this. What about Chris? You’re on his insurance, they’ll call him, they’ll send him a reminder text for it and then he’ll question you about it thinking you’re actually sick.

Chris.

How are you going to tell Chris?

 He was still out on deployment, somewhere down on the other half of the world where it’s probably warm and sunny, feeling a lot better than this cold ass bathroom. You had to tell him. Would he freak out? Would he get mad? No- This is Chris. He would do the usual Chris thing and just be silent as stare down at the pregnancy tests in those big hands of his. He’d study them as if he were studying for a goddamn test at Harvard and ask you if they’re real and if they’re yours, the blockhead.

It wasn’t until two weeks later, Chris had come home and you had gotten the positive test from the doctor that you were pregnant. And like clockwork, when you greeted him at the door with a big kiss and a bigger hug, when you pulled away to let him shrug off his jacket he asked you about the doctor visit. You cursed internally. He was nonchalant about it, hanging his jacket up with a smile still on his face, probably thinking it was just a checkup or something minor like allergy medication.

But it was so much more.

“We need to talk.”

You froze at your word choice. Chris comically stopped moving with eyes wide. It was like death’s toll had been rung.

Why the fuck did you start it out like that?

So many thoughts were running through Chris’ mind. Horrible thoughts, but they all came to a screeching halt when he was handed two things: A white stick in a plastic sandwich bag, and a small black photo. He knew immediately what those were. His world lit up with color once again as he took both items so cautiously you would think they would break if someone breathed on them.

He cradled the pregnancy test with both hands. The little screen still said ‘Pregnant.’ The word was probably burned onto the screen. He then picked up the photo and examined it with the other hand, steely blue eyes seeming so bright and almost glassy. A smile spread wide across his chiseled face as a laugh rumbled from within. He looked back at you, tears sitting along his waterline.

“Is this real?” he asked you, his voice was so small and threatened to shake.

“It’s real. I’m four weeks along.”

Four weeks. One month of being pregnant. And you had to find out alone at home without him there. You must've been so scared.

Chris looked back at the photo as you came up beside him, leaning in and wrapping yourself around him the best you could. Though the picture was dark, Chris could make out one dot clear as day nestled inside of your womb. Narrowing his trained eyes a bit, he noticed another one that was a lot more faint.

“What’s this?” he pointed at the faint dot.

“Another baby.”

The bag slipped from his grip as he grabbed the photo with both hands. Another laugh rang out from him, full and hearty, coming from his belly. He suddenly grabbed you, hoisting you in his arms as he gave you another tight hug.

The memory was a sweet one, something you’ll cherish for the rest of your life. But this? You groaned internally as you felt both of the little monsters inside of you moving about.

It was when you were trying to escape for the umpteenth time when the front door opened to reveal your husband. On top of his own luggage, he had two plastic bags in each fist filled to the brim as well as a bouquet of flowers balancing between his teeth. His eyes widened when he saw you, quickly dropping everything at the door and placing the flowers down on the shoe rack by the door. He could tell from the look on your face that you were miserable.

“What’s wrong, angel?”

God, you missed him. The spite you had suddenly melted away to a gooey warmth. You looked up at him pitifully and sank back into the couch.

“Help me,” you whimpered pathetically.

The look of worry washed away, a faint smile pulling on his lips as he rounded the couch to stand in front of you. You held out your hands which Chris took gently. His hands were big, much larger than yours. He was always so careful when he took them, afraid that he would hurt you. His hands were rough, calloused on the pads of his fingertips, small scars embedded in his skin, but they always felt so soft and so safe to you. He nudged the coffee table back with his boot to give him some space before he carefully hoisted you up. As you fully stood up for the first time in hours, you let out a glorious exhale. Your body was so happy to be standing, your back was screaming praises while your swollen ankles and feet were bitching up a storm.

“Better?” your husband hummed as he bent over to press a kiss on your forehead.

“So much better.” You tried to hug him, but your big belly didn’t really allow you to. It was a bit soul-crushing to be able to fully press up against Chris and hug him tightly like you used to be able to do and it honestly made you feel bad about yourself. “Goddamn it,” you sighed.

You arched your back and rubbed at your sore flanks, hissing as your spine cracked a bit before you stood up. You were reminded that the dress you were wearing wasn’t that good of a fit anymore. It was tight around your belly and rode up in the front a bit. It was your favorite one out of the whole bunch, too, aside from Chris’ clothes - and even those had started to become too snug for your liking. Chris had placed his hands on your belly and rubbed soothing patterns into your sore sides. Almost like it was magic, the twins calmed down almost instantly inside of you. Chris bent down a bit, getting on one knee, he pressed a kiss to your clothed tummy.

“How’ve my boys been since I left?” he mused.

You had both learned that you’re having boys a few months ago.

He looked up at you and you could barely see his eyes over how big you were. It made you feel a little weird, like a small icy pain had grown in the pit of your stomach.

“Using me like a punching bag. One of them really likes to kick at my bladder, almost peed myself yesterday.” Chris huffed a laugh out before he pressed another kiss to your belly. He removed his hands for just a second only to snake them up the front of your dress and plant them right back where they were on your skin. His hands felt so warm on your cold belly. Through the skin, he could feel his sons inside of you, barely feeling them press against you. “Your hands feel so warm.”

“Why didn’t you call if you were stuck on the couch? I would’ve come home sooner.”

“I would’ve, but I put my phone on the coffee table like an idiot and I sat down right when I realized.” You felt a pull at your throat and a sting in your eyes. “And I’m too big and fat to get up on my own, so-”

“Hey, hey- You’re not fat.” Chris stood up, his hands leaving from under your dress to grab your shoulders gently. He looked you dead in the eye, brows knit with worry. “You’re pregnant. We’re having twins.” He brought his thumb up to wipe away the tear you didn’t know you had rolling down your cheek. “Look, I have just one more week and then I’m yours for the next six months. I’m at your beck and call, I’ll get you whatever you want when you want it. I’ll do everything for you.” He brushed the hair away from your face and drew you in closer until your big belly was pressed against his sculpted one. “I love you, (Y/n). This is all just a part of the process. I promise you, it will all be over soon.”

“I don’t think I can do another four weeks, Chris-”

“You can. You’re so strong, angel.”

“I can’t even get up out of bed in the morning right anymore.” Your hormones were raging like a bull and you quickly found yourself bawling your eyes out. “I knock so much shit over. Most of my maternity clothes don’t fit. I can’t bend over to do anything around here without almost tipping over! I can barely breathe because my guts are all squished up into my chest.” Chris wiped away your tears as quickly as he could. “I’m just over it, Chris!”

“I know, I know, sweetheart. You don’t have much longer to go.”

“I can’t even hug you right-”

You found yourself hiccuping, wiping at whatever tears Chris couldn’t get with the collar of your dress.

“That’s okay; I know what you’re trying to do. You’re doing the best you can.”

Your cries and hiccups slowly came to a stop as you and Chris both stood there in your living room. Chris had tilted your head up to look him in the eyes. Even now when your face is all wet and sticky and your eyes are a bit red, nose runny and lips quivering; He thought you couldn’t be more beautiful.

“‘m sorry,” you mumbled out.

“Don’t worry about it, angel. This happens.” You both stood there in silence. You nervously chewed at your bottom lip as you tried to calm down a bit more while Chris continued to trace invisible patterns on your cheeks while looking down at you with those lovely blue eyes. “Can I show you something?”

You didn’t respond verbally, only nodding as you sniffled. Chris carefully turned you to your side before bending over again. You suddenly gasped when you felt your feet swing off of the floor, hands snatching onto Chris’ brawny shoulders as he hoisted you into his arms bridal-style. It always felt so magical when he would do this. But now? You really felt weightless in his arms as he effortlessly scooted you up a bit in his arms and started on a trek up the stairs and through the house. He nudged the door of your bedroom open with his boot and slowly entered.

He set you down on the floor just beside the bed and stayed behind you. He pointed your head towards the floor-length mirror by the closet and turned your body to face it as well. He was so much taller than you, and so broad and muscular. He dragged you until your back was flush with his front and Chris brought his hands up to embrace your belly from behind.

“Look at you,” he purred in your ear. “You’re so gorgeous.”

“Chris-”

“I love the way you look.” He pressed a kiss right below your ear. “It almost makes me wanna get you pregnant again.”

His hands ran along the rounded curve of your pregnant belly, massaging at your sore hips and rubbing the underside.

“You better not.” You and Chris both shared a laugh. You watched as Chris seemed mesmerized with your belly. “Labor’s gonna be a pain. They’re gonna punch a hole through me”

“I know I was bitch coming out of my mom,” Chris smirked. “I was a pretty big baby. There was one photo on the day I was born of my dad holding me up like I was a prize winning catch.” That earned a laugh from the both of you. “You can ask Claire. When my mom was in labor with her, she came out so fast, my dad swore it was because I made the hole big enough. She slid right out like she was all buttered up.”

You found yourself laughing at that. While as horrifying as it sounds, it was honestly pretty funny. Your hands came up to join Chris’ just as your sons started up on their antics again, pushing up against your belly some more.

“Looking forward to it,” you stated as plainly as you could with a smile on your face.

[readinglistfics]

Snowy logs

short drabble

featuring. leon s kennedy x pregnant!reader

just fluffy protective leon and that’s all

Leon had always been protective of you, but lately, since finding out you were pregnant, he’d taken it to a new level. Every time you even hinted at stepping outside, he’d insist on doing it for you. And now, with the safe haven up in the snowy mountains of Canada, surrounded by blankets of snow and icy air, he was even more adamant.

Bundled in a thick coat, Leon stood outside, splitting logs in the crisp air. His breath puffed out in soft clouds, and each swing of the axe echoed through the snowy landscape. From the warmth of the cabin, you could see the determined expression on his face. It was a mixture of focus and knowing how he was, genuine worry for you.

After watching him for a few minutes, you couldn’t help but feel the need to be with him. It was freezing outside, but the cabin felt too quiet, and besides, a little fresh air never hurt anyone. With some effort, you wrapped yourself up in your warmest coat, tugging your hat down over your ears and your scarf around your neck. Stepping outside, the cold air bit into your cheeks, but it felt refreshing.

As soon as Leon caught sight of you, he paused mid-swing. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he called, dropping the axe immediately. “What are you doing out here? You’re supposed to be inside, staying warm!”

You grinned at his exaggerated concern. “I just came to keep you company,” you said, walking carefully across the snowy ground towards him. “You look like you could use a little break.”

He put his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “Babe, it’s freezing out here, and you’re five months pregnant. You’re not exactly built for chopping wood right now.”

“Maybe I’m not here to chop wood,” you replied, trying to stifle a laugh. “Maybe I just wanted to help a little, hold the logs for you or something.”

Leon’s eyes widened in horror. “Hold the logs? Absolutely not! I don’t need you holding anything out here in this cold.” He came over, gently guiding you back towards the porch. “Your only job right now is staying warm and taking care of yourself. And our baby,” he added with a soft smile, his hand resting protectively on your belly.

You placed your hand over his and looked up at him, your eyes sparkling with affection. “You worry way too much. I’m fine, really. It’s just some snow and fresh air.”

Leon sighed, tucking a loose strand of your hair back under your hat. “Fresh air can be enjoyed from the comfort of the porch,” he replied, but you could see the smile tugging at his lips. “Come on, I’m serious. Let me finish up here, and I’ll be right inside with you. I don’t want you getting sick or slipping out here. You know how clumsy you can get.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me, did you just call me clumsy?”

He let out a soft chuckle, rubbing his hands together to warm them. “I’m not saying it’s your fault,” he teased. “But you did manage to trip over that log just last week. And that was indoors.”

Rolling your eyes, you playfully nudged him. “Maybe you should be more careful where you leave things, then, Mr. Kennedy.”

Leon smiled, catching your hand in his as he pulled you closer. “See, this is why you should be inside right now. You’re too adorable out here, and it’s distracting me from my very important log-splitting duties.”

You shook your head but couldn’t hide your smile. “You’re ridiculous. It’s just wood, Leon. It’s not like you’re saving the world this time.”

He tilted his head, giving you a look. “I don’t know…feels like I’m keeping two of my favorite people safe right now. That’s pretty close.”

Your heart melted at that, and you hugged him, feeling the warmth of his arms around you even through your thick coats. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then another to your cheek, lingering for a moment before speaking softly. “Why don’t you go back inside, sit by the fire, and I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“Only if you promise to take a break,” you replied, giving him a stern look. “You’ve been at this all morning.”

Leon laughed, his breath warm against your skin. “Alright, deal. I’ll take a break as soon as I finish this stack. You have my word.”

As you walked back up the porch steps, Leon’s voice stopped you. “Wait, hold on,” he called, rushing over to catch you before you went inside. “Here,” he said, wrapping his scarf around your neck on top of your own. “I’ll grab another one for myself, but you keep this.”

You chuckled, adjusting the extra scarf. “Thank you, but now I look like I have three chins.”

He shrugged, grinning. “You look cute, that’s all I care about.”

With that, you went back inside, feeling warm not just from the extra scarf but from Leon’s attentiveness. Settling by the fire, you watched through the window as he got back to work, occasionally glancing at the cabin to make sure you were okay.

When he finally came inside, red-cheeked and breathless from the cold, he brushed the snow off his coat and plopped down next to you, taking his gloves off and warming his hands by the fire. “Alright, happy now?” he asked with a smirk.

“Yes,” you replied, leaning against him. “Though I still think you’re going a little overboard with all this protectiveness.”

Leon wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “You know, I never thought I’d get to do this,” he said, his voice softening. “Be out here with you, building a life together. I didn’t even think it was possible.”

You placed a hand over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath your palm. “I know. It still feels surreal sometimes, doesn’t it?”

He nodded, his eyes looking distant for a moment before he looked back at you with that soft, warm gaze you’d come to adore. “Yeah, but I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. And I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep it that way.”

He paused, looking down at your belly, then back up at you. “I’m going to be the best husband and dad I can be. So, that means I might be a little…overprotective.”

You laughed, brushing your hand along his cheek. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” he replied, meeting your gaze intently.

“Let me come outside sometimes. I can’t be cooped up forever,” you said with a mischievous smile.

Leon chuckled, nodding. “Alright, but only if you wear two scarves, five coats, and let me carry you everywhere.”

“Oh, come on,” you groaned, laughing as he pulled you close and kissed your forehead. “I’d look like a snowman!”

“Then I’ll just have to love my adorable snowman,” he murmured, holding you tight, the warmth of the fire and his arms wrapping you up in a blanket of love and safety.

As the snow continued to fall outside and the fire crackled warmly in the hearth, you felt like you were exactly where you belonged. Being wrapped in Leon’s arms, safe, warm, and ready to face life as parents of a baby in the cold outskirts of Canada. Away from off the the ruckus that is the umbrella corp.

taglist: @writingwisterias

banners. @anitalenia

[readinglistfics]

dunno who agrees, but leon would love cuddle fucking. (mdni, please)

was thinking abt this all night cause i always have a hard time sleeping without thinking of him. totally normal btw.

re2!leon would be so tired after every shift, being a rookie is tough work. even if it's just stupid ass reports he has to file or sitting in a police car for hours just watching people, he's just glad he can come back home to you. you're usually asleep by the time he gets back home from work, and it's like you knew what he would wanna do after he gets ready for bed. your arm stretched out, a nice, big space in front of you to slip into. and he does, and he just melts when you bring him closer, your hand rubbing lovingly at his waist. you whisper sweet nothings about how hard he works, how he should be easier on himself. it's all true, you just can't help but remind him that he deserves some time to himself as well. something to clear his mind and ease his stress before he goes insane from mundane paperwork. so he doesn't mind when your hand starts to wander slightly down, nails grazing under his sweats as his breathing starts to pick up. he buries his nose in the crook of your neck as he whines when your hand slips down his boxers, pulling his hard cock out and positioning him inside your soaked panties. he loves doing this, loves feeling how wet you are as he holds you oh so tight, the sound of skin slapping ever so softly as he fucks your thighs. your hands tangle themselves in his hair, moaning and murmuring about how good he is, how sweet of a boy he is, and you can feel him getting close. his cock kicks and presses perfectly against your clit, and it doesn't take long for him to cum inside your panties. "thank you baby, fuck, so good to me. you know how much i love you, right? love you more than anything.." he gets so sentimental, so frazzled after his high because he just needs you to know. that he loves you so, so much.

he would get a lot more confident the older he gets, i mean we all know how much of a cocky bastard he is. it's in his nature to be a smug piece of shit, not that you mind obviously. you're obsessed with him regardless. so when he finds you sleeping on the couch after waiting all night for him, he can't help but tease you about it when he carries you to the bedroom. you tug at his shirt when he sets you down, and he reassures you that he just needs to get ready for bed. the relief you feel when he finally slips into bed is unmatched, his hand finding it's usual place under your shirt and on your tit, making you whine softly. you grind your ass against his lap to try and hint at him that you want more, but he stops you. "sorry baby, not tonight. i'll make it up to you in the morning, doll." it satisfies you for now, cause you know he always keeps his word. so when you wake up the next morning with his thumb and index finger tugging at your nipple, hard cock pressing against your ass, you just smile and let him do all the work. "good morning sunshine, told you i'd make it up to you." you clench around nothing as he groans in your ear, his heavy breathes making it hard to think. you feel him pull your panties down, lifting your leg up slightly to slide his dick against your slit, slick coating his length almost instantly. his tip nudges against your clit, you gasp when he pushes inside you, stretching you out in the best way possible, tip kissing your cervix. he coos at you, every deep, long stroke coaxing out moans that get louder and louder. "i know, so fucking deep, huh? shhhh, just take it, honey." so you do, letting every bit of him completely take over your mind, your eyes rolling into the back of your head every time he bottoms out inside you. "there you go, atta girl." you always squeal and moan when he says that, and it only makes him more smug. "aww, does my princess like when i talk to her like that? so dirty, love it when you're like this. my sweet girl, loves every little thing i say or do." he takes your jaw in his free hand, making you look him in the eye, or try to as he starts to speed up. "isn't that right, baby? that pretty little head just thinks of me and me only?" yep, still just as smug. you have to nod and say yes just to get him to finally speed up, pounding into you with an unrelenting force. "gonna empty my balls in your pretty fuckin' pussy. c'mon baby, milk my cock, cum for me." the knot in your stomach snaps the second he commands you, body quivering with a force as your orgasm washes over you. his cock kicks inside you as he bottoms out as deep as he possibly can, his cum painting your walls white before slowly pulling out. he peppers kisses along your neck, letting you relax and fall limp in his arms as he comforts you, the both of you basking in the love you share. how sweet.

[readinglistfics]

pussydrunk

or when you make leon kennedy pussydrunk

cw fem!reader, pussywhipped leon, dumbification, implied cum eating + oral, thigh riding, slight breeding. minors do not interact

re2 leon

leon swears you’re going to the death of him.

at least that’s how it feels when you straddle him and shallowly fuck his tip, and only his tip, slipping him in and out over and over and over. leon swears he’s going to cum from just this. he can’t take it. not when you’re so wet and hot and tight around his sensitive head that he cries, squirming and thrashing when you squeeze around him. “don’t… don’t do that! stop… you’re g-gonna make me cum-“

another roll of your hips has his entire body going taut—abs tensed, back arched, gripping handfuls of the sheets, anything to stave off the oncoming orgasm he feels burning in his tummy. it’s tempting to thrust his hips; he knows he’d slip in easily, you’re so slicked that it would only take one thrust to have him completely buried inside your perfect cunt. but he knows if he did you’d punish him—leave him like this, hard and aching and untouched. he doesn’t want to risk that.

“c-c’mon…” he tries to sound assertive but it comes out as whiny instead. “wanna be inside you, baby… n-need more of this pussy.”

“tell me it’s mine first. tell me this cock is all mine,” you say.

leon’s brows knit together in genuine confusion. what? of course you know he belongs to you, that he’s obsessed with you—pussywhipped. that’s what he is. that’s what you’ve made him to be, so fucking whipped for you that he can’t even cum on his own anymore; he needs to be inside you, buried balls deep with your pussy milking him for all he’s worth. it’s such an easy answer he should be able to say it without even thinking.

but his words choke in his throat when you take more of him, half of his cock now, actually leaving him speechless. it feels like his mind is mush, your cunt squeezing his tip so tight it’s rendered him fucking dumb. he's sure he looks stupid right now too, mouth opening and closing silently while you languidly bounce on half of him, unable to look away from the pretty shine that your cunt drools on his cock. his adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly and tries to form a coherent thought. “i-”

dissatisfied with his lack of answer, you slip him out completely and that’s even worse. he lets out a pained whine at the loss, weakly bucking his hips in search of your heat, but you lean back on your haunches and hover just out of reach.

fuck. the hold you have on him isn’t fair. it’s not fair how all he can do is watch as you press your cunt on his thigh, can feel how hot and aching you are too with each grind of your hips, the wet drag of you a painful reminder that he can’t have you right now, not until he answers, “whose cock is this?”

“‘s yours, all for you, no one else baby, it's your cock, i'm yours, fuck, angel i need you, need you to make me-“

leon’s jaw goes slack when you sink down and take him all at once, down to the base, tip nudging against your cervix and he cums. his eyes go crossed and hips twitch with each spurt of cum that leaks out and down his balls in a creamy mess, mumbling out a stream of thank yous as you fuck the cum out of him.

he's dazed. so fucked-out that he barely notices that you've slipped him out and shifted up his body until your pussy nudges against his chin. eyes blearily blink open and leon feels himself throbbing again at the sight of your pussy hovering inches above his mouth, glossed with his milky cum. and when you say, "clean up your mess, baby," leon is all too eager to oblige.

re4 leon

you’ve ruined leon kennedy.

because every time he pushes inside you, leon swears his mind goes completely blank. no one will ever feel as good as you do, will ever make him feel this way: drunk, dizzy, mind too syrupy to process anything but the drag of him in and out, in and out of you. but even when he can barely think, leon still fucks you the way you like, driven by pure muscle memory; slow, deep thrusts, the ones where he leaves just the tip inside, only to sink back in one smooth motion, down to the base, til your clit grinds on his pelvis. the ones that make you cry out and wrap your legs around his hips like you’re trying to trap him in and never let him go.

and he doesn’t want you to, never wants to be anywhere other than inside you like this, so so deep that when he puts a hand on your tummy and pushes down, he swears he can feel himself beneath his own palm. the pressure only makes you clench around him so tightly leon grits his teeth and lets out a hiss, hips starting to grow sloppy in their thrusts. a tell-tale sign he’s close, that he’s gonna cum.

“leon,” you pant. “i want it.”

it takes him longer than it should to process what you’re saying. but the way your thighs tighten around him and the ball of your heel digs into his lower back gives him some idea of what you want.

“w-wait… baby,” he whines. “i can’t- you gotta let me go, sweetheart-“

he tries to tell you he’s close, that he should pull out, but you lean forward to lick the drool at the corner of his mouth and then you’re kissing him. tongue meeting his own and you’re everywhere, overwhelming him, the only thing he can feel and smell and think about right now is you. it’s uncoordinated, messy, teeth accidentally clicking together while leon sucks at your tongue with a desperation that has you groaning against him. he blindly fumbles for your hands before lacing his fingers through yours, clinging to you, so hopelessly and utterly consumed by his love and want for you it feels like he’s drowning. never once does he break away, mumbling into the kiss, “‘m gonna—please, baby, i-“

“cum for me.” you don’t pull away either, instead murmuring against his lips, “cum in me, leon, wan’ it so bad. want you so bad.”

you feel rather than hear the groan he lets out as he finally cums, burying himself balls deep and shooting thick, hot spurts into you. his thrusts slow as he shallowly fucks the load you begged for deep inside you, giving you all that he has and he always will because he loves you.

[readinglistfics]

aaa more leon please!! literally anything fluffy i lauve your writing soso much ^_^

⋅˚₊‧ ୨keep your heart close to mine୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Leon’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to mention your period. Over months of careful reconnaissance he’s learned that when he’s teasing and you start yelling at him rather then giggle he should cradle you gently, stroke your hair, and give you a million and one kisses. Or when he’s trying to get a little frisky and cups your chest and you wince with tenderness, he should go a little slower and check under the bathroom sink for pads and tampons. He notices the other things too, acne, bloating, body aches, he takes it with stride. No honey, that dress does not make you look fat, but it would look better on his bedroom floor, that’s all.

Leon isn’t ignorant enough to not know what it means when he comes home and finds you in bed, fetal position with a bottle of warm water stuck to your lower tummy. “Oh, Leon—I didn’t even hear you come in.” You sniffle apologetically, smiling at him like you aren’t hyper aware of your organs shredding layers. “That’s a little worrying, what if I was a girl nabber? I would totally nab you.” He says shedding his uniform till he’s down to his wife beater and boxers. If you didn’t feel another throb in your stomach you’d be all over him, his abs contract with every breath, his skin is darker in some areas cause he doesn’t wear a long sleeve. “I’d let you nab me, just not in a trunk or anything, i’m claustrophobic.” You say not unenthusiastic, but he can tell you’re not yourself. “No trunks, noted.” He sits by your bedside, gently petting your head, smoothing down fly-aways. “You took medicine already?” Leon asks, feeling the way you nod against his hand. “Okay, it’ll kick in soon.” He dips down, stealing a kiss. “Hi by the way.” He says holding the back of his hand to your forehead, no fever, just a period, “Hi.” You smile at him, he loves that shy little look, like you have anything to be shy about, he returns your smile. “I’m gonna shower, then ‘m all yours okay?” he would stay if you asked, “Okay.” You nod, he kisses your cheek, one for the road, then pads off.

Leon is wearing a loose shirt and some sweats, holding a mug of tea for you, his hair is damp, but his skin is smooth with lotion. “Thanks.” you say sitting up upon his arrival, accepting the warm drink, he added the most perfect amount of honey. He lies down in bed with a deep sigh, it feels good to just be in bed after a long day of work. “You made it all warm.” Leon chirps pleasantly, splaying out like he’s going to make a snow angel. You reach over him to the nightstand, setting your mug down, he gives you grabby hands and you lie down next to him. Leon wraps his arms around you, “You smell bedridden.” He dips his head into the column of your throat, taking a deep breath. “What? Bedridden? Ew…I should shower.” You say trying to worm away “No, stay, bedridden as in…like detergent.” He hums, realizing how weirdly he worded things, your smell is messing with his brain. “You are so weird.” You laugh softly. He shushes you, “Mwuahh.” He gives you a kiss, then another, then another, one to the corner of your mouth. He wants to roll you up in blankets and just hold you, give you kisses, stroke your hair. You look so content getting all his attention, he gives you a squeeze, “God you’re so cute!” He groans, smacking another kiss against your mouth. “What’s with you?” you giggle, his affection is nice, but you think all his cute aggression might end up with you smothered. “I dunno, I sniffed you for too long, now im high.” He smooths your hair down again, it’s less successful, “Cheesy.” you reply, he shrugs. He has the face and body of a cool suave guy, but Leon is a major cornball, he was lucky to enough to find someone into it.

“One more.” He hums, you close the gap between the two of you, giving him another kiss, he smiles into it. He loves your mouth, not just for kisses, but the way you smile, the shape of your lips. “Does your stomach still hurt?” He asks and you shake your head, “I think the medicine finally kicked in.” You do feel less crappy, maybe all his kisses are healing you. He nods, laying back down, prompting you to turn around, do your back is facing him. Leon slides his hand under your shirt, splaying his warm palm just under your belly button, you sigh happily. Leon kisses the back of your neck, tossing his leg over yours, he gets his best sleep when he uses you like a teddy bear. “Are you sleepy?” You ask incredulously.

“I worked all day!”

“You sat behind a desk all day.”

“Doing mountains of paperwork.” Leon retorts, blowing a raspberry against your skin. “Fine.” You grumble, “Fine as in you’ll nap with me?” He asks hopefully, you nod and he giving you a loving squeeze. You let him drool and snore all over you for a couple of hours, you decide your reward should be a nice warm dinner. When he wakes up all perky he does it without even being asked, leave it to Leon to take care of you, even when you don’t ask, but always when you need it.

dividers by @ithemes

a/n: thanks for the request anon!

[readinglistfics]

Snowy logs

short drabble

featuring. leon s kennedy x pregnant!reader

just fluffy protective leon and that’s all

Leon had always been protective of you, but lately, since finding out you were pregnant, he’d taken it to a new level. Every time you even hinted at stepping outside, he’d insist on doing it for you. And now, with the safe haven up in the snowy mountains of Canada, surrounded by blankets of snow and icy air, he was even more adamant.

Bundled in a thick coat, Leon stood outside, splitting logs in the crisp air. His breath puffed out in soft clouds, and each swing of the axe echoed through the snowy landscape. From the warmth of the cabin, you could see the determined expression on his face. It was a mixture of focus and knowing how he was, genuine worry for you.

After watching him for a few minutes, you couldn’t help but feel the need to be with him. It was freezing outside, but the cabin felt too quiet, and besides, a little fresh air never hurt anyone. With some effort, you wrapped yourself up in your warmest coat, tugging your hat down over your ears and your scarf around your neck. Stepping outside, the cold air bit into your cheeks, but it felt refreshing.

As soon as Leon caught sight of you, he paused mid-swing. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he called, dropping the axe immediately. “What are you doing out here? You’re supposed to be inside, staying warm!”

You grinned at his exaggerated concern. “I just came to keep you company,” you said, walking carefully across the snowy ground towards him. “You look like you could use a little break.”

He put his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “Babe, it’s freezing out here, and you’re five months pregnant. You’re not exactly built for chopping wood right now.”

“Maybe I’m not here to chop wood,” you replied, trying to stifle a laugh. “Maybe I just wanted to help a little, hold the logs for you or something.”

Leon’s eyes widened in horror. “Hold the logs? Absolutely not! I don’t need you holding anything out here in this cold.” He came over, gently guiding you back towards the porch. “Your only job right now is staying warm and taking care of yourself. And our baby,” he added with a soft smile, his hand resting protectively on your belly.

You placed your hand over his and looked up at him, your eyes sparkling with affection. “You worry way too much. I’m fine, really. It’s just some snow and fresh air.”

Leon sighed, tucking a loose strand of your hair back under your hat. “Fresh air can be enjoyed from the comfort of the porch,” he replied, but you could see the smile tugging at his lips. “Come on, I’m serious. Let me finish up here, and I’ll be right inside with you. I don’t want you getting sick or slipping out here. You know how clumsy you can get.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me, did you just call me clumsy?”

He let out a soft chuckle, rubbing his hands together to warm them. “I’m not saying it’s your fault,” he teased. “But you did manage to trip over that log just last week. And that was indoors.”

Rolling your eyes, you playfully nudged him. “Maybe you should be more careful where you leave things, then, Mr. Kennedy.”

Leon smiled, catching your hand in his as he pulled you closer. “See, this is why you should be inside right now. You’re too adorable out here, and it’s distracting me from my very important log-splitting duties.”

You shook your head but couldn’t hide your smile. “You’re ridiculous. It’s just wood, Leon. It’s not like you’re saving the world this time.”

He tilted his head, giving you a look. “I don’t know…feels like I’m keeping two of my favorite people safe right now. That’s pretty close.”

Your heart melted at that, and you hugged him, feeling the warmth of his arms around you even through your thick coats. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then another to your cheek, lingering for a moment before speaking softly. “Why don’t you go back inside, sit by the fire, and I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“Only if you promise to take a break,” you replied, giving him a stern look. “You’ve been at this all morning.”

Leon laughed, his breath warm against your skin. “Alright, deal. I’ll take a break as soon as I finish this stack. You have my word.”

As you walked back up the porch steps, Leon’s voice stopped you. “Wait, hold on,” he called, rushing over to catch you before you went inside. “Here,” he said, wrapping his scarf around your neck on top of your own. “I’ll grab another one for myself, but you keep this.”

You chuckled, adjusting the extra scarf. “Thank you, but now I look like I have three chins.”

He shrugged, grinning. “You look cute, that’s all I care about.”

With that, you went back inside, feeling warm not just from the extra scarf but from Leon’s attentiveness. Settling by the fire, you watched through the window as he got back to work, occasionally glancing at the cabin to make sure you were okay.

When he finally came inside, red-cheeked and breathless from the cold, he brushed the snow off his coat and plopped down next to you, taking his gloves off and warming his hands by the fire. “Alright, happy now?” he asked with a smirk.

“Yes,” you replied, leaning against him. “Though I still think you’re going a little overboard with all this protectiveness.”

Leon wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “You know, I never thought I’d get to do this,” he said, his voice softening. “Be out here with you, building a life together. I didn’t even think it was possible.”

You placed a hand over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath your palm. “I know. It still feels surreal sometimes, doesn’t it?”

He nodded, his eyes looking distant for a moment before he looked back at you with that soft, warm gaze you’d come to adore. “Yeah, but I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. And I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep it that way.”

He paused, looking down at your belly, then back up at you. “I’m going to be the best husband and dad I can be. So, that means I might be a little…overprotective.”

You laughed, brushing your hand along his cheek. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” he replied, meeting your gaze intently.

“Let me come outside sometimes. I can’t be cooped up forever,” you said with a mischievous smile.

Leon chuckled, nodding. “Alright, but only if you wear two scarves, five coats, and let me carry you everywhere.”

“Oh, come on,” you groaned, laughing as he pulled you close and kissed your forehead. “I’d look like a snowman!”

“Then I’ll just have to love my adorable snowman,” he murmured, holding you tight, the warmth of the fire and his arms wrapping you up in a blanket of love and safety.

As the snow continued to fall outside and the fire crackled warmly in the hearth, you felt like you were exactly where you belonged. Being wrapped in Leon’s arms, safe, warm, and ready to face life as parents of a baby in the cold outskirts of Canada. Away from off the the ruckus that is the umbrella corp.

taglist: @writingwisterias

banners. @anitalenia

[readinglistfics]

Family Matters

DI! Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Death Island Spoilers!

Summary– The kids are exposed to the evils of the world. Word count: 3746 D/n– Daughter's name S/n– Son's name Sequels: Aftermath / Out Together

You woke to the sound of quiet sniffling. Someone was shaking you, almost begging you to wake up. Your eyes opened, your vision fuzzy and your head feeling like it had been stuffed with cotton.

“Mommy, wake up,” your daughter cried as she shook you. “Please, wake up.”

You groaned, reaching up to rub your eyes. Taking in your surroundings, you knew you were far from Los Angeles. Instead, you were surrounded by concrete walls and steel bars. This wasn’t the Walk of Fame, it was a prison.

“Mommy, I’m scared,” your daughter said, throwing herself in your arms.

“Don’t be scared,” said her twin brother confidently. “Dad’ll save us.” His pacing betrayed his confidence, not that his sister could tell with her face hidden in your shoulder. “Besides, Aunt Claire and Uncle Chris are here, too.”

“They are?” you asked. The fog in your head was starting to lift. “Chris? Claire?”

“We’re here,” Chris called. But he sounded weak, wounded. 

“Where exactly is ‘here’?”

“Alcatraz,” said Claire. If Chris sounded terrible, she sounded worse. Whatever was going on, you knew it was something the kids shouldn’t be a part of. “Jill’s here, too.” Somewhere." It only took a second for you to connect the dots. If they were all here, then surely Leon would be as well. 

You knew he had been on assignment in San Francisco so logically he couldn’t be too far away. It was supposed to be simple– a job he could complete in a day or so and then he would meet you and the kids in Los Angeles. How it turned into this…

We’re bait, you thought. It was a virtual guarantee. But how? All of your files had been secured and locked up; Leon had made sure of it. So how did you end up here? Why were you here?

D/n trembled in your arms and S/n was becoming more restless. Carefully, you lifted D/n with one arm and pushed yourself to your feet with the other. Reaching out to touch the bars, you gave them a firm shake. They didn’t budge.

“I gotta set you down, baby,” you said to D/n. She nodded hesitantly, going to her brother once she was out of your arms. She and S/n went to sit on the cot, holding each other’s hands. S/n’s leg bounced nervously.

You continued to examine the bars, looking for any kind of weakness. “So, what brought all of you to Alcatraz?” Might as well get an idea of what you were about to face if you were going to be stuck here.

“There were outbreaks in the city,” Chris said, his breathing heavy. “Found a connection to Alcatraz…”

That’s certainly one way to get him and Jill here, you thought. But what about Leon? How did his assignment connect to all of this?

“You kids okay?” Claire asked, taking a sharp breath.

“Okay,” S/n answered softly. 

You abandoned the bars and went to kneel in front of them. D/n’s face was blotchy with tears and she was wiping her nose with her sleeve. Soft hiccups rocked her little body. S/n, on the other hand, was still bouncing his leg and kept his eyes trained on the floor in front of him. You took their hands and gave them a soft squeeze.

“We’ll be okay,” you assured them. “I won’t let anything happen to either of you, understand?” You looked each of them in the eye. “No one will touch you while I’m here.” D/n nodded and you reached up to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“Mom,” S/n said, but his attention wasn’t on you. It was on someone standing outside of the cell. A tall woman stood there, dressed in a shiny pink jumpsuit. You knew exactly who she was and suddenly it all made sense.

Like a switch had flipped, your attitude went from soft and caring to tough and protective. You stood and put yourself between her and the twins. “What do you want?” Your voice was sharp and stern.

“Your husband will pay for what he did to my father,” Maria replied.

“Yeah, I get that.” You took a step closer. “But they have no part in it. You want to use someone, use me. This isn’t their fight.”

“It became their fight when he murdered my father. They deserve to know what kind of monster theirs is.”

S/n jumped up from the cot and rushed against the bars, gripping them so hard his knuckles turned white. “Our Dad’s a hero!” he yelled. “You're the monster!” Maria hit the bars, scaring S/n away from them. But he only backed away enough to stand next to you and stared Maria down as she marched down the cell block.

D/n was crying again. S/n turned to her. “Dad’s gonna be here,” he assured her. “He’s gonna save us– just like he saved the girl in Spain!” He froze like a deer in headlights and glanced over at you.

“S/n Marvin Kennedy,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You’ve been in your father’s office again, haven’t you?”

“No.” An obvious lie. There was no other way he would know about Spain and Leon would never talk about past missions with his kids. He never even really told him what his job was.

“We’re having a talk about that later.” He bowed his head and went to sit beside his sister again. “And I’m reminding Dad to change those locks, too.” S/n seemed to shrink more into himself. “Anything else you want to tell me?”

He stayed quiet for a moment. “Dad… maybe… kinda taught me to pick locks.”

“Then get us out of here!” D/n yelled at him.

“I don’t have anything to use!”

Leon would certainly get a scolding for that. A sharp pain shot in your neck. A moment later your body felt weak and you leaned against the wall for support. In an instant, breathing began to get harder, too.

“Mommy?” D/n said through her sniffles.

“Y/n?” came Claire’s voice. Whatever had infected Claire and Chris had infected you, too. But how? Your mind raced. You were never bitten.

You groaned in pain, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. With what strength you could muster, you crawled back to the bars to put distance between you and the kids. D/n moved to go to you but S/n held her back. He knew something was wrong. He knew there was a reason you were moving away from them. At eight years old, you hated how perceptive he was.

Lights shone at the other end of the prison block. Footsteps came closer, echoing off the walls. You gripped the bars, trying to ready yourself to face Maria and whoever else she was working with.

“Leon?” Claire muttered softly.

The kids gasped and ran to the cell door. “Daddy!”

“Y/n? Kids?” Leon rushed to your cell, quickly holstering his gun. The kids reached their hands through the bars, trying to hug him as best as they could. He looked them over for any injuries. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” S/n told him. “But Mom…”

The pain was getting worse. Your breaths had turned into short gasps. The twins let go of him and he turned to you, cupping your face in his hands. “Hey, handsome,” you breathed. 

“Long time, no see, sweetheart,” he replied, his blue eyes full of worry. “What happened?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know. We were going to the Walk of Fame and…” Then you gestured to the cell. “I’m sorry… I should’ve been… more careful.” Maybe you were starting to get rusty. Years ago you would’ve seen the ambush from a mile away.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Get us out of here!” another man’s voice cried, catching Leon’s attention. 

“Well, I’ll be,” Leon muttered as he craned his neck to see who spoke. There was no way in hell he was leaving his family’s side right now. “Antonio Taylor… I’ll deal with you later.”

The overhead lights turned on and the kids scrambled to your side. The light stung your eyes and a headache started to form at your temple. Leon shot up, pulling his gun from its holster and scanning the cell block. There at the second-story railing stood Maria and another man, his cane tapping rhythmically on the metal floor.

This new man introduced himself as Dylan Blake. “I bet you’re wondering how people are getting infected without being bit,” he said, proudly going on to describe his bio-drones: insects that could infect whomever Blake pleased. Your heart sank at this realization. It was only a matter of time before you turned. 

You tuned out whatever Blake continued to say, your attention on the kids. D/n was still shaking like a leaf against you, but her tears had stopped. S/n was on his knees in front of you. The pain was starting to become unbearable, and knowing what would happen if you turned… 

“There’s a reason I left you and Leon alone, Jill,” Blake continued. “You want to talk about justice? You should be pointing your guns at Claire and Y/n.” Leon spared a glance at you. You were pale and shivering and you were only getting worse. “They’ll turn soon enough and when they do, they’ll rip apart the doctor and those kids.”

“The kids have no part in this!” Leon snapped.

“They became part of it when you began to work for liars, people who cover up the truth. The ones continuously sending you into battle rather than staying home with your family.” Leon stiffened. You knew he felt guilty about being away from home so much. “Which will it be? Your wife or your kids? Better make your choice quick before she devours them.”

“Leon,” you called softly. With his gun still trained on Blake, he looked back at you. You nodded at him, but he shook his head. Shooting you wasn’t an option for him. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to shoot his children– he’d rather die than do that.

Soon enough Blake and Maria were gone and Leon was back by your side, D/n and S/n clinging to the arm he slid between the bars. “Babies,” he said, “I need you to get in that back corner. Can you do that for me?” They nodded and did as he said. His attention turned to you and he lowered his voice so they couldn’t hear. “Y/n, I’m not shooting you. The twins need you and I will not let them witness something like that.”

“I don’t want to hurt them,” you told him, tears welling in your eyes. “Leon, you have to.”

“No.” His voice was stern. “It’s not gonna happen. We’ll figure it out.”

You lifted your hand to gently trace the curve of his jaw, his stubble lightly scratching your skin. “I love you, Leon.” He held your hand against his face, pressing a kiss to your palm.

“Daddy,” D/n called. “What’s gonna happen to Mommy?”

“Mommy’s going to be just fine,” he told her firmly. Leon felt like the worst father in the world. The last thing he had ever wanted was for his kids to be dragged into his work. He was sure that with Y/n at home, they’d be perfectly fine. He thought he’d taken every step necessary to keep his family safe. What had gone so wrong that they ended up here?

“Real father of the year,” he muttered under his breath.

“This… isn’t your… fault.” You curled in on yourself as pain shot through your body. You had the cell bars in a death grip as you attempted to maintain yourself. Something was brewing in your chest, something violent and bloody. You met Leon’s eyes, your tears finally falling. “Please…”

Just as he was about to reply, someone came running into the cell block. It was Rebecca with a hard-shelled case in her arms. “What’s that?” Leon asked, but he already knew the answer. He just needed to hear it to believe it.

“A vaccine,” Rebecca replied, popping the case open and handing him a syringe.

Leon couldn’t move fast enough. He uncapped the syringe and brushed your hair aside. “This might hurt, baby.” There was a sting in your neck as he injected the vaccine. Relief washed over you like a cool blanket and finally, you were able to catch your breath. As you composed yourself, Leon got to work on unlocking the door.

The door slid open and Leon enveloped you in his arms, pressing a kiss to your lips. He pulled away and the two of you were nearly thrown over as the twins barreled into you. Leon held all three of you tight against his chest.

“I told you Dad would save us,” S/n said, his voice muffled against Leon’s shirt. Leon kissed the tops of their heads and pulled away just enough to look at all of you.

Whatever was in that vaccine worked wonders and by the time you were back on your feet, you felt good as new. “What now?” You couldn’t just take the kids and leave. There was no telling what was lurking in the halls. Taking them with Leon was risky– Blake wouldn’t give up easily. There was no doubt in your mind that there’d be a shootout at some point.

Leon kissed you again and handed you a spare gun. It wasn’t safe here with the bio-drones and he wasn’t about to let you go out and try to escape the island with two eight-year-olds. His only option was to try to keep you all in his sight and out of harm’s way. “Stay with me.” He turned to the twins. “You two,” S/n stood a bit straighter, “do exactly as I or your mother say. Understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” they replied in unison.

The four of you made your way to the armory. Leon took the lead with the twins behind him and you taking up the rear. Once you made it to the armory, Leon stopped and hugged the kids again. “I love you,” he said to them, “listen to Mom.”

“Where are you going?” D/n asked, gripping his shirt.

“I’m gonna stop the bad guys,” he replied. “Be good.” He stood and pecked your lips. “Get to the control room, you’ll be safe there.”

~~

The three of you reached the control room. The openness of the room didn’t bring you much comfort– there wasn’t any real place to hide the kids. The best you could do was keep them away from the windows.

You made sure the door was secure and turned to the kids, tucking your gun into your waistband as you kneeled in front of them. “How are you two doing?” The answer was obvious, but you wanted to hear them talk to you. You needed them to focus as best as they could and make sure that they understood how important their safety was.

“Aren’t you scared?” S/n asked. 

“I am,” you answered honestly. “And it’s okay to be.”

“So you and Daddy were doing this stuff when you met?” asked D/n in a small voice. She had calmed down but maintained a nearly bone-crushing grip on her brother’s hand. You knew that she had always wanted to picture a romantic meeting between you and Leon like the other girls’ parents at school, but the reality was not nearly as sweet.

“Yeah, sweetie–”

A monstrous roar cut you off and the twins screamed. You grabbed your gun and spun around to the window. A massive, mutated monster took up the expanse of the window, but it wasn’t focused on you. Still, you ushered the kids back into the wall farthest away and kept your gun trained on it.

A number of loud pops sounded from outside. Gunshots. The others must be down there. With the beast’s attention away from the window, you focused your attention on the door. Your grip on your gun tightened. The kids jumped and gasped behind you with each new explosion. Shielding them from watching those through the window would be near impossible.

Something smashed against the window, but the glass held strong. Barrels and boxes flew throughout the expanse of the armory. The ground shook beneath you and the groans of crashing metal echoed in your ears.

The door burst open, scaring the kids and startling you. It was Claire and Rebecca.

“What is that thing!?” D/n yelled.

The two stopped short, unsure of how to answer her. Claire recovered first. “That’s the bad guy.”

“That’s the bad guy!?” S/n repeated. He tugged on your shirt. “You have to go help Dad!”

“I need to keep you two safe.” As much as you wanted to go help, you and Leon had talked long ago about situations like this. Situations you had hoped and prayed would never come to pass and a discussion that led to your retiring from the D.S.O.

Only one of you would actively fight. The other would stay with the kids no matter what. That way if something happened to the other, the twins would still have at least one parent.

“What are you doing?” D/n asked as Claire and Rebecca rushed to the main computer.

“We,” Rebecca started as her hands moved across the keys, “are gonna stop a bunch of bugs.”

~~

As the gunshots rang and rockets exploded, Leon kept watch on the windows of the control room. Leading the creature, formerly Dylan Blake, away from those windows was his top priority (aside from killing it, of course).

At least with Maria dead, he didn’t have to worry about someone else going after you and the twins. And even if she were still alive, you’d give her hell for doing this to your family.

“Just a heads up,” Chris said as they put together a massive rocket launcher, “the missus is gonna have a word with you about teaching S/n to pick locks.” He grunted as they slid the two pieces of the weapon together.

Leon grinned. He knew that would come back to bite him one day. Hell, he was looking forward to your scolding. “I’d be surprised if she didn’t.” He lifted the front of the launcher up on his shoulder while Chris steadied it from behind. “A little lower.” Chris kneeled down a bit more, letting Leon get a higher angle.

The creature had jumped into the water after Jill and was now trying to make for open waters. Leon aimed for the gate's pulley system. With only one shot, he needed to make this count.

Another second passed as he steadied the launcher and pulled the trigger.

The rocket flew from the barrel, jolting him and Chris as it flew to the gate. The rocket exploded on impact, and the gate dropped. It crashed into the water and a moment later another explosion erupted. Blood stained the water and pieces of Blake's mutated carcass rained down.

Leon eyed the water nervously, searching for any movement that could indicate that somehow the bastard survived. When nothing aside from a massive corpse floated to the surface, he sighed in relief.

He barely had a moment to relax before he was knocked over. It wasn't often that his kids caught him off guard, but here they were, piled on top of him and hugging him so tight he could barely breathe. Well, if he were to die, being smothered by his childrens' affection didn’t seem like such a bad option to him.

Once he’d regained his bearings, he hugged them equally as tight, enough to make them groan and try to push away from him (which in turn made him squeeze just a bit harder). He turned his head to see you approaching, a soft smile on your face. “Care to join in on this?”

“He’s crushing us!” S/n squealed.

“Am not,” Leon huffed.

“Are too!”

He let the twins go and sat up. D/n stayed in his lap and S/n sat beside him. At that moment, there was no denying that S/n was his son. He was almost a carbon copy of his father. The scene almost made you forget about everything that had just happened.

You could still feel a faint throbbing where Blake’s drone had stung you, an eerie reminder of what could have been if Rebecca hadn’t shown up when she did.

“Can we go home now?” D/n asked.

~~

While waiting for the evacuation helicopters, the twins had taken to bombarding Claire and Rebecca with questions, giving you a brief moment alone with your husband.

“You know we’re not sleeping alone for a good while.” 

“I know.” He watched as S/n turned his attention to Chris, climbing up on the man’s shoulders. Where other parents might dread the thought of having their bed invaded, Leon welcomed it. He’d rather have them running to him in the dead of night than deal with nightmares on their own.

“We should’ve just stayed in D.C.,” you mumbled, leaning against Leon as he wrapped an arm around you. Maybe if you and the kids had stayed home they would have been spared the terror of being kidnapped and threatened.

Leon shook his head. “Maria would’ve found a way.” Of that, he was certain. If there was anyway to guarantee his suffering, targeting his family was a sure way to do it. “We’ll take a real vacation after this.”

“D/n has been begging to go to Disney.” You sighed. “We can’t hide this stuff from them anymore.” That was perhaps the worst of it. You and Leon had gone to great lengths to shield them from the reality of Leon’s work.

The two of you watched the twins. Chris was still carrying S/n on his shoulders and at some point D/n had managed to steal Claire’s red jacket. Soon, they came running back, wedging themselves between you.

D/n pointed toward the horizon. “Are those the helicopters?”

“They sure are,” Leon replied as he smoothed her hair.

S/n tugged on Leon’s shirt and flashed his best set of puppy eyes. “Can I have the window seat?”

[readinglistfics]

husband!ghost x wife!reader (with a lil baby)

mentions of: pure fluff, pregnancy, newborns, happy domestic life, bodily changes after birth, no y/n

Simon almost panicks when you carefully place your newborn on his chest, snug and cozy without warning.

"Luv, wait—" He has no idea where to put his hands until you gently guide his larger, rough hands to support your baby's little bottom, and the other hand on their tiny back.

His body freezes as he moves his head in a robotic motion to take a look at his child.

Your newborn slept soundly, with tiny little chubby cheeks and tiny little socks on their tiny feet. Only ten days old, Simon's large hand covers your baby's entire back, keeping them warm and comfy.

"Christ.. 's like carryin' a dandelion. Weighs nothin'.." Simon mumbles, trying to tilt his head down to see his baby's little sweet face.

He turns his head slowly to you when you yawn, resting your cheek on his shoulder while you admire your little bundle of sweetness and joy.

He can see the way your hair gently glows in the dim rays of the setting sun and how the light reflects so prettily off your face.

.

After giving birth, your body wasn't the same. Of course, it was normal but it introduced you to new insecurities.

However, Simon only saw all the good stuff that you would always miss, too busy focusing on the flaws.

He loved the way your hips, belly, legs, chest and arms grew more plump and soft, with new found stretch marks to love and trace. He'd find himself nuzzling his face into the warmth of your body a bit too much often, showering himself with your sweet, floral scented shampoos and lotions.

After you gave birth, he happily assisted you with every shower and bath, gently scrubbing your hair and cleaning your body, loving every part of you, without you even having to ask.

He loved the way you practically glowed after giving birth, even though you had no idea.

.

Simon planted a kiss on the top of your head, making you chuckle softly.

"You popped out this little bugger that we made. Can y'believe it?" He mumbled, gently stroking your baby's head, where there were very subtle few strands of light blonde hair.

You reached out your hand to gently carress your sweet baby's little cheek as their little eyes fluttered open. Their tiny hands wailing and searching for something to grip onto.

Simon froze when your newborn cooed before letting out little sobs and cries, their tiny face scrunching up in tears.

Simon panicked (again), "Fuck. Help me, luv.." He said, aimlessly adjusting his hands.

He let out a deep breath when you carefully picked up your baby, gently carrying them in your arms, where their tiny hands held onto your shirt, looking up at you as the tears eventually stopped. You cooed as your baby's beady eyes looked up at you so sweetly, fighting sleep to look at their mama for longer.

Simon let out a deep chuckle. "Already got favourites, huh, you little shit?" He says while he reaches his hand out to the little booger, letting their tiny hand wrap around his index finger, holding it tightly.

"Ah.. Now you're pretendin' to sleep to escape, huh?" He joked with a low chuckle as your baby's sweet eyes fall back asleep with chubby cheeks pressed delicately against your chest, all snug and warm.

"Looks a bit like you.." You mumble softly, as your eyes gaze over your baby's face, tracing their little features. A tiny, pink button nose. Chubby, soft cheeks. Little blonde strands of hair and tiny fingernails.

"Yeah.. There's ah bit of you in there too.." He said quietly, gently rubbing his thumb over your newborn's undeveloped, tiny knuckles.

You don't see it, but Simon's gaze is actually on you. He's watching the way you softly smile at the sight of your baby and the way your cheeks swell with affection and how your eyes sparkle.

"So sweet.." He mumbles, while the look of love lingers in his eyes on you and chuckles when he hears you quietly agree, while your gaze is set on your sweet newborn.

writers note: aahhhjj i havent posted in soo long guys

feel free to post some fic reccomendatiins and suggestions!! this isnt proofread but i hope u enjoy lool i love reading about happy home life family things

[readinglistfics]

A Sea Of Gold And Green

Captain John Price / fem!Reader

A ripple and shudder goes through the mounted body. Unseen fingers flex inside leather gloves, the chest filled with straw draws breath through a mouth that isn't there.

Content:   monster!AU, Scarecrow?Price, horror elements, getting lost and chased, feeding on fear, swearing, caring Price, Reader has a little crush but no idea what's going on, open ending

Word Count:   3.4k

Part:    1 - Ghost - read 'A Proper Name' here! (highly recommend for the lore of this universe!)  2 - Price - you are about to read 'A Sea Of Gold And Green'! 3 - Soap - read 'A Debt Repaid' here!

Notes:   Welcome back to my Halloween 'Monsters, Inc.' Special! As promised: we are continuing within the same universe, where monsters feed on our fears, and names mean everything. Thank you for all the love you showed my Reaper?Ghost, it's been so nice to read your thoughts and encouragement. 🖤

There is something decidedly romantic about autumn. 

How the leaves continue to change colours day by day, how everybody arrives at the office with rosy cheeks and scarves, how your coffee curls up into the early morning air in tiny puffs of steam. 

Your nephew is running along next to you, away from the pumpkin patch you just had your pick from, and towards the corn maze. How one tiny human being could be this energetic, you would never understand. But his enthusiasm makes you smile as you drag along the cart on wooden wheels you’d take to the cash register later.

Other children are busy playing on a small playground nearby, their parents chatting as the kids jump on a trampoline or go down a slippery slide, shrieking when their pants get wet from the rainwater that had accumulated at the bottom overnight.

“Wanna go on the swing, buddy?” You call out to your nephew, and he stops, uncertain. Jonah was a quiet kid, shy. Seeing the two girls who were using the swing at the moment, he shook his head and gazed up at you through his unruly fringe.

“I’d like to pick some corn from the maze first,” he said seriously and you shrugged your shoulders with a grin. Suited you just fine. You loved the kids in your own family, but dealing with screaming children of other people always left you drained. 

“But stay close to me, alright? If we get lost, then we get lost together.”

Jonah puffed up his chest in indignation. 

“Boyscouts don’t get lost.”

You roll your eyes behind his back with a fond smile and follow him past the cheerful sign that invited you to have an A-MAZE-ing time. Hilarious. Snapping a picture of it and your cart full of pumpkins, you send it into the family group chat.

The vibrant golden and green hues all around are gorgeous, and you trail a hand over the surprisingly smooth outside of a couple of corn cobs, before looking around, searching.

“Jonah?” You call out, and his small voice answers from up ahead somewhere. He hadn’t waited for you to stop playing on your phone, running straight into the big maze instead. 

“I’m here!” He hollers back and peeks his head around the first corner on your left. “Come on, auntie!” 

“Geez, alright alright!” You laugh, and he disappears again. When you turn the corner as well, he’s already busy cutting - you hope and pray that he was doing as you two had practiced, and that all fingers would stay intact.

He dumps two cobs in your cart, and shoots off again, leaving you to drag the heavy thing through the increasingly less traversed paths and muddy holes. 

The deeper you two go, the quieter it gets. You’re walled in from all sides, and the laughing shrieks of playing children are slowly replaced by the rustle of leaves and small animals that inhabit the maze.

A chilly breeze runs through the narrow paths, and you shiver, drawing your fluffy cardigan closer. 

“I need to pee,” Jonah announces eventually, popping up from a different direction than you expected him in.

You kept losing sight of him, but the little whirlwind continued to find his way back to you, so you weren’t too worried. Looking around, you spot a scarecrow mounted by a crossroad, loose clothes fluttering in the wind. 

“I’ll wait there,” you tell him, secretly glad for the small break. “And when you’re done, we’ll try to find the centre of the maze and then go back to the farm, yeah?”

He nodded with a shrug, then stepped off the path and into the tall stalks, disappearing from view. 

Sighing, you drag your cart over to the scarecrow, leaning against the handle to rest. Your shoes were caked with mud, and the tops of your cheeks had turned pink from the biting autumn air. 

Trying to listen out for any sign that your nephew might need help, your gaze drifts over the manmade paths that seemed to accumulate in this spot. It makes you wonder if this was the centre, as anticlimactic as that would be.

Hands balled against your hips, you turn slowly, wishing you had a better sense of direction and feeling for space. 

How big was the maze again? You’re sure there had been some information about that on their website. And should you go left or down the middle?

As you complete your contemplative circle, you're suddenly faced with the scarecrow again. It’s mounted on a thick wooden staff, clothes big but well maintained. A wide-brimmed hat covers the face almost entirely, and black leather gloves hide the straw peeking out of the sleeves.

Something about the scarecrow makes you hesitate. A strange sense of Déjà-vu prickles at the back of your mind, like a memory long forgotten… or suppressed. You cock your head, eyes trailing over the checkered button-up shirt, the long jeans that hang loose. 

Slowly, without really knowing why, you lift a hand towards the hat. It’s smooth, not weather-beaten at all, and that’s strange, really, since the scarecrow must be out here day and night and-

A twig breaks somewhere nearby, and you hastily glance towards it, smiling. But Jonah isn’t back yet, you’re still alone in the sea of gold and green. 

Frowning now, you want to lower your hand, mouth already open to call for your nephew and urge him to hurry, when soft bristles of straw press into your outstretched palm.

You can’t keep the tiny yelp of fear inside at the sensation, feeling silly because what did you expect to feel when touching a puppet made of-

As you look back at the scarecrow, a louder scream gets lodged in your throat. You try to stumble away, but your pumpkin cart is in the way, making you reel.

The scarecrow had lifted its head and leaned forward into your touch. 

Eyes ordinarily made of black buttons seemed to glimmer with malice and the fires of another world, so alive and swirling with darkness. But that was impossible. This was an ordinary scarecrow, in an ordinary corn maze, and you were just losing your-

A ripple and shudder goes through the mounted body. Unseen fingers flex inside leather gloves, the chest filled with straw draws breath through a mouth that isn't there.

You scream for real this time, tripping and falling to your knees as you scramble away, mud caking your jeans. But you couldn’t give any less of a fuck about that, steam from your warm breath coming out in rapid bursts and curling in the morning air as you push yourself up again and start running. 

Away from the path you had come, away from your nephew, away from the monster that lifted itself off of the cross and took some lazy steps, swaying. 

There is no way to properly make out those eyes from a distance, but as you run, you chance another glance backwards and could have sworn that they gleamed brighter now, excited.

The scarecrow lifts one hand to its hat, pulling it more firmly over its face. And then, suddenly, it starts running. 

Not an awkward, stumbling gait or the kind of wobbly, unfocused run you had seen from zombies in horror shows before. No. This was a full sprint, with arms raised and body rippling underneath the clothes, like the straw was trying to burst free of its confines.

There was no breath left to scream, no way to hide. So you run as well, taking random turns, hoping against hope that somebody else is inside the maze that could help or that you somehow found your way back to the farm after all. 

Panic, terror and disbelief warred within as your boots skidded over fallen leaves and muddy ground, steps behind you growing louder and closer. Only a sharp turn, one that you hadn’t even given any conscious thought, saved you from the outstretched hands grasping for you. 

The scarecrow barrels past you, losing valuable seconds as you sprint down another narrow path. Leaves and broken stalks hit your face and arms, and more than once you almost twist your ankle as the soft ground greedily holds on to your feet, as though trying to keep you there. Trapping you, only for its master to find you. 

There is a howl, inhumane and strange, right before a leather-clad hand gets a good grip on your cardigan. You struggle and scream again, ribs smarting from the exercise that you usually avoid like the plague. 

It yanks you backwards until soft, smooth straw is suddenly pushed into your neck. Warm air ghosting along your skin as though the thing is actually alive and breathing you in.

But the force of your abrupt halt and change of direction makes you trip, falling straight into the scarecrow. For all its supernatural strength, the difference in weight is enough to knock it to the ground. 

You close your eyes, ready for impact, but it never comes. Arms wrap themselves around your middle, and you land in a soft heap, cheek pressed to the flannel of the monster. 

Not wasting even a moment, you squirm and push, breaking free of the grip. You scramble backwards and off, trying to get to your knees and off your ass, but the scarecrow does not have the same bodily limitations as a human. 

No fatigue or lack of abdominal muscles keep it from sitting upright and folding itself forward, thick arms reaching for your legs as you struggle. There is mud everywhere, in your hair, your face, your mouth. 

You kick it back hard, black eyes glimmering underneath the brim of the hat as it stares at you almost… exasperatedly.

Like somehow you’re the one that’s causing an inconvenience by not wanting to get captured and meeting a violent end. 

A soft wheezing sound escapes the scarecrow as your heel connects with its shoulder, and you can’t place the sound for a moment, but when it does it again you’re certain: the monster is laughing. Without a mouth, it’s just air pushed through, deep and rustling.

Fear is a strange emotion. It makes time feel meaningless. In a way, you wouldn’t be surprised if someone told you that you had been running away for an hour, when it had probably been no more than a few minutes. 

Fear also has the tendency to make things feel a lot bigger than they are, both figuratively and literally. But this feels pretty fucking huge on all ends.

The absurdity of the situation starts to sink in when your second kick manages to break through the arm that the scarecrow had been leaning on to reach out for you, knocking it off balance.

It’s not laughing anymore. 

As you scramble to your hands and feet, an almost animalistic growl rings out behind you, and one glance over your shoulder shows the limb snapping back into place with no sound at all as the thing gives chase again. 

Your energy is draining fast, and you’re worried that every corner you turn will reveal your nephew waiting for you, and that you’re leading a killer straight towards him. The thought almost makes you stumble, and the next decision is made without hesitation.

Launching yourself into the thicket of the corn maze, you abandon the paths and disappear into the green stalks, sharp edges cutting into your face and arms, the cardigan abandoned somewhere in the mud. 

You continue running, as hard as it is with your view obstructed, but the scarecrow howls in that same way, sounding further away now. It makes you stop for a moment, and turn in a different direction when you see the stupidly clear line you had trampled into the corn. Following the natural growth direction of the rows makes it easier, the lines are straight and you manage to push the plants that no one ever saw from the paths to the side gently. 

Perhaps the scarecrow’s intelligence was not very high and it hadn’t realized that you had plunged yourself off the path?

You almost snort at the thought, hand clamped tightly over your mouth to stifle the heavy breathing and deranged laugh that wants to escape so desperately. It’s a scarecrow. 

Of course, it’s not intelligent! It shouldn’t be able to think at all!

It howls again, closer now but from the other side. Probably running along the manmade trails and looking for you still. You stop moving altogether. Perhaps if you waited long enough it would move on to a different area, and you’d have enough time to get some help at the farm. Surely, somebody was bound to hear all that screeching at some point, right? 

A softer, keening sound came from straight ahead, and while it was impossible to see, you had the ominous feeling of being watched. As though the scarecrow knew exactly where you were hiding, calling out to you. 

But it didn’t make an effort to enter. And you didn’t move a single muscle either.

The same sound again, but with different inflexion and cadence. It was strange, and you strained your ears, trying desperately to figure out whether or not it was moving. Worst case scenario, it was calling for some monster back-up. 

Hearing the way the scarecrow was fighting with whatever… word or expression it tried to make- It jostled something deep within your memory. 

A day much like this one, when you had been nothing more than a little girl. Your parents’ faces, pumpkins. Getting lost within walls of green and brown. 

How worried your mother had been, telling you about wild boars that liked to roam around these parts. How you had told her that there was no need to worry because a friend had been with you, that he had shown you the way out. 

Your father had rolled his eyes, and said something about imaginary people and that they had to be stricter with you, now that you were about to enroll in school. A memory, distant but suddenly very vivid, as though someone had wiped away the condensation on a glass window, and the world became much clearer all of a sudden.

The scarecrow’s voice was little more than a whisper now, but it carried, as though all the animals and wind were holding their breath. And it was clear to you now, what exactly it tried to articulate.

It was your name. The only thing it seemed to be able to say, over and over.

Your blood ran cold, and your paralyzed feet that had been firmly planted in place suddenly moved, stumbling backwards, away from the monster lurking just beyond.

Waiting, calling for you to come out.

It must have heard you move, because surprisingly heavy footsteps squelched through the mud as you ran again, parallel for a moment, until they curved away from you, with the scarecrow still following the thrice-damned paths.

Seeing your chance at finally escaping the thicket again, you burst out into a different section after a few more moments, blissfully alone and sobbing. 

Doubling over from the nauseating feeling in your stomach, you forced yourself to keep moving, rounded another corner at full sprint, and could have sworn that there was the laughter of children nearby, of parents calling out and-

Strong arms caught you around the middle, making you scream and kick and claw against the body keeping you trapped, fearful that the monster would drag you back into the confusing mess of trails until no one would find your body for days.

“Woah there, easy sweetheart, you’re alright,” a deep voice said, not letting go even as you stomped on their foot and cried harder. “I know, must’ve been scary to get lost, but I came to get you out. You’re alright.”

That made you stop, body still tight with tension but the decidedly human voice and warmth managed to cut through the fog of horror. When the man sensed an end to your struggle against him, he turned you around, still keeping his hands on your shoulders when you swayed dangerously.

His mouth was turned up in a gentle smile. The beard and well-worn beanie gave him a rugged look that would have made your knees weak under normal circumstances. He towered over you like a rock out at a stormy sea but lost his smile as he saw the tears still streaming down your cheeks and the way you shivered in only your t-shirt.

Your name was soft and hesitant on his tongue, and you wiped your eyes with shaking hands, peering up at him.

“There-, I-” you stammered, unsure of what to say. Please help? I’m being chased by a talking scarecrow that wants to murder me.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, gently. 

You look down at your own sorry state, the grime and dirt making it look like you’ve been through hell and back.

“I don’t think so?” You whisper, still sniffling. He rubs along your cold arms for a moment, then shrugs out of his long-sleeved button-up and drapes it over your shoulders.

You gaze back down the path you had come several times, then around him as he busies himself with tucking you in. The handsome stranger cocks his head and follows your line of sight.

There is a monster here, you want to shout at him. We need to run.

But you say nothing and everything stays quiet, another cold breeze making the corn field sway, a flock of birds taking flight nearby as children laugh beyond the edge of the maze.

“Your nephew came to us for help, said he couldn’t find you anymore,” the man says, pulling you out of the spiraling thoughts that threatened to pull you under.

“Jonah?” You gasp, grabbing hold of his arm, focus entirely on him now. “He’s alright? Where is he?”

He smiles, and it transforms his entire face. Dark eyes squint a little, and tiny crow's feet appear when he puts a solid arm over your shoulders and steers you down the path he had come from, towards the sounds of people.

“With my gran. Poor lad complained about being hungry, and now he’s probably getting stuffed like a turkey.”

“Your gran?” You frown. “Why-”

“Oh!” He laughs, shaking his head and squeezing your shoulders. “I’m John, John Price. My family owns the farm? Your nephew came into the shop scared for you, so I offered to have a look. You’re not the first one to get lost here.”

There is a monster in there is right at the tip of your tongue again, but then you both breach out into open space and fresh air. The noise and sight of other humans is enough to choke you up again. When you glance up at him, his eyes are already on you, dark and unreadable.

“Have you ever been to a maze before?”

The question itself is completely innocent, caring. But something about the way he looks at you, the almost pleading quality to his voice- it makes you hesitate. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, and John stops walking, eyes burning as he stares back at you. “I- I think so. As a child. I got lost then, too.”

A flicker of something dark crosses his features but is quickly replaced by another smile that makes your heart beat faster.

“I see. Well, I’m sorry that you had such an unpleasant experience here. I’ll fetch your pumpkin cart and jacket soon, that alright?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Price,” you answer, tired down to the bones as you climb the wide front porch of the farm. The bell over the door jingles as you enter the cosy little shop, pre-carved pumpkins, marmalades, and various pickled vegetables all lined up neatly for sale.

“Please, call me John,” he insists, voice urgent and gentle all at once. It makes you smile, despite everything. His dark eyes are still watching you when Jonah comes running over from behind the counter, yelling excitedly as he wraps his short arms around your middle.

“John,” you agree. “Thank you. I feel so silly over the whole thing, I-”

“Don’t mention it,” he grins, then nods towards the elderly woman who’s hobbling towards your little group. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

He turns, picking up a wide-brimmed hat from the coathanger nearby and exits the shop again, nodding towards some of the other people mingling outside, pushing their own carts full of pumpkins.

Swept up in the whirlwind combination of both Jonah and Granny, who insisted that you call her that and didn't offer her actual name, you don’t even notice that John never asked where exactly you had lost your things.

Part:    1 - Ghost - read 'A Proper Name' here! 2 - Price - you just read 'A Sea Of Gold And Green'!   3 - Soap - read 'A Debt Repaid' here! 4 - ?

Okay lowkey just indulging in all my cowboy!Price aesthetics and farmer!Price fantasies here. 

There seems to be some... history between them, don't you think? What's up with the Price Farm? Will we return there eventually to get answers?

Fun fact: I had an imaginary friend called Janine when I was little. I would tell my family the most elaborate stories about her, then my sister continued to tell me that she wasn't real until I stopped. I only remembered that while writing and now I'm a little 👀?

My general COD writing masterlist with all my longer stories, a COD headcanons masterlist + the COD Halloween Monster Special. It‘s all linked separately in my pinned blog post for easy navigation as well!

[readinglistfics]

“Double the Love”

— Task Force 141 x Pregnant!Reader

Reader shows the ultrasound but plot twist it's TWINS!!

Captain John Price

You’d barely made it back from the ultrasound before John noticed something was different.

“You alright, love?” he asked, sliding off his coat and placing his hand instinctively over your belly.

“I’m fine,” you said, lips trembling into a smile. “But I do have some news.”

You handed him the sonogram — this time, with two tiny figures on the screen.

He stared.

Then looked again.

“…There’s two.”

“Twins,” you whispered.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Just stood there, in quiet awe. Then he walked over, gently cradling your face in his calloused hands.

“Two heartbeats.” He swallowed. “Two little pieces of us.”

He kissed you — slow, reverent — like you were a miracle.

“I didn’t think I could feel luckier than I did the day you said you loved me,” he whispered. “But you just proved me wrong.”

---

Simon “Ghost” Riley

He’d always been quiet with his affection, but this was different.

You showed him the updated scan and waited in silence as he stared.

He didn’t speak.

You started to panic. “Simon, I—”

He reached out slowly, as if the paper was too fragile for his hands. His thumb brushed over the image of two tiny shapes.

“…Twins?” His voice cracked.

You nodded, eyes welling up. “Yeah.”

He sat down heavily on the couch, jaw tense, mask pushed halfway up.

“I never thought I’d have one family… let alone three.”

You moved to sit beside him, and he pulled you gently into his arms, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I’ll protect all of you. With everything I have. Always.”

And when he placed a hand on your belly, there was a warmth in his touch you’d never felt from him before.

---

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

You thought the man couldn’t be more dramatic.

Then he found out you were having twins.

He stared at the ultrasound photo, mouth agape. “Two? Are you sure that’s not just one doing a somersault?”

“Positive,” you laughed.

He let out a breathless laugh, running both hands through his hair. “Well, hell. Guess we’re skipping right past chaos and going full mayhem.”

But then he looked at you — really looked — and all the wild, playful energy melted into something quieter.

He knelt in front of you, resting his head gently against your stomach. “You’ve given me more than I ever deserved. And now, double.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, heart full.

“Guess I’ll have to learn how to swaddle two babies while holding a gun, huh?”

You snorted.

“And I wouldn’t trade a single second of it.”

---

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

He was already the softest of the bunch, but this? This floored him.

You handed him a wrapped frame, and he unboxed it carefully — revealing the sonogram labeled: “Baby A & Baby B.”

He froze, eyes wide, lips parted. “Is this real?”

You nodded, heart pounding.

Gaz sank onto the couch, stunned, then started laughing — soft, overwhelmed laughter. “Two of them. Two.”

He pulled you into his arms, peppering kisses along your forehead.

“This means double the diapers,” he whispered between kisses. “Double the crying. But also… double the snuggles. Double the bedtime stories. Double the love.”

You melted into him, feeling safer than ever.

“I can’t wait to be the dad they deserve,” he said against your hair. “I’ll give them everything.”

---

Alejandro Vargas

He cried.

Not loudly — just the kind that sneaks up and steals your breath.

You handed him the sonogram with trembling fingers, watching as he studied it. When he realized what it meant, his eyes slowly filled.

“Dos?” he asked softly. “Two little hearts?”

“Yes.”

He sat down beside you, pulling you into his arms with infinite care. “You are a goddess, mi vida. You carry two souls inside you. How can I ever thank you for this gift?”

“You don’t have to,” you whispered.

“But I will,” he replied. “Every day, for the rest of my life.”

He placed a reverent kiss to your stomach, tears glistening in his lashes. “They are already so loved.”

[readinglistfics]

Still Home

Pairing: John Price x Reader (Established Marriage)

Synopsis: Years have passed, and the house has changed with time—but the love inside it never has. John Price, older now, slower perhaps, still loves you with the same fire he had when it all began. Through lazy mornings, holidays filled with chaos, and quiet evenings curled on the couch, this is the story of a lifetime of love that never stopped growing.

Warnings: Heavy fluff, established relationship, aging, emotional intimacy, domestic comfort, family life, nostalgia and warmth, implied canon divergence, lots of soft kissing and affection.

The house had aged, but it wore the years kindly. The white picket fence had faded to a mellow ivory. The front steps creaked just a bit louder in the winter. And the rose bush by the kitchen window—planted on a spring afternoon not long after you moved in—now curled up toward the eaves, a cascade of soft pink blooms that never failed to bloom first on your anniversary.

The front room was warm, even in the chill of late autumn. The old couch was threadbare on the corners, soft where it mattered, and still just the right size for two people who never seemed to mind being close.

You sat curled against John’s side, your legs draped over his lap, book in hand, glasses low on your nose. His arm was around your shoulder, warm and steady, his hand tracing lazy circles on your arm like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. The kind of touch that came after decades of knowing someone’s skin better than your own.

John sipped from his chipped navy mug, the one that said World’s Okayest Tea Brewer—a Father’s Day gift from your daughter, smudged slightly from years in the dishwasher. His beard was more salt than pepper now, his frame broader with age, slower in movement but still powerful in presence. That same commanding steadiness. That same protective warmth that once made you fall fast and foolishly, back when you were just two young souls tumbling headfirst into a forever neither of you fully understood yet.

“Cold in here, love?” he asked, voice low and warm, eyes flicking to the window, where the wind tapped at the glass.

“Not with you here,” you murmured, not looking up from your book.

He smiled, and it creased the corners of his eyes just like it used to, only now the lines were deeper—earned, not worn. “Still got that silver tongue.”

“Still fall for you every time,” you replied, soft and true.

He leaned in and kissed your temple, lingering for a second longer than necessary. You hummed. You always did.

Even after all these years, the house held the echoes of your lifetime.

The hallway was a gallery of portraits—framed school photos, vacation candids, weddings, the kids’ graduations. There was one from your thirtieth anniversary in the center of it all: you in a soft blue dress, John in a suit that never quite fit right anymore, your grandchildren laughing wildly in front of you while your children tried (and failed) to pose them properly.

Down in the laundry room, there was a wall that neither of you could bring yourselves to paint over. The pencil lines still climbed the plaster beside the doorway, names and ages scrawled in two different handwritings—Martin and Ellie, their heights recorded every birthday from age one to eighteen. You’d watched them pass each other up, centimetre by centimetre. You still ran your fingers over the lines sometimes when you were down there folding towels, and John always smiled when he caught you.

“They still come home,” you’d said just last week, your chin on his shoulder as you both stood there staring at the wall. “Even now. They come back.”

“They always will,” he said, his voice full of quiet certainty. “It’s home.”

Their rooms had changed over the years. No more posters or glow-in-the-dark stars. The beds had been replaced with guest mattresses, the desks with shelves for books and folded blankets. But there were still old toy boxes in the closets. A few forgotten jackets on the hooks. And whenever the family came over—loud and sprawling and full of chaos—they all still knew where their place was.

The holidays were dangerous in the best way. The grandkids groaned every year about how “gross” you two were.

“Mum, Dad’s staring at her like he’s twenty again,” Martin had complained, mock-suffering, one Christmas Eve while John was cutting vegetables with one hand and gently stroking your back with the other.

“She winked at him. WINKED. I’m emotionally scarred,” Ellie once declared, covering her children’s eyes like it was a scandalous soap opera.

But they always smiled when they said it. Because there was something achingly comforting about the way you and John looked at each other. Like there was no one else in the room. Like the love hadn’t aged a day.

And truthfully—it hadn’t. It had just… deepened. Stretched out into the quiet corners of your life. Into late-night grocery runs. Into slow Sunday mornings. Into the way he tucked your reading glasses into your book when you dozed off, or the way you brewed his tea exactly how he liked it, even after forty years of arguments over the “right” amount of sugar.

Even now, as the wind picked up outside and the lights dimmed in the living room, the only thing that mattered was the warmth of his body under yours, the rhythm of his breathing, and the quiet murmur of his voice.

“Still happy?” he asked you once, voice so soft you almost missed it.

You looked up from your book, tilted your head, and smiled at the man who had loved you through everything—war, children, quiet nights, wild ones, wrinkles and graying hair and all.

“More than I ever thought I could be,” you said.

And he kissed you.

Not because it was habit.

Not because the kids were gone and you finally had the house to yourselves again.

But because after all this time, he still couldn’t help it.

Because loving you was the only thing that ever came easy to John Price.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth @kittygonap @rainyjellybear @anonymouse1807 @twoandahalfdimes

[readinglistfics]

(john price x reader who basically manifests him into her life)

It all started with a pie.

A blackberry pie, to be exact. One that you’d spent a good part of the morning perfecting- balancing the sweetness and tartness with the precision of a master alchemist concocting a love potion. You were almost convinced that this particular pie might finally be the answer to your mother’s prayers: an offering so mouthwatering that it would distract her from once again insisting you marry that insufferably dull miller’s son, Thomas.

You had just placed it on the windowsill to cool, the aroma curling through the cottage like a siren’s song, when your mother barged in, cheeks flushed with determination. “I’ve invited Thomas for supper.” She announced, as if she was a witch summoning a dark spirit.

You almost dropped the teapot. “Mother, no.”

“Mother, yes. Darling, you’re not getting any younger.” She clasped her hands like a pious martyr, staring heavenward as if appealing for divine assistance. “Why, you are practically ancient now. Do you know how many children I had at your age? Three! And you- still unmarried. People are talking.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but that’s when inspiration struck. Perhaps it was the sweetness of the pie that made your thoughts reckless, or perhaps the desperation of avoiding Thomas’s endless ramblings about grain prices, and so you straightened your spine. “… But I already have a suitor.”

Your mother paused, mouth pursed like she’d bitten into a particularly sour lemon. “You what?”

“Yes.” You adjusted your apron with all the gravitas of a queen revealing her long-lost heir, except you were revealing a beloved. “He’s a soldier. Off fighting bravely in the war. Captain… John Price.” You plucked the name from thin air, thinking it sounded stalwart, military-ish and utterly believable.

Your mother’s eyes narrowed. “And why haven’t I heard of this… Captain before?”

“Well, we didn’t want to make a fuss. You know how people talk.”

Her suspicion melted, replaced with gleaming hope. “A soldier, you say? A captain?”

“Yes,” you continued, your voice growing bolder. Let ir never be said that you did not inherit some of your father’s love for theatrics. “He writes to me. Beautiful letters, whenever he has the chance to, and I always reply. I’ll… I’ll show you one!”

That’s how you found yourself hunched over your rickety desk that night, ink staining your fingers, spinning an epic tale of love and longing so good you justknew Shakespeare was probably rolling in his grave

Dear Captain John Price,

My heart is but a lonely swallow without you. The days stretch long and tiresome in your absence, but I hold steadfast, knowing that one day you will return to me- my brave, rugged soldier.

Yours, faithfully.

You took great care in writing the letter, wanting it to look as if it had been penned by a devoted girl waiting patiently for her beloved captain. Before folding it, you pressed a dried flower between the pages and lightly scented the paper with a dab of your favorite perfume, the fragrance soft and sweet, leaving no doubt that the writer was a gentle, affectionate soul and not an absolutely insane woman tricking her parents. You even tied it with a delicate ribbon, imagining how any soldier would feel cherished to receive such a letter.

To your utter (non)surprise, it worked. Your mother clutched the letter to her chest with a tearful sigh, whispering something about true love. And from that moment on, Captain John Price became your imaginary lover, a sturdy bulwark against matchmaking attempts.

And so, the years passed, and John Price became a part of your life. You wrote letters to him whenever the pressure to marry reached critical mass, each one a little more elaborate than the last. You even took to carrying one of his supposed letters (which you also wrote yourself) in your apron pocket, just in case anyone questioned your devotion.

You never expected, however, for the Captain himself to show up at your doorstep.

It was a crisp autumn evening when the knock came. You barely registered it, too busy trying to salvage the stew that was steadfastly refusing to thicken. When the knock came again, louder and more insistent, you huffed and flung open the door, still clutching your wooden spoon like a weapon and a mighty glare on your face.

There stood a man. A mountain of a man, truthfully. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a commanding presence that seemed to make the very air hold its breath. His face was framed by a well-groomed beard, his eyes a piercing blue beneath a well-worn cap. And clutched in his large hand was a bundle of letters- scarily familiar letters, actually.

His mouth curved into a slow, wolfish grin. “Well, love. You’ve got some explainin’ to do.”

You froze, spoon hovering mid-air. “You- how- who are you?”

He chuckled, the sound more than a little smug. “Name’s Captain John Price. You might recognize me from your rather… heartfelt correspondence.” He held up one of the letters, the familiar scrawl of your handwriting a stark betrayal.

Your stomach dropped. “…Coincidence.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he drawled, stepping inside as if he owned the place. “Imagine my surprise when your letters kept landing in my hands. At first, I thought it was just some lonely girl scribbling fantasies. But the boys kept handin’ them to me- said they lifted spirits, readin’ how you were waitin’ for me.”

You spluttered, backing up as he prowled forward. “But- how did they-“

He shrugged, almost casual. “You put my name and rank on the letters. Found their way to me eventually. You’ve been rather… devoted, haven’t you?”

You sputtered. “Devoted? I was just- avoiding marriage!”

His eyes darkened, jaw tightening. “Didn’t stop me from thinking about it. About you. When I read how you longed for me- waited so faithfully- made a man think. Would’ve kept any other bastard from sniffin’ around, I’d hope.”

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. “I didn’t think you were real!”

He leaned closer, the scent of tobacco and gunpowder curling around you like a trap. “Oh, I’m real, love. And now I’m here. Reckon you owe me a bit of hospitality after all those love letters, no?”

Your mouth opened and closed like a landed fish.

“Didn’t matter if you didn’t mean it, you still wrote it. Made me think of comin’ home to you, of claimin’ what’s mine.” His fingers brushed your jaw, thumb tracing your cheek with surprising tenderness. “You made yourself mine. And now, I’ve come to collect.”

Before you can muster a protest, he leans down, capturing the corner of your lips in a kiss, your face frozen solid in shock. When he finally pulls back, his thumb brushes your swollen lip.

“That clear enough for you, wife?”

[readinglistfics]

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

wc: 0.2k

the phone buzzes at 3:07 a.m.

you answer on instinct, heart thudding like a warning—but the moment you hear the low crackle of distant static, your chest eases.

"si?" you whisper, voice thick with sleep.

"told you i'd call."

his voice is gravel, dulled by poor signal and fatigue. but it’s him.

"you okay?"

"fine," he says. it's automatic. a soldier's answer. then quieter, "can't sleep."

you sit up against the headboard, brushing hair from your face. "where are you?"

a silence and then, his answer.

"nowhere good."

he never tells you, not really. you stopped asking a long time ago.

there's a pause. you hear him breathe.

"is she awake?" his question makes you smile for a moment.

"she had a nightmare an hour ago. i rocked her back down, but she’s been babbling since. talking to the ceiling fan, i think.” you explain softly, sitting at the bed.

he huffs something close to a laugh.

"i'll put you on speaker."

in the dim nightlight, your daughter—grace, as he was gifted to call her, lies in her crib, blanket half-kicked off, tiny fists waving at nothing.

simon listens. on the other end of the world, he's crouched in some half-shelled out building, rifle at his side, bone-weary—but when his daughter coos into the line, high and breathy and nonsense-sweet, his eyes close.

"bah-bah. da-da-da-da."

he bites down the ache.

"daa,"she says again, louder, like she knows.

his voice breaks low over the line. "that's me, sweetheart."

as the line keeps up, you smile with your eyes closed. tiny moments, as you called them. tiny moments where simon could feel happy even if he was crossing the whole world.

a/n: simon would have a daughter fight me

[readinglistfics]

Dukedom AU masterlist

all posts related to the main dukedom au and its spinoffs will be here!

original Dukedom au: first part

part two

part three

reputation protection

1. baby fever + 2 + 3 2. lipstick and kisses 3. terms of endearment 4. dolling up 5. simon and johnny find out about graves 6. how did it start? 7. Graves and Reader first meeting? 8. what if reader's baby does not look like john? 9. Genuine fondness between graves and reader? + dark end for graves 10. baby girl 11. mini-reader baby boy 12. more than a commodity 13. post-request 14. does simon need a wife? 15. what is graves like? 16. sick duchess 17. what duchess tries to keep to herself? 18. complications at birth 19. simon and pleasure 20. johnny and pleasure 21. people's princess 22. pregnancy protectiveness 23. some thoughts regarding kings and queens (Check reblogs :3)

24. Northern Duke König wants you + p2 25. Regicide 25. independent duchess 26. ways in which they pursue you

27. Someone tries to take advantage of you 28. snowy day 29. john vs rumors about you 30. pussy enthusiast johnny 31. what if they knew reader beforehand 32. what if you got kidnapped 33. john has a strange nightmare 34. yandere dukedom 35. another yan dukedom concept 36. they want duchess real bad 37. crown prince jealousy 38. boudoir paintings 39. Simon’s nightmare 40. they yearn for you 41. terrible reputation 42. asserting dominance: Kyle & Johnny 43. only one of them falls at first 44. competency kink

Quiet Duchess: specialized interest

duke simon x his wife: size difference

Spinoff angsty dukedom with konig + part two + John's lament

angsty dukedom, no konig + part two(fix-it)

what if konig leaves? + part two + konig returns + his reaction to the prosthetic

duke konig thoughts in reblog + more

taking it too far

they watch, yet do nothing

leaving inc. ale and rudy

running away ft. villager konig

pregnancy

laswell saves reader

duchess' mother

hereditary illness

body possession

raw food

murder attempt

Shirin: the sweet maid

untitled

last straw: kyle & johnny + simon & john + flowers

self-harm & ruffles

existing, not living

[readinglistfics]

The fire in the hearth had burned down to embers, casting faint, flickering light across the bedroom walls. Outside, the winter winds howled, clawing at the windows of the inn like a restless spirit, yet within these walls, everything was still. Simon lay on the bed, your steady breaths against his naked chest a comfort he didn’t think he deserved or will ever deserve.

And then he dreamed.

The other version of himself, a man he didn’t want to acknowledge as real, stood coldly at the edge of the grand dining table. That Simon was distant, detached, and unfeeling. His eyes swept over the figure sitting at the far end- you- your dress, not from him, crumpled, your face drawn with exhaustion. You were speaking, but your voice was hollow, words whispered into a void he couldn’t reach. The Simon in the dream didn’t even glance at you. His attention was elsewhere, his mind consumed with matters he thought were more important.

Simon didn’t think anything in the world would ever be more important than you, their precious and lovely Duchess. He didn’t understand his other self- didn’t want to ever have that careless view of you.

When you rose to leave, Simon’s nightmare-self didn’t stop you. You’d excused yourself so quietly that no one could have accused you of disturbing the silence. You left, head bowed, retreating to the dark halls of a cold, lifeless manor this Simon couldn’t relate to John’s lively manor.

Yet that Simon didn’t care. He returned to his work, to his whispered conversations with John, to the loving, fleeting glances exchanged with Kyle and Johnny.

Why did you let her leave?

But you- you grew smaller with each passing day. The halls that should have been filled with your laughter were silent. The dresses this Simon had carefully chosen for you did not exist, and thus you were left in dresses old and patched and unfitting, untouched by his hands. You faded, retreating into yourself, and the whispers of the staff about the “mad Duchess” grew louder.

The staff would never talk about you like that. Why did you let them, Simon?

Simon saw it all. He saw the way you flinched when no one looked at you. He saw the way you hesitated to enter a room, unsure if your presence was welcome. He saw you stop eating, stop dressing, stop existing.

The nightmare was a world of suffocating gray.

Simon stood in the grand halls of their shared home, but it wasn’t the home he knows. The walls were stark and barren, the warmth of family portraits and soft candlelight replaced with cold, lifeless shadows. Dust lingered in the air, undisturbed for weeks, maybe months, blanketing everything in the same muted despair.

There were no portraits of you, beyond the singular one of your marriage to John. Your face had been ripped off it.

He searched for you.

Room after room was empty, yet his heart pounded with dread. The dining table was set but untouched, the once vibrant dishes left cold and congealed. In the study, his desk was stacked with neglected lettersa some from you, written in a trembling hand, pleading for his attention, begging for his care. Each word burns itself into his mind: “Am I so unworthy?”

Your bedroom- no, your prison- was the last place he searched. He was afraid of what he’d find, yet he couldn’t stop his feet from carrying him forward. The room was dim, curtains drawn tight as if the light itself has abandoned you. You were there, curled up on the grand bed, your frail frame dwarfed by the heavy, oppressive canopy above.

You looked… so small. So still.

Simon’s heart ached.

Why did you do this to her?

“Love,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he knelt beside you. His gloved hand reached for your cheek, but it was cold. So cold it sent a jolt of terror through him.

You stirred, just barely. Your eyes fluttered open, dull and glassy, but there was no recognition in them.

“Simon?” Your voice was hoarse, barely audible. “What… are you doing here?”

The question was a knife to his chest.

Why wouldn’t I be here? What has my other self done to you?

“I’m here for you, sweetheart,” he choked out, his hands trembling as they cupped your face. You were too cold; Kyle would never leave your room this freezing; Johnny would never let you go to bed hungry and bereft of warm food. “I’m here now.”

But you pulled away, weakly but resolutely, as if his touch was poison.

“You’re always too late.”

The words echoed in the cold, empty room. He tried to protest, tried to pull you into his arms, but you collapse against the pillows, your breath shallow and fading, fading like smoke until-

And then you were gone.

The weight of it crushed him. The silence was unbearable, suffocating, and all he could do was scream your name into the void that took you from him.

Simon woke with a start.

The gasp tore from his throat before he could stop it, his hand flying to your side. You were there- warm, breathing, alive. His chest heaved, sweat beading on his forehead as the remnants of the dream clung to him like cobwebs.

You stirred, your soft murmur of his name breaking through the haze of fear. You sounded soft, groggy- so full of life it nearly brought him to tears. “Simon?”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, so close that your sleepy protest was muffled against his chest. “Go back to sleep, love.” He whispered, voice rough. But even as he said it, he knew he wouldn’t be able to.

Hours later, when the sun began to rise, Simon was still awake. He had been watching you, his thumb brushing against your knuckles as he memorized every detail of your face. The soft curve of your lips, the way your lashes rested against your cheeks, the warmth of your skin beneath his touch. You were alive. You were loved. You weren’t-

The dream wouldn’t leave him.

In the morning, when you were fully awake, you made no mention of how tight Simon’s arms were around you. You made no mention of how he asked you again and again if you were warm, full- his arm around your waist in a gentle hold that felt like it was more for his comfort.

You said none of it; but you made sure you kisses him enough until that fear in his eyes slowly dissipated. You and him had come to this inn for a bit of break, and you didn’t want to return to the manor with any sadness clinging to you or Simon.

When you returned to the manor, Simon still made no mention of it.

He didn’t speak of it, though John noticed how Simon hovered closer to you than usual. He didn’t bring it up during lunch, though Johnny commented on how quiet Simon had become, his usual sharp wit dulled. Kyle, perceptive as ever, caught Simon lingering in the halls outside your favorite sitting room, his eyes clouded with something between guilt and sorrow even though looked no different than usual.

But it wasn’t until late that evening, as you sat before the fire with a book in hand, that Simon finally broke.

You didn’t hear him approach at first. He was silent as a shadow, and when you glanced up, startled, he was already kneeling before you.

“Simon?” you asked, concern flickering across your face. “What’s wrong?”

His hands found yours, cradling them as though you might disappear if he let go. For a long moment, he simply looked at you, his gaze tracing every feature of your face. And then, in a voice low and strained, he said, “I saw a world where I lost you.”

Your brow furrowed, but he didn’t let you speak.

“You were there, in the manor, but… no one saw you. Not properly. Not me. Not John. Not Kyle or Johnny. You were alone. Lonely.” His grip tightened on your hands, though he was still gentle. “You withered away, and we didn’t even notice until it was too late.”

The raw emotion in his voice took your breath away. “Simon, it was just a dream,” your voice was soft, though your heart ached at the pain etched into his face.

“No,” he said fiercely, jaw tight. “It wasn’t. It… it felt too real. Like a warning. Like something I could let happen if I wasn’t careful.”

You leaned forward, cupping his face in your hands. “But it didn’t happen, Simon. It won’t. You’re not that man. None of you are.”

His eyes closed, leaning into your touch like a man starved for warmth. “I won’t let it happen,” he murmured. “I’ll never let you feel like that. I’ll make sure you know how much we love you. Every single day.”

You smiled, brushing a kiss against his forehead. “I already do, Simon. You don’t have to worry. Stay with me for now, alright?”

And he did; he would not deny you of anything.

[readinglistfics]

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long shadows across the walls of the bedroom. Outside the windows, the winter winds howled, rattling the glass panes. John should have been sleeping soundly all of his lovers, beside you, the rise and fall of your breaths a comforting reminder of your presence. But the dream- no, the nightmare- gripped him too fiercely.

In his mind, he saw a version of himself he did not recognize. Cold, detached, and unfeeling. He saw you sitting alone at the grand dining table, the candlelight flickering as your plate sat untouched. Your dress, once bright and elegant, seemed dull and rumpled, a reflection of the neglect you endured. It lacked all the love and care Simon ensured each dress of yours would have- it was a mere fabric worn.

In the nightmare, Kyle avoided your gaze when you asked for help organizing the household. He brushed you off with clipped words and empty agreements, leaving you to flounder alone. Kyle. The same Kyle who melted each and every time you’d cup his face and kiss his brows, your love too much to be contained.

Johnny, once so warm and playful, no longer lingered in the kitchens with you. Instead, he turned his back, whispering in hushed tones when you passed by, his laughter cruel instead of kind. Johnny. The same Johnny who uses the sauces and creams to write how much he adores you and wishes you good day, whose arms you’ve slept in more times than can be counted in the hidden nooks of the gardens.

And Simon… Simon barely spoke to you at all. His glances, so full of affection in waking life, were instead sharp and disinterested, as though you were nothing more than an inconvenience. An obstacle. It was harrowing to see Simon, of all, treat you like that when John knew he was well on his way to losing count of the amount of paintings of you that Simon had commissioned and drawn himself.

But the worst of all was himself. The John in the dream sat behind his desk, a fortress of papers and letters and a vast, cold chasm between you. His words were short, his tone clipped. He watched you cry once, silent tears slipping down your cheeks as you excused yourself from his office, and he did nothing. He did not reach out for you, did not comfort you, and when the door closed behind you, he felt nothing but relief that you were gone.

In the dream, you withered.

You wilted under their coldness, your once bright smile replaced with shadows beneath your eyes and quiet, careful movements, as though afraid to disturb them. As though afraid to take up more space than allowed.

You were unloved.

John woke with a start.

His chest heaved, heart hammering so violently it drowned out the sound of the wind outside. His body was drenched in sweat, the sheets twisted around his legs. But none of it mattered- none of it- because you were there.

Curled up beside him, Kyle’s arm around your waist from the back, your face was peaceful, your features relaxed in sleep. The gentle rise and fall of your chest reassured him that you were here, real and warm and safe.

Still, he couldn’t shake the lingering tendrils of fear. He reached out with a trembling hand, brushing your hair back from your face. You stirred slightly but didn’t wake, instead leaning unconsciously into his touch.

God, how could he ever let himself act like that? Even in a dream?

When you woke the next morning, it was to the smell of freshly brewed tea and the sound of soft footsteps. John was already up, but instead of heading to his study as he often did, he was the one by your side with a tray of breakfast.

“John?” you murmured, voice still heavy with sleep. You were so comfortable, and your sleep was ever so peaceful in their arms.

“Morning, love.” He said, setting the tray down before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You blinked up at him in confusion as he fussed over your pillows, propping you up before offering you a steaming cup of tea. “What’s all this, John?”

“Breakfast.” He said simply, though his eyes lingered on you in that way that made your cheeks warm.

You took a sip of the tea, and your lips curved into a soft smile. “You didn’t have to do this. It’s not like I’m sick.”

John didn’t answer right away. Instead, he sat beside you on the bed, taking your hand in his and running his thumb over your knuckles. His gaze was… unusually troubled, now that you noticed. But he spoke before you could say anything.

“Are you happy, Duchess?” he asked suddenly.

Your brows furrowed, tilting your head. “…What?”

“Are you happy?” he repeated, voice quieter this time. He reached for your hand, calloused thumb carressing the soft skin of your palm. “With me. With us.”

You stared at him, unsure where this was coming from, but the vulnerability in his expression tugged at your heart. Setting the tea aside, you turned to him fully, cupping his cheek in your other palm.

“Of course I’m happy,” you said softly. “You’ve all been so good to me, John. Better than I ever expected. More than I could have ever asked for.”

His shoulders sagged with relief, but you could tell something was still bothering him.

“John, honey?”

“I had a dream,” he admitted. “It- it was awful. None of us treated you right. You were lonely and hurting, and we didn’t care. And I just- ”

You silenced him with a kiss, your lips warm and soft against his. When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, your fingers curling into his hair.

“That’s not real,” you whispered. “You’re not like that. None of you are. You make me feel loved every single day, I swear.”

His arms came around you then, pulling you into his lap and holding you close. “I’ll make sure you always do,” he promised, voice rough. “Every single day.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of tenderness. John refused to let you lift a finger, taking your workload of the day with a kiss to your forehead and sending you to keep Kyle company. Johnny outdid himself with lunch and dinner, plying you with your favorite dishes and desserts. And Simon lingered near you whenever possible, his sharp eyes softer than usual as he kept you close.

By the end of the evening, you were so thoroughly spoiled that you teased John for treating you like porcelain.

“Not porcelain,” he said seriously, cupping your face in his hands as he leaned down to kiss you again. “But precious.”

And as you melted into his embrace, you knew- no nightmare could ever change the way these men loved you.

dukedom au masterlist

[readinglistfics]

35 / 2.1k / shark merman Price and remora mermaid reader for mermay :)

...

Price isn’t stupid. He knows you’ve been following him since the early morning as he makes the rounds through his favorite reef. You’re stealthing poorly—just poorly enough that he knows you’re there, but you’re still small enough to dart into the reef every time he tries to get a good look at you.

He's been ignoring you and hoping you’ll take the hint to buzz off before he makes you buzz off.

You think you’re getting the hang of sneaking up on him when you turn a corner and lose him. And then he’s sneaking up on you.

You peek around the bright lumps of coral, wondering where he’s gone, when something blots out the sunlight above. You look up to see him—the long expanse of muscle and bulk on top and the smooth shark’s tail below—as he peers down at you.

You stiffen, pressing yourself to the sandy sea floor.

He scans you with his dark eyes to determine just what kind of creature has been following him. Not a threat, decides. Even as a mer. You’re too small. Too soft. You have no teeth to speak of. How laughable. And a tiny little thing, at that.

You straighten up, watching him circle you. You’d been looking for an opportunity just like this. That’s why you were tailing him. But now that his shrewd gaze is finally on you, you feel exposed.

He takes his time inspecting you. Then he swims a wide arc around you once more and lowers his clawed as if to touch you. You force yourself to stay still, your tail curled under you on the sand.

“You’ve been following me,” he says. It’s not a question.

“Yes.”

Price hooks one of his claws under your chin and pulls your head lightly upwards. You slowly rise as he tilts your chin up until you're suspended in the water in front of him.

"You should be scared of me,” he says.

You settle your own hands on his wrist in contentment. You look less like a meal being evaluated and more like a kitten being scratched under the chin. "Would you like me to be scared?"

He chuckles at your enthusiasm. He knows exactly what this is. You're a remora mer, which means you instinctively seek out and bond with bigger creatures. Even if that creature is an unfriendly shark mer. Surely you must know how dangerous it is to be within his reach?

"You're very big. You must be king of this reef,” you say.

He pauses as the praise washes over him. He knows how intimidating he is, and you should realize you're nothing but small, soft and fragile. But obviously your instincts for fawning and flattery are finely honed.

He can see the way your little self seems to be drawn to him. A remora mer, indeed. He's seen others like you, but they've always avoided him. He could just as easily kill you as he could accept your company.

There is something pitifully adorable about you. The way you tilt your head and expose your throat unwittingly is endearing. He knows it’s because your instincts are leading you to bond with him for the safety he provides. You're too willing.

"Do you lack the common sense to fear an apex predator?" he asks, voice low and amused.

"Yes," you respond obediently.

He can see the way your little body is pressing up to his hand, desperate to get closer. He moves his arm, gently guiding you closer to him. "Good," he rumbles softly before using two claws to stroke down the curve of your neck. "Very good. You're too small to survive my teeth, you know."

"Of course. Much too small. Your teeth are so big and sharp."

"And you're soft and weak. Soft as a piece of kelp, I bet." He gives the tip of your tail a flick, and his eyes glitter as you bob and shake out your tail fin at the touch. Fussy little creature. "You're not very good at what you're supposed to do, little mer."

You open up your eyes. "I'm not?"

"Following me for hours without even trying to ingratiate yourself to me," he growls. "You're supposed to busy yourself with my needs. Not..." He trails off as you tilt up into his touch, almost nuzzling his hand. He gives your forehead a light flick with his claw to make you pay attention. "Acting like some kind of pet."

You quickly smooth yourself down. "Of course. I know that." You dart closer, putting your small hands on his inner arm, his shoulder, his chest, inspecting him. Your fingers glide over him, brushing and scratching and plucking away bits of sea debris and dry skin. Grooming him. "I just thought you might want me to be scared of you first."

Oh. He’s enjoying this far more than he thought he would. For something so soft, you’re quite bold.

He presses on your hip to turn you slightly as you work, idly inspecting you in return. "Maybe later. Let’s see if you’re worth the effort first." He rests his chin on his other hand to watch you fuss over him. It's been a long time since he had any kind of attention on him. You dart around behind him and busy yourself with his hair next.

He leans into your touch when you start to untangle his hair. "You seem to enjoy this.”

“I do.”

“Good for you,” he drawls. "Are you good for anything else?"

"I'm good for lots of things." You move from his hair down to his tail, trying not to stare.

"Oh?" He reaches up and idly drags the back of his knuckles down your spine and over the fin there. He smirks as your fin flattens with the touch. "Like what?"

"Anything you can think of."

"Anything?" He gives a low rumble in his throat at your words. "Don't go promising favors you can't fulfill, little remora."

"Okay," you chime.

He grabs ahold of your tail fins. "And don't agree with every single thing I say, either. That makes you far too easy to manipulate."

"Yes, sir!"

He rolls his eyes. You really are a pushover. It's like you want him to be cruel to you. He lets go of your tail but twirls his fingers in the tip of your tailfins. "Is it your instincts that are making you so deferential? Or are you just a coward?"

You pretend to think about this for a moment. Then you respond, pleasantly, "Which do you prefer?"

"Mm, so you do have a brain."

"Me? No, surely that can't be. Not a thought in my head, sir. Promise."

He eyes you like a disobedient puppy. You're putting on this fairly convincing act, being a mindless, servile little thing, and it's confusing his instincts to know you're doing a fair bit of manipulation yourself to win his protection.

"Might prefer you a bit more brainless, actually," he says. He nudges the underside of your chin with his knuckle this time instead of his claw, noting how you drop what you were doing to follow the gesture as he guides you out in front of him again. "You're willing to do anything I ask, then? No questions?"

"Yes, sir.” You rest your much smaller body against his forearm again. “Anything.”

He looks down at how you submit willingly to his hand, taking in the sight of your small body pressed up against it. He feels something primal coil in his gut at the display. You let yourself fall under his control so easily. "What if I told you to open your mouth like a goldfish?" He brings his thumb up to your lip. "Would you?"

You open your mouth.

Interesting. He taps your lower lip with the tip of his thumb. "Wide," he murmurs. "Open up wide for me."

You open wider.

"Now bite."

You bite down around the tip of his thumb.

His lips twitch up into a smile at the feeling of you nibbling at him, the little scrape of your teeth. "Good. Harder."

You reposition your grip and chomp down in earnest this time. He grunts. Your teeth are smaller than his, but they're still sharp.

"There you go. Not bad for such a small mouth." He pulls it away, half-expecting you to start hollowing your cheeks on his thumb if he dawdles too long. "Have you ever had to deal with bigger fish?"

"Of course," you chirp. Like it's no big deal.

Price snorts. It's hard to imagine something like you doing anything but darting behind the nearest rock at the first sign of danger. “How many have you killed?"

"None."

"Right, I'm sure you ask them nicely to leave you alone," he says. "And do they listen?”

"Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don't."

"And when they don't, what do you do? Do you fight back? Do you give up?"

"Well..." You wring your hands briefly. "You're going to handle it now, right? So what does it matter?"

"It matters to me." For some reason, the thought of you trying to fight back against a larger fish makes him restless. "You still need to know how to defend yourself."

You frown. "You're not going to do it for me?"

He scoffs, but you're starting to make him feel something close to concern for you. He doesn't know why the thought of you being defenseless irks him so. "Are you really that helpless? Are you really so soft that you just want me to fight all your battles for you?"

"I mean, you're a shark."

He huffs irritably at that, his annoyance with you outweighed by his annoyance with himself for feeling concerned over you. "Do you think I'm going to do everything for you just because I'm bigger and stronger?"

You smile at him, pleased.

Ah. He's the fool suddenly. He grabs you around the waist with just one of his big hands and brings you close, his voice lowering in warning. "Stop smiling, little fish."

"Okay," you chime.

"I told you to stop sounding so bloody agreeable. You make me want to bite you." He lifts you up in front of him to get a clearer look at your face. Your eyes are too wide, your smile is too sweet, your body is too flimsy. It's all infuriating to him. He’s been roaming the ocean a long time and he's grown comfortably hard and cold. You’re not changing that. "You have no self-preservation instincts at all, do you? You're just going to get yourself killed one day."

You settle into his hand comfortably. "Maybe so. Can I get you anything else, boss?"

You're hopeless, he decides. With how sweet and docile you are, he feels something clawing at the inside of his chest the longer he holds you.

Instead of answering you, he fits you against his chest, into the crook of his arm. There. Better. He can keep you closer this way without having to look at your silly doe eyes.

“Not now,” he says finally. “Maybe later.”

You lean into the position, tucking into the side of his chest like you're making yourself at home. "Okay, boss."

He can’t decide if he likes you calling him that or not. He can feel the way you nestle against him, settling in comfortably and making no effort to resist. You really are too easy to control. Just a little pull and you're molded against his side. He feels you start to smooth down some of his chest scales without even thinking. Grooming him. Nice and clean. Little busybody.

He's not used to being pampered, but feeling the tension start to bleed from his muscles under your touch… maybe it’s not so bad. He glances down at you, wondering how you're able to look so contented tucked up against him. His chest rumbles as you scratch near his throat. He lets his muscles relax under your hand.

You're an annoying little thing--too innocent, too naive, too sweet, and he conveniently forgets how capable you are of convincing him of that to win him over--but it's been too damn long since he's allowed himself to be comforted.

Maybe it would be alright to let you stay with him for a little while.

...

more Price / more mer au / masterlist tag