#(ask box too full it’s getting overwhelming)

[hatsunemiku-official]

im going to be clearing out my ask box today, but first i’ll post all the wonderful art you all have sent me that I haven’t shared yet…!

[yeyinde]

when your need grows teeth | John Price x f!Reader

John's the type of man to lock his jaws around what's his, preferring instead to ruin things, puncture it full of holes, and litter it with scars, rather than let it go. It starts when you ask him to pick up your birth control—like dangling a piece of bloody meat in front of a starving dog.  Of course he's going to take a bite.  He thinks you ought to have known this by now. 

SMUT 18+ | gratuitous smut; HEAVY breeding kink, breeding; Dom!John Price; p-in-v sex, unsafe sex; rough sex; mentions of spanking; mutual manipulation; this is roughly 10k of John Plotting and fucking you; John is: unhinged, obsessive, possessive, and Scheming. mentions of birth control tampering but nothing is followed through. No. He’s going to knock you up the old-fashioned way—by making you beg for it.

AO3 MIRROR

John has always had this desire—this awful, instinctual drive in the back of his head to knock someone up. Get them fat, swollen with his child. His. 

And maybe that's the crux of it. Possession. To have something of the most rooted kind. To irrevocably change someone—their anatomy, their body, the chemistry in their brain, their status in life from them (single no dependents) to mother (mother of his child), their very atoms—and create life from the combined parts. 

It's this almost fantastical beast, this unreachable dream for him. 

It's his Shangri-la. His castle in Spain. 

He's not under any disillusionment that this idea of fatherhood, of parenthood, is slightly skewed. That most men who want children don't feel this overwhelmingly greedy desire to fundamentally alter someone in such an irreversible way. It's not quite ownership, but it's the same ilk. A bastardised, unwanted child of it. 

And it's not just this idea of claimation—to forever be the father of their child, even if neither of them stays together; a piece of him will always be there, parasitic, no matter what—but something deeper. Something a bit less—egregious. 

This is, and always has been, about yearning. 

John's the type of man to lock his jaws around what's his, preferring instead to ruin things, puncture it full of holes, and litter it with scars, rather than to let it go. 

Marriage, he finds, is breakable. Divorce, separation. He's always on his worst behaviour in the initial stages of dating, so it's never something he has to entertain since no one ever sticks around long enough for it to be on the table, much less the menu, but the idea of it—of signing papers, of hashing out the split, of being known as ex-husband—leaves a bitter tang between his teeth. It won't do. He needs permanence. Perpetuity. 

Nothing says forever quite like a child, does it? 

And sure—he’s aware that countermeasures exist: custody orders, sole custody, shared; allotted visitations; divisional lines in this new age that keep the parents from ever interacting—but while you can get divorced, you can't unmake a child, can you?

The child would never write him out, either. 

Where deadbeats exist, it's important to note that their counterparts do, too. The ones like him who will gouge their eyes out of their skulls before they ever let what happened to them growing up trickle down and impact their child, polluting the pool. 

Simply put: John Price knows he'd be the best dad there is because he's stubborn that way. 

It helps, he supposes, that he really only has so much love to give out to the world, and greedily, he stashed the entirety of it away in a box to give to his would-be wife and their child. An overwhelming deluge that promises happiness should it ever be unlocked. Pandora's box, perhaps—down to the very essence because if John Price were to ever love someone, then it's probably in their best interest to run from it, this gaping, needy chasm. 

Not that it would ever be a possibility, of course—he’s much too good at compartmentalisation, in taking out his anger, his viciousness, on the ugly world he drenches himself in, the one his hands have a tangible cause and effect principle in place that will forever feed that starving beast inside of him.

Ergo—he’s a staunch supporter of the theory: happy wife, happy life. Though where those men think in a box stuffed full of emotional intimacy, flowers, chocolate, maintaining love, all-consuming and enduring, he takes it to extremes that would have them cowering a little bit. Maybe a lot.  

But that's fine. He only has to make sure his family is happy. No one else matters, save a select few who have a seat at his table during Sunday dinners. 

The rest, though? Spare parts. 

(The ice-cold resolve in those two words is apodictic, brass bound, and he's sure if his higher-ups knew about it, well—

His chest candy would be a hole in the ground. Put the rabid dog down before it has a chance to bite.)

But that all-consuming, devouring, obsessive love he has to give, that begs to be let free, is the reason why it's so tightly leashed. Locked up in a box. Untouchable. Inaccessible. 

It's why he isn't married. 

Ghost once asked him why the women he dated were older. Much older. Menopausal (always). And he'd said something to the effect of it being his type. Older women who wouldn't cower away from the acrid burn of him, who wouldn't hurt their delicate little hands on his gritty surface. 

But the real reason is because he knows better. 

He's a starving dog, and it's just bad form to dangle a piece of meat in front of it. Especially when the hand holding it is his own. 

Don't bite the hand that feeds you, and all. 

(The keen look in Ghost's eyes told him that, perhaps, the man already knew the reason when he asked, and was just satiating himself with kinship—the dark, awful look on Simon's ugly mug after the dredging the underbelly of Price’s rotten, mouldering mudfloor of things unsaid spoke volumes. 

They'd both nodded. Content, then. And promptly ordered a shot of whisky to drown the salivation, the hunger, from clogging their throats. Killing the urge to bite.

A pair of packless, stray dogs.)

But then he found you, and all his careful planning, all his distance, blew up in his face. 

It's always been on his mind since then. Lingering in his periphery—this fevered, tantalising vision of you, round and swollen with his child. 

It's unattainable, of course. A fantasy. 

Though, this—you throwing up in the washroom of his penthouse, undoubtedly knocked up by his machinations—is probably because he kept that desire too close to where he hides his questionable mortality, the one that allows him to throw innocent people to their deaths, and send mothers and fathers to an early grave just so he can rip his fists apart on their bastard offspring in his own brand of catharsis that always bites back when they grow up, hankering for revenge. 

He's always been good at snatching dreams out of the air, clenching them tight in his fists. Taming chimerical wants, whims, until they were docile, domesticated. Making realities out of fiction. 

And really—he’s just not a good man.

He thought you'd have known this by now.

He remembers the first time he growled the words into your ear as he came, your cunt clenching around him like a vice. Desperate for it, he teased after, fingers fucking into your sloppy, leaking hole. Pushing his spend back into you. Half-drunk on the taste of you still clinging to his beard, but mostly just mesmerised by the sight of you—pretty pussy all ruined, swollen from the vicious, hateful pounding he gave it, and dipping with his cum like a faucet. 

(It pissed him off—still does, really—when you waste it like this.)

Gonna fill you up, he snarled, low and wrecked. Gonna make it take—

It was a fantasy. Still is. But the way it took root in the garden of your bedroom, like it belonged—native flora, he thinks, a touch mad with it—had something ugly, oil slick, rearing up from that untouchable place in his head. 

He could really blame you for it—and does. The way your ankles locked tight around his thighs, hands reaching, grabbing at his waist, clawing at his asscheeks to press him in deeper, deeper still, as he came inside of you, cock lodged right against your plug, had that untameable beast cocking its head in consideration after you danced too close to it, waking it from his long, restful slumber. 

You wanted it. Ached for it. He could feel it in the way your walls tightened around him, practically starving for it. Your pretty, glossy eyes rolling back into your head. Drool running down your chin. A litany of pleas spilled from your kiss-bruised lips, begging him for it. Please, John. Please. Please—

Who was he to deny you? 

Even if you made a big, flustered show of waving it off—not something I've ever imagined for myself, you know? and–and your lifestyle, what you do—is something like that even possible for us?—he saw how it curled around your shoulders, dipping its silver tongue into your ear. Germinating. 

He let it. Encouraged it. 

“Something to talk about later,” he indulged, reaching over for a cigar just to smother the urge to breed you stupid. To tie you to his bedposts and keep you full until your belly was swelling with more than just the absurd volume of his seed he pumped inside of you. 

And, oh—

The uneasy smile on your face reeked of disappointment. 

Fuck. Fuck—

John went to the washroom after that, heart pounding out of his chest, and jabbed the lit end of his cigar into his thigh to kill the fever in his veins. To rewrite the desperate, ugly howling in his head with pain instead. 

It worked. Works—

Until you came to him, all watery-eyed and worried, and told him to please, please stop falling asleep with a lit cigar because you think you might just go mad if you lost him to a cigarette fire. And doesn't he see how silly it is, these burns look so bad, John, and I worry—

His teeth ached. He smiled, but it felt like a grimace. A dog holding back the instinct to bare its teeth. 

“Sure, love,” he'd said, and started taking out his anger on your cunt instead, fucking you deep, and stupid. Getting you all cockdrunk, and hungry for the dream that spoiled so badly in the back of his head, he's sure a proper man would call it a nightmare. “Anything you want.”

(Brassbound. Apodictic. You know that, he knows you know that, so imagine his surprise when you come to him, all soft and tender, and ask him to pick up your birth control as if he hadn't spent the better part of two years grumbling every fucking time you took it and wasn't on the verge of tossing the damn bottle out the window, and fucking you until it took—

But—you do know that, don't you? 

Well, then. Whatever his lady wants, right? Right.)

“Can you stop by the pharmacy on your way home tonight?”

He hums, fiddling with the belt of his slacks in front of the mirror. “Sure, love. You feelin’ sick?” 

“No,” you murmur, sliding behind him on your way to the washroom, wearing nothing but a towel tucked under your arms. “I need my refill. For birth control.” 

His hands still. A gnarled, rotted tendril curls over the edge of the cesspool, murky, ink black water splashing all over the place. “Oh, yeah? Still taking that, hm?”

You fluster. Hands waving, chock full of nervous, emotive energy you can't seem to shake off. “Well—yes. I mean, obviously.”

And he'd leave it there, let the spillage dry on the hot pavement, if you hadn't glanced back at him, all damp keenness, slightly skittish, and asked, feather-soft and utterly fragile, “right?” 

Right? A question, he notes. Not a statement. 

He licks his teeth. Tastes something rancid in the gaps. 

“Mm. I suppose so.” He leaves it vague, but drenches it in the heavy weight of his disappointment. Anchors dragging it down. You flit around the space like a house-locked bird, slamming into the walls and ceiling as you try—blind and panicked—to find an escape. Any escape. 

He finds the whole thing utterly charming. Especially when you realise he pitched himself in front of the only exit, thick, heavy hands curled around his belt, cock outlined against his slacks, already thickened, drooling in his pants. 

There's gasp—wet, and sharp—as you take him in. The liquid of his eyes as his want bleeds out of his skull. The flush on his cheeks, the twitch of his cock at the mere mention of you not taking your silly little pills. 

John lets it sit for a moment, taking in greedy lungfuls of your unease as you glance everywhere but at him, as if looking in his direction, breathing in this toxic miasma will give you a contact high. Infectious. Gnarled. 

The little seed that started germinating blooms. 

He fights back the urge to grin, all teeth. Madness staining them black. 

“It's—it’s on—” and fuck, he's never seen you so unsure before, this nervous. You handle him like a wrangler, wrassling his brutish dominance until it's putty in your hands, splitting his head into pieces and galvanising the madness inside until it's scripture for you to peek at whenever you need guidance, insight into him, his essence, his being. 

Your dyadic has always been built on permeance. 

John doesn't think there's a single person alive who understands him as much as you do. The only person who seems content to gorge yourself on his rotted marrow like it was a delicacy. 

Seeing you like this rents his resolve in two. 

“It's the pharmacy near the, uh, the school. The kindergarten.” 

He chokes on a groan, and thinks he tears something in his throat with the strain of keeping it down. There's blood, ash, in the back of his throat.

“Alright, love. I'll pick it up.” 

You smell it, and shiver. 

It's giving meat to a starving dog, and saying, dog, don't take a bite. 

And so, of course he does. 

John picks up your prescription, tossing it in the passenger seat like it personally offended him. And it has. Does. It's what's standing in the way between what he wants, what he craves, and there's a distinct thrum of irritation welling inside of him. One that started when he had to bark out your name at the counter earlier, and the pharmacist looked at him, and calmly, kindly, explained what it was he was picking up. 

Make sure she takes them once a day. Preferably at the same time. This brand of oral contraceptive can be taken with or without food—

Fuck off, he thought—thinks, even now, glowering into the tinted window of the pharmacy. 

He grips the steering wheel tight until his scarred knuckles bleach white under the strain, and sits in the parking lot, staring, unseeingly, at the shops. Pensive. Thoughtful. It gnarls over his expression until he's the picture of that grizzly-like intensity you often accuse him of. All furrowed brows and a pinched, angry twist to his lips. 

There's a series of complex equations running laps in his head. He's no stranger to this process, needing to make life or death decisions in less time it takes someone to snap their fingers, or tentatively stammer out his title. 

This one is more linear than the rest. One plus one, so to speak. But the weight of it is profound. Heavier, even, than deciding between the success of his mission and the life of an innocent bystander. 

(But he thinks he's just selfish like that.)

In his head, he debates the ethics of replacing all of these silly little tablets that stand in his way with sugar pills. 

It would be the quickest path to the end, but the risk-reward ratio ebbs and flows the more he considers things without the miasmic influence of that abomination throwing itself at the walls of its enclosure, howling in an endless cacophony of do it, do itdoit—

A better man wouldn't even have such a temptation. He supposes that's what you deserve, but he already had this particular crisis a few months after he met you, and realised that the things he wanted to do to you would undoubtedly put him on a list. Slapped so hard with a restraining order, his ears would still be buzzing. 

That something about you made his jowls twinge, and his teeth ache, and no amount of stay away from her, Price; she deserves better than you was going to keep his dirty hands from curling around your throat, leaving soot-stains on your skin in the shape of his fingerprints. Brandishing ownership in burst blood vessels; a pretty collar for you to wear because as much as you like to pretend otherwise—

You're a dog just like him. 

In any case, he's the best choice for you. The only one who'd burn the world just to keep you warm, and that's what you really need. Protection. 

And fuck—you toy with that particular urge that has always been etched in fine lines within the walls of bones; dipping your fingers into it, and spreading it over the apples of your cheek. Everything about you prickles along his hindbrain. Renders him from a modern man with modern ideals to an animal who can only speak in growls, snarls; pure primalism, all instinct. 

You're made for each other down to the bone. He's sure he could split your head apart and find that your cranial sutures are perfectly mirrored. Made in the same image: you were grown from his missing rib, and he always meant to be cradled in the brackets of your thighs. 

So, crisis of worthiness aside—because there are none, not anymore—he plots. Plans. Schemes. But his machinations keep catching on the soft fibrils of your wants. 

John doesn't know what he'd do if you changed your mind. 

(Or, rather, he does but that's another madness to unravel with his personal therapist.)

It's with this—the slight brandishing of his uncertainty in your certainty—that he gives up the idea, pocketing it for a later date, and drives home, back to you. 

He doesn't toss the bag on the counter, but sets it up perfectly, placing it as close to the edge where the bin sits under it. All it would take is a breath of wind for it to fall into the trash. 

That doesn't happen, though. You stare at the white, crinkled package for a moment as he sips on his tea, quietly contemplative. With your expression hidden from him, he has no idea what might be going through that pretty head of yours. Disappointment, he can only hope. And then you're reaching for it, fingers gripping the bag tightly in your fist. He hears the paper crumble. It sparks something inside his chest. A bloom of hope that you might just throw it out. Toss it in the bin—

You turn to him instead, knuckles white. 

“Thanks,” you say, and the matter is dropped. 

He goes to tuck that want back where it escaped, leaving slick trails of putrefying rot behind, but—

John peeks in the vanity later that evening, but where he expects to see the little rectangular package sitting in its usual spot between his aftershave and the mouthwash, he finds nothing. Just an empty spot on the ledge, spotlit by the lack of dust. A clean square of white paint, undisturbed. 

His jaw twinges. He wonders if you're hiding it from him, keeping it safe from his machinations, but then he finds it shoved in the drawer with his shaving kit, and the box of condoms he bought when you'd first started dating (for show, naturally—John had no intentions of using them and learned persuasion was your Achilles heel; that and you tended to get a little glossy-eyed whenever he growled filth in your ear, the smell of your cunt heavy on his breath). 

The package is crinkled like you squeezed it tight in your little fist before you tossed it in. 

You're always meticulous in the way you put things in their places. Even the junk drawer is organised, all neat. 

This speaks volumes, but he's not quite sure what it says. They are still here, though. Accessible. One is missing from the pack. It dampens his mood. 

He picks up his toothbrush, and runs through those calculations again to see how he can convince you to skip the one you're meant to take tomorrow. And the next day, and the next, and the next—

He stays awake as you sleep beside him, looking into how many days you can miss before your brand of birth control stops being effective. 

Seven pills in a row. 

He files it away, lost in thought. 

The next morning, he leaves his phone open on the bedside table with the article pulled up. He kisses you awake before he leaves to shower, humming something soft under his breath. 

When he returns, he finds you sitting up in bed with your knees drawn to your chest. There's something pensive about the look on your face. Paper soft, as though it would all blow away at a mere whisper. 

You regard him almost cooly but something raw, fractured splits over the ravine. A waterfall of midnight black sludge rains down. 

(He wonders if it tastes of the same rot, the same madness, as the basin of the untouched recesses of his head—)

“I'm working late tonight,” you murmur after a measured beat, and he can't place your tone. “Maybe we can watch a movie when I get home.” 

John nods, and your eyes drop, scaling down his bare, broad chest as he breathes in the flint staining the air. Your gaze is white-hot when it bludgeons into him, feverish. 

It doesn't take much beckoning at all to have him crawling toward you, towel ripped from his hips and thrown somewhere in the aether. 

As he steals the madness from your tongue, his eyes flicker to the phone still sitting on the table. It looks perfectly untouched. The screen is off. 

That, too, he files away. 

John comes to the succinct conclusion that the only means he has in his arsenal to get what he wants—legally, and somewhat morally, anyway—is persuasion. 

There's no recourse if he can water that burgeoning plant inside of you, make it seem like this is something you want, too. A family. With him. 

(Only him.)

He knows that you see things quite similarly to him. Wherein love is desire. Desire is hunger. And there's nothing more profound to you than to eat the person you love alive. Consumption of every part—the good, the beautiful, the bad, the ugly, and the rotted: skin, fat, muscles, blood, and bones. All of it. 

So, even if somewhere down the road you think you hate him for this, it'll be fine. He'll just consume that, too. 

John Price is a tenacious man. Stubborn. 

(Bullish, he hears around the barracks. Fuckin’ stubborn prick, too.)

It helps that this line of work is perfectly suited for such a peremptory drive to the finish line, no matter the cost. Utilitarian to a fault, despite his rather recalcitrant disposition. It's how he gets his way more often than not. Brutish dominance. Loutish suppression. 

But a near reckless, suicidal loyalty that attracts the sort of beasts this line of work needs. 

But that's work, not this. Not trying to convince you, his sugar-sweet (and viciously diabolical) lover, to bear the burden of giving him a family because society says it's uncouth (and illegal, morally reprehensible, villainous) for him to chain you to his bed to keep the darker parts of himself that want to rip into anyone who had the pleasure—pleasure that no longer belongs to them—of looking at you. 

That's all for him. 

(Nasty old bastard.) 

And, of course, because he's ready. Everything clicks. Locks into place. There's no one else out there for him. 

Really, though—it's your fault for prodding that beast in the first place. For letting inside your house, your bed. For thinking it could be tamed. And so. You should accept responsibility for it. 

(Nasty, nasty—)

But just as much as you know him, he knows you. You'll give him a litany of reasons why this shouldn't happen, and none of them will be because this isn't what you want. It'll be filled with reasons why you think he doesn't. 

And that simply won't do. 

So, he plots. Plans. 

The thing is. No one ever taught him how to hold things in his hands without crushing it. 

He doesn't think he can be delicate. Gentle. There's no way to gently nudge you into this. No. 

He'll convince you to yield the same way a tsunami convinces a house to move out of the way. 

Buried to the hilt in your cunt, he growls gospels into your ear about this beautiful Shangri-la, this sprawling castle he has in Spain until you're clenching down around him tight, conditioning your body to come at the thought of swelling with his child. About letting his seed take root, letting him knock you up. 

It's a crass image that he spits into your head—fuck you until it takes, love; breed this pretty cunt every day until you're fat and swollen—serves as the positive reinforcement to his classical conditioning. He'll turn you into one of Pavlov's mutts, salivating at the sound of him groaning into your ear as he fills your pussy up to the brim. He'll reshape you, change your wants until you only come around his cock when he's spitting his release against the plug of your womb. 

And when you make to get up, letting all his spend slip from your sloppy cunt to take your pill, he pulls you closer under the guise of wanting to feel your body on his, murmuring diabolical compromises he has no intention of letting you see through. 

“Later,” he rasps, pulling you closer. His mouth slots across your temple. “Just take it later, sweetheart. Later.”

“But—”

“It’ll be fine.” 

And, as if you'd been waiting for that reassurance, you melt into his hands, wet putty. 

(you take the bloody pill later, and he adds that to his mental calendar, adjusting the maths. He supposes he’ll just have to try harder next time.)

John's desire for you is overwhelming, all-encompassing, and he schemes around his wandering hands, bullying into your messy cunt only moments before your alarm is meant to go off, reminding you to take your pill, reinforcing that irritating little wall that keeps his come from reaching your womb. 

It goes off, but he hardly hears it over the roaring in his ears, the sweet, sweet litany of moans that slip out, staining the pillow with your pleasure. He just keeps fucking you through it, growling mindlessly into your ears about how badly he wants to come inside of you. His warnings, threats, about how close he is intertwining with your desperate begging for him to come, come inside me, John is the most beautiful harmonisation he'd ever heard, and it sews itself into his marrow, polluting the ugliness inside with a new, fresh hell for him to torture himself with. That delicious pleasure-pain that drives him mad—

He fills you up, palm pressed taut to your lower belly as he spits his virile release deep into your cunt. He can feel the heavy outline of his cock against your skin, stuffed full of him, and it's this—the way he moulds your body around him, cock visible through your flesh—that makes his eyes roll back into his head. Makes the urge to fuck, to breed, to claim bludgeon into him, shattering reason, logic. He wants to change you, irrevocably. Forever. To mar you with his touch, his essence. 

“Mine,” he chokes out, ugly and raw. It's a mangled mess in his throat. A threat. “All fucking mine, aren't you, love? All mine—”

His words seem to throw you into another climax, cunt clenching greedily down around him as he softens inside of you, plugging you up. You liked that, he notes, purs. The notion brands itself across his resolve, reshaping it into something that would make anyone else recoil in fear, disgust. 

But you preen at this creature that bares its fangs at you, snaps wicked teeth against your jugular. Fingers threading through its hair, shushing it, soothing it, as you pull it back into your embrace, head tucked against your chest. You lull it into complacency with the heavy thud of your heart, your sweet, earthy scent. 

What a pair, he thinks, and clamps his hands around your wrist when you murmur something about taking your pill now. Need to take it before it gets too late, John—

He makes his move, distracts you with his mouth, his tongue. 

“Just take it after,” he murmurs into your pussy, thighs bracketing around his head. His hands pull your waist down, pressing you harder against his mouth. “Later, love. It'll be fine—”

“But, John—”

The protest dies, turns to ash, when he grunts, sealing his lips around your clit, bullying it with the rasping press of tongue until you're arching your back, riding his face. Thoughts of your silly pill are gone, swallowed by him as you gush, drenching his mouth in your slick. 

And after, when you make to get up again, he pulls you close instead, voice curling around you like smoke when he tells you to take it after. 

“No, love. Stay in bed with me,” he peppers kisses to your cheek, your jaw, chin, sweetening his words, and folds you into the tight embrace of his arms. “Take it in the morning. It'll be fine to miss a day.”

You level him with something that shadows the ravines in your gaze with pure, unadulterated scepticism, but as he scouts the canyons, the valleys, the pretty craters that make up the composite of your eyes, he finds no discernible trace of wariness, uncertainty. The terse line in his shoulders ease. 

But while fossicking around he unearths something else. Something a bit more enigmatic, calculative, than doubt. Equivocal, slippery, it runs from him when he tries to give chase, tucking itself back into the harsh tenebrous that shades the landscape. 

He hums, wanting to ask, but you sigh in quasi-acquiescence, and burrow deeper into his embrace. 

“Fine,” you huff, but he tastes a purring sense of satisfaction in the air. “I'll take it tomorrow instead.” 

“Good girl.” The praise slips out, low and gritty, perfumed with his heavy greed. 

You shiver against him. The hitch in your throat is quiet in the bedroom, but to him, it sounds like a gunshot. 

John keeps meticulous track of the empty pill slots, and notes with a sticky, resinous sense of glee that the numbers are becoming muddled, skewed. Later becomes tomorrow, and your soft acquiesce has days skipped. Missed. 

You can't double up, you huff to him, mournfully slinking into the bed. It's nearly one in the morning. Technically, a brand new day. I absolutely have to take it tomorrow, John. Make sure you remind me—

There's something pointed in your tone. Something oil-slick. He nods, bites back a grin. 

“Sure,” he pulls you close, breathes in the sweet, loamy scent of you—sweat and sex and the lingering remnants of your perfume, your soap—and lets it stain his lungs. “I can do that.” 

You say nothing at all when he doesn't bring it up until well past midnight the next day, offering little more than an exasperated groan, and a huffy roll of your eyes, as if this was just a missed dinner with friends and not a life-changing misstep. 

(The beast purrs. He places his hand over his chest, and feels the rumble under his skin.)

“Need to be more responsible than this, John,” you say, squirming in his hold to try and rush to the washroom to take that pesky little pill. 

“Sorry, love,” he offers, and means none of it. Clings tighter to you. “Got a bit carried away today, is all.” 

“It's not your fault—” something curls out from a dark crevasse when you look at him. “I've been so—off lately, you know? Must be the new batch. Maybe I should call my doctor.” 

He stills. Body tensing, coiling. John tries to speak, but the words are ash on his tongue. He clears his throat. 

“Could stop taking it.” 

It crackles in the air. Hangs heavy like a stormcloud. 

You blink, stunned. But it's artificial, hollow. Pulled from a wicker basket where you keep all your different skins. 

“You mean—what? Stop it all together—?”

You flit in the space once more, but it's less of an injured bird searching for an escape, he realises suddenly, and more of—

A boomslang. 

One rearing up, searching for the perfect place to strike. 

Wishful thinking, though, because you're flustered and skittish once more, a small prey animal he isn't sure what he wants to do the most—sink his teeth into you, tear you into pieces, and devour you whole, or hide you away from the world. 

“I can look for something else in the meantime,” you sound shy, hesitant, and it prickles across his skin. “But we'd need to be careful, you know. Otherwise you might actually get me pregnant.”

He tries to swallow his groan. Chokes on it instead. 

“Sure, sure—” he hacks into his palm. “Of course, love. We'll be safe. I'll pull out—”

Naturally, he doesn't. Makes no effort to even try despite promising you he is. 

“Not my fault your pussy won't let go of me, love,” he grumbles, hand cupping your weeping sex in his palm. The heat of you is searing. Blistering. He thinks he could happily melt inside of it for the rest of his life, and leans down to whisper his devotion into your come-slicked folds, the bitter tang of you, of him, admixing on his tongue. An elixir he could drown in. 

You huff at him after, all glossy-eyed and sex-drunk, and tell him to please try harder, John, I'll have to get plan b tomorrow—

You don't, but the threat of it, the possibility, lingers in the back of his mind, souring his thoughts. 

Next time, and I'll have to, John, you say, featherlight, lips pressed against the head of his cock. A warning, a goddamn tease—

His voice is strained, pinched. “Of course, love,” and he guides your mouth back to his cock, letting the matter fall into pieces when you suck on the sensitive head, tongue licking, coy and kittenish, over his frenulum. 

It's only later, when watches you swallow down his come, that the beast slinks out of the shadows, pocketing the fragments. 

You're off birth control—barely any scheming words of whispered concern needed—but the idea of you taking a little pill to wipe away his efforts has him pulling back. Recalibrating his plans. 

He decides on a different route to the same end. 

Damnation at your own hand. 

John, for his credit, does begin to pull out after that—albeit, with a great deal of agonised reluctance—and instead comes all over your pretty face. 

With thick ropes of his pearlescent spend dripping down the apples of your heated cheeks, he doesn't think he's ever seen a sight more beautiful than this. 

And one with more opportunity.

Slowly, he swipes at it with his thumb and then promptly brings it down, hard, on your clit. You flinch, mewling at the overstimulation, and the threat he brings so close to your raw, unprotected sex. It's dangerous. This thin line he dances along could snap at any moment. Could rain hellfire and fury over his broad shoulders, unmake all the progress he'd steadily built up. 

He walks the precipice, anyway. He pulls his hand away, and brings two fingers up to curve over your cheeks. His thumb, stained with your slick and his come, slides across your bottom lip. 

The pout you give him—all wet-eyed lachrymose—has his spent cock twitching against his sticky thigh. “Fuck, love. Gonna send me to an early grave if you keep starin’ at me like that.” 

“You're cracked,” you slur around his thumb. In retaliation, he digs it into your tongue, and preens—full of nasty, gnarled satisfaction—when your eyes flutter, rolling into the back of your head at the taste. 

With this brief distraction, he drops his come-stained fingers to your mound, and rubs along the swollen rim of your hole. Just touching, pressing. A tease, a whisper. 

You tense. “John—” it's muffled around his thumb, and he isn't sure if it's a warning or a plea. 

He pushes the tips in, barely to the first knuckle, and just pets around your rim. 

It's a battle of wills, now. “No more than this,” he promises, and the undercurrent of his threat rents the air. Makes you bristle. 

You always loved a challenge—especially coming from him. 

“Just the tip?” You tease, spittle running down your chin. Your eyes are dark—midnight skies, ink black—and he's struck by the afterimage of himself in those pools. Made in the same image. 

He grunts, slides into the first knuckle, and scissors them apart. 

“John—” it's breathless. Your teeth spear his thumb, tight around his bone. He wants nothing more than to have you bite down hard, scar his bones with the gnawed meteors of your desire. Your desperation. “Fuck—please—”

You give in so prettily, and he barely has a moment to think about how quick it's been when you angle your hips, hand falling to grip his wrist tight as you slide down his fingers, all the way to the last knuckle. 

You clench around him like a vice. A pretty bow. He fucks you with his fingers, meeting your shallow thrusts with ones of his own, slamming viciously into your pussy as he coos adorations into your ear. 

With his other hand, he reaches down and fists himself over your bare mound, pressing the tip against your clit where it weeps prespend over your flesh. His thumb sweeps across what spills out, dragging it back down to your sopping hole, pushing it inside. 

It's probably not enough to reach your womb, to get you pregnant, but he clings to that tantalising fantasy as he drills his fingers into you until you come, breathlessly begging him to fuck you harder, to fill you up—

He isn't even fucking you with his cock, and you still beg him for it. 

John pushes the tip into your slit, fingers still buried deep inside of your throbbing pussy, and groans with the force of his release. It makes him dizzy, almost nauseous with it, filling his head with nothing but the sweet, wounded sound of your moans filling the room, and the wet squelch of his fingers pulling out of you. 

When he catches the threads of cognisance in his fingers once more, he leans back on his haunches, chest heaving, and brands the messy sight of your pussy fluttering, clenching around nothing, as his spend drips down your slit, over your hole, and pools in the sheets below. 

He's not sure if heaven exists, but he knows the sight of you, breathless and whimpering on his bed, is the closest a man like him will ever come to seeing it. 

The push-pull of this little game stretches on. 

Price likes to see just how far he toe the line before you're whimpering into the sheets, telling him don't, John, don't come inside me, I'm not anything, John—and he's ripping himself away from the tight clutch of your wet, hot cunt, and coming all over you.

The illicit tease of barely pulling out in time, and then scooping up the mess he makes on your face, your breasts, your belly, your ass, lower back, thighs, and spooning it into your pussy until it's a fixture in your bedroom ritual. 

And maybe it's the threat of it all, of playing such a dangerous game, seems to cudgel under his skin the most, ripping apart the thin veneer of that man he once pretended to be—righteous and good—shedding it off with each hiccupped gasp you make when he presses his come-slicked fingers inside of you, murmuring guttural words of affection in the shape of impish mockery (want it bad, don't you, sweet thing; so fuckin’ greedy for it, love—). 

He likes it the most when he can fuck you stupid on his fingers. Cockdrunk, and come-starved (because you are, of course; he hasn't come inside of your cunt in weeks, and doesn't miss the mournfully pitiful whines you give when he pulls out, depriving you of the pleasure of feeling him come inside you), you're too blissed out, swimming in pleasure, to think about what he's doing. 

In fact, he doesn't really give you much of a chance to think at all. 

The next few weeks are filled with him fucking you each night brutally, viciously, snarling low in your ear about how bad he wants to come in you, stuff you full, and then keep you plugged up all night with his cock that it takes, and then pulling out right before, committing the sight of your betrayed expression to memory where it'll sit like a trophy when you finally break. 

You make an appointment with your gynaecologist, and circle the date on his calendar. 

John notes it down. Tucks it away. 

And then he amps up the pressure.

John's fingers root behind your knees, pushing your thighs apart as he settles between them. His gaze drills into your bare cunt, slick and wet, and so ready for him. Eager for it. 

He'd counted the days, and knows that if there's ever the absolute worst time to have unprotected sex, to come inside of you, is now. 

Which, of course, means he has to. The clause in that is ironclad. Apodictic. 

“Bit dangerous,” he rasps, and lifts your leg up, resting your ankle on his shoulder. You fluster beneath him, panting and pretty, and fuck—he’s not pulling out of your pussy tonight at all. “Should I pull out?” 

It's a tease. A test. 

He reaches down as he says the words, gripping his cock and bringing it down against your wet heat. The bare, blunt head of his cocks slaps against your clit, and you arch, keening. Nails bite into the thick muscles of his biceps, and he leans into the sharp sting. Letting it ground him. Centre him. 

This will be your cacoëthes. 

He's been depriving you for weeks, and John knows that you're wanting for it. Desperate. The little twitches your hips give, as if begging him to fill you up, are proof enough of how much you want this. 

This. The dream he dripped into your ears, hot oil congealing over your frontal lobe; infectious and thick. You can try to chisel it off, but the pollution is already damning. Ruining. 

You want this. He wears the axiom like armour. 

And you beg for it—eyes shaded in gut wrenchingly beautiful lachrymose—and John snuffles closer, inching the weeping head of his cock into your tight, warm heat. 

The sight of splitting you open is something he never grows tired of. Something that, without fail, makes his balls ache. His chest thrum. Blood turns to ichor. To wine. He's drunk on the contrast made between you—a garish chiaroscuro of your pretty pussy, soft and sickly sweet—almost nauseatingly so—swallowing down the fat, girthy length of his cock. The thick streams of veins running along the flushed, heavy shaft against your puffy, soft folds is almost hideous. Sinful. He can't equate it to anything else except corruption. The horrific beast sullying the princess. 

And fuck—

The thought alone makes him throb. 

He's sullied you plenty, he reckons, and yet you always look so sweet. Especially now, when your rim is stretched taut around the thick of him, pussy squeezing, clenching around him in a vice, as if you weren't sure to push him out or pull him deeper. 

John decides for you. Opting instead to push your knees down to your chest, nearly brushing your ears, and follows with the bulk of his body until he feels your breath rush out of your lungs. You struggle for a moment, gasping wetly into his ear as his weight—every bearish pound of it—rests on you in the perfect mating press. Your bite into his biceps, keening prettily into his ear as he bullies the full length of his cock into you. Spears you open. Splits you apart. 

He can feel you gush around him, drenching his groin and thighs with your slick. 

Like this—chest to chest, forced to breathe in the same air, the same madness—he likes to just stare at you, taking in the heat simmering under your skin, the sweat beading along your temple, the pinch in your brow as you struggle to adjust to the sheer width of him cudgelling you open. A battering ram you're forced to make room for. 

He takes it all in, each flicker of emotion, each heaving gasp. Burns it into his memory. Lets it soften the iron around his heart. Keeps it there, nestled in the cradle of his limited love, held aloft by indelicate, bearish hands. This sweet thing. 

He can't wait to ruin it. 

If these weeks leading up to this were lovemaking, fucking, then this, this, is mating. Animalistic. Primal. He pushes in as deep as he can, until the tip kisses the ripened seal of your womb, and grinds his hips cruelly into the cradle of your thighs. 

Your nails leave bloodied indents in his flesh. A scar he'll proudly bear the mark of. A tattoo of the time when he turned you into something new. 

His balls are soaked. The sheets, too. He mocks you for it, a rasping growl lodged deep in his throat, taunting you about how fucking wet you are for him. How badly you need it. 

“Gotta plug you up, hm?” He grunts, and sets a pace that serves only to accentuate the sloppy, messy squelch of your cunt. 

His cock pistoning into you, alternating between deep, full thrusts that knock the air from your lungs, and heavy, slow plunges meant to badger the blunt head of his cock against your walls. 

You seem to like it best when he shifts his weight between each thigh, content to just grind into you. Make you feel every inch of him. You cling to him, yowling in his ear about how good it feels, how much you love this, love his cock—

The thick bed of wry, umber curls on his chest, stomach, and groin grow slick with sweat from the intensity of it all, from the shared heat. Pressed tight against you, he feels every quiver. Every flinch. Each moan is made known in a slight reverberation across his skin before he hears it. 

Drenched in sweat, glued to you as he fucks you into the mattress, John feels very much like the beast making a house out of a twisted whim in his head. Feverish, sick, he drives into you with the single minded goal of filling that home up with three. Then four. Five—

As many as you'll let him.

And he almost loses himself to that thought alone. Dancing sugar plums that make his balls tighten. He stems the flood by pulling out of you, letting his heavy cock slap against your sticky, soaked cunt as he heaves into your hairline, sucking in the heady loam, the humus, of your scent. 

The whimper you make when he pulls out of you sounds like a wounded animal, and the noise tickles across his hindbrain. His jaw aches. He bites down on a snarl as you thrash against him, mindless with the need to have him inside of you. It brings a nasty, vicious curl to the ends of his mouth, and he doesn't even bother trying to tamper it down. John lifts his head and lets you see his foaming muzzle, drooling with thick globes of saliva. 

“Stay still,” he growls, low and dangerous. It's as much of a warning as it is a command, and the way you react, tensing, coiling tight—the flash of unease. Shock. And then the need. Achy, heavy. He feels it against his jugular when you shiver, moaning his name into the space between you where it reeks of desperation. 

To soften the submissive tremble in your jaw—and maybe to temper down the challenging talons sharpening in your gaze—he nuzzles his cheek against yours, peppers wet kisses to your skin. He licks across your jaw, bites down on your flesh. 

He tastes salt and sin on your skin. 

(His eyes roll so far back into his skull he thinks he might get lost.)

“Gonna cum on your pretty cunt if you don't stop squirming, love.” 

And John loves you most for your waspish intelligence—the ire smouldering in your throat. The way you bite back just as hard, never afraid to bear teeth when he snarls. He doesn't think he could ever love someone too soft—not without tearing them to pieces. To shreds. 

But you wear plush, tender conchoidal skin over jagged, rough obsidian. He'll ruin himself if he ever tries to rip you apart. 

Like this, though—you melt. 

All that keen, vicious intelligence snuffed out. His scheming Cleopatra tamed on his cock. 

Your heels dig into the back of his thighs, urging him closer to your sex. “Come on, John, just fuck me, fuck me already—”

(Tamed, though, perhaps being a misnomer.)

He huffs into your neck. “Impatient little quean.”

It gets him a sharp bite to the tip of his ear, and the floor roars so loudly in his veins, he gets dizzy from it. 

“Fuck—”

He's pressing back into you again, into your warm, tight heat, and it's nirvana kissing his nerves. Liquifying his spine. He rolls into you with a weighted groan, buried to the hilt once more. 

But even with the respite, he knows he won't last. 

John needs you fucked stupid, docile and soft just for him, and sets out to do just that. Pounding into you with a spiteful twist of his hips that he knows will leave you a little sore, and tender tomorrow. But the idea of spreading your puffy, achy folds apart and soothing the slight hurt with his tongue for hours until you're sobbing into the cushions quells any hesitation that rears, begging him to slow down. 

Go easy on your pretty cunt.

(As if.)

John batters into you until your eyes glaze over, and your chin, cheeks, smear with drool. Until the challenge in midnight black melts into submission. Docile, and malleable. Perfect for him to mould. Shape. 

Reshape.

He glues to you, touch starved and tactile, and basks in the liquid heat that blooms from deep within you. 

“Gonna cum soon,” he snarls, broken by the heave in his chest as he fucks into you, starved. “Gotta pull out, love—”

You're gripping him tighter, anchoring him to your body. You haven't come yet. Something he dangles in front of you like a threat. 

He watches the slow crawl of realisation crest over your messy face, and thinks he falls just a little bit more in love with you at the sight of your little pout. 

Loves, even more, the way it breaks apart when he pounds into you harder, viciously, watching drool dribble off your chin, and reason leak from your ears—

“Please, John—” the sound of your whimpering has him grunting, head dizzy with the saccharine sweet taste of it on his tongue. “Please, please—come inside me. I–I want you to–to fill me up—”

“Yeah?” He taunts, mean and breathless. “Want me to come inside your sloppy cunt? Dangerous, ain't it? Jus’ might take, sweet thing. Is that what you want?”

You're howling a litany of sin into his ear, desperation drenches each clamour of his name, each orison uttered, begging him to come, to fill you up, and then—

“Fuck—I want it so bad—” his head is filled with static. Whitenoise. “Want it to take, John—”

He comes inside of you, cock pulsing so hard it feels like a sob. Filling you up. Wishing on all the stars that it takes—

As a reward for your good behaviour, he spreads you out over the sheets, and growls his approval into your sopping pussy, drenching himself with the taste, the smell, of you, promising to wear it like a perfume so everyone knows how good you are for him. Him, alone. 

(His, his, his—)

When you come, you nearly smother him, and he thinks he sees a glimpse of nirvana in baby soft yellow before he's pulled back by your shaking hands brushing the hair off his sweat-slicked forehead. 

“Are you okay, John—”

He rolls you under him, fucking into your drenched pussy like a man starved. That tantalising vision glues itself to his hindbrain, so close he can scent the fresh dew of fresh milk, and warm bread in his nose. Feel the bump of your stomach. 

He's almost angry about it, about being ripped away from that dream, and takes his aggression out on your sloppy, leaking cunt. The way his come trickles out, staining the mattress below and the back of your thighs has him growling darkly into your nape. 

“Keep it in,” he snarls, words sharpened on the whetstone of his need. “Keep it all inside, love.” 

“Ah, John, John—” something falls from your split-slicked lips, and his fingers bite into your hips. Punishment for the slurred backtalk. 

“I'll spank your ass if any of it leaks out—”

It does. Of course it does. 

He bends you over his knee, and slaps his broad, rough palm over each cheek ten times before deliriously shoving two thick fingers into your sloppy cunt, stuffing his come back inside your tender, swollen hole, rough and mean, as you howl, squirming in his lap about how you promise you'll be good next time, John, please—I'll keep it all in, I swear, I—

“You fuckin’ better, love.” He groans, and thinks about cumming on your messy face, all slick with sweat, and drool, but decides against it. A waste, he thinks, and leans over you to shove the thick, twisting length of his angry cock inside you to the hilt just spit his release against your seal once more. 

“That was…” You're still panting against his chest, eyes dazed, and body laxed. Melted wax over his chest. “Intense,” you settle on after a beat. 

There's a hiccup in your breath when he hums, chest rumbling with the sound. 

“Mm, but you liked it, didn't you?”

Of course you did. Of course. The evidence of it is drying, tacky and slick, on his groin, his thighs. 

You burrow into his side, peeking at him from over the thick bed of wry curls that clot over his chest. “You're fucking me like you haven't in years, John. Makes me wonder if you have an agenda.”

He considers your words. The weight of them. Wonders just how much you've clued into, but huffs when he catches the same look in your eyes as the one reflected in his own.

Cheeky little—

“Can't I just want to fuck you? Not everything has to be about schemes, love.” 

The oil of his lies, the sticky resin of his evasion makes you huff into his skin.

In all his meticulous planning, he'd picked up several books on this particular topic, and scoured every available, reputable, site he could find. John knows what to look out for by now, and keeps a keen eye on you—one that very quickly dips into obsessiveness, but you're kind enough to call it overbearing. 

Jesus Christ, John, why are you asking me how many times I pissed today? 

He just needs to wait things out. 

But rather irritatingly, he's called away overseas for the next week. 

Ah, well. He'll have to try harder next time. 

He arrives in Heathrow mid-morning, and follows Laswell into the office. There's a mountain of reports to fill out—things that, rather irritatingly, require his signature—and resolves to spend the rest of the day hunched over at his desk, even though there's an itch in the back of his skull demanding he go home. 

It is always like this, though—both the post-mission ritual of banal paperwork that seems almost comical considering what he'd just done, and the undeniable urge to flee back into the sanctuary of your shared home. 

His bones ache for it. 

Laswell huffs when he lingers by the exit, and he swallows a groan. 

While he was away, you'd been silent. Moreso than usual. 

Where he'd have expected an update on what was going on—the mundanity of your life that he clings to when the beast in his head whets its talons a little too sharp, digs into a little too deep—you’ve gone silent. Not radio. Not completely. But the information you give is sparse. Cagey.

You don't tell him about the visit to the gynaecologist, offering nothing but a quiet hum into the receiver, all blase and nonchalant, and a simple, equivocal: “good.” 

He tucks it away, lets the matter drop. 

If he timed things correctly—barring your impish prevarication aside—then something will begin to show soon. You would have mentioned something. Some nominal change to your physical well-being, but when pried, pressed, you huff. 

“I'm good, John. When are you coming home, anyway?”

He raps his knuckles on his desk, still smarting from the punches he'd thrown recklessly this past week, too keyed up to let his anger simmer instead of boil, and thinks. About you. About this. 

A week isn't a lot of time—he’s been called away for months in the past—but this feels like it's lingering. Time stretched and distorted. Elongated. And a part of him feels chipped, fractured after touchdown. 

It wasn't as if this particular assignment was any more, or less, dangerous than the ones he went on before. If anything, it was comparatively mild. Muted. He honed into his training, and did his goddamn job. And yet—

Yet. 

You lived in the spaces he occupied. The air he breathed. The water he drank. 

He brought you with him, something he's never, ever, done before. Perched pretty on his shoulder, he heard your voice in his head with every step he took, every radio call. 

But it was hallucinatory. Chimerical. You weren't there, you were here, but the problem lies in the lack of a divide that usually bifurcates the world into two fractions: his job and you.

It eats at him. 

He brought you where he's never taken anyone before. Never let them in. 

His thoughts were asunder. Pulled in all directions, but the centre was always you. His compass pointing north. He wants you. Needs you. His whole being has been recalibrated with the needle aimed toward you. 

An alert on his phone shakes him from his reverie. 

He reaches for it, slides his hand across the lockbar. The notification pops up. A message from his bank. 

His card—the one he gave you, the one you've used all of once to buy a chocolate bar when he gruffly, surely, complained about you not spending his money—has been used. 

Curious now, he opens his app, eyes scanning the threadbare purchases—all mostly interest fees and service charges, bar one. It was recently used at a drugstore for under twenty dollars. 

He doesn't know what this means, what you're playing at. He makes to text you, but he gets an email next. 

Thank you for your purchase; here is your e-receipt. 

His heart does something strange in his chest. Turns in on itself. Goes all askew. 

Not only are you using his card, you're using his account, too. He clicks it, eyes scanning through the purchases (only two), and blinks. 

A card, and—

His want takes the shape of a hand, presses against his jugular. 

—a pregnancy test. 

He knew when he started this game that this was, of course, the inevitable outcome, but having it here, right in front of him—in that sneaky, noncommittal way you always do things; behind his back, and in the dark, like you enjoy watching him try and sniff out the truth—has his belly knotting up. Churning. 

A pregnancy test. 

Fuck—

(and out of all the ways to tell him, you cheeky little—)

He's up out of his chair before he's even aware that he's standing. 

“Laswell,” he gets out, and can't be sure how his voice is so measured when his head is being shredded into pieces. “I'm out for the rest of the day. This whole bloody week, too—”

“Something bad happen?” 

His hands shake when he pulls his jacket on, slips his car keys into his hands. “No. Quite the opposite, actually. I'm going to be a father. A bloody dad—”

It's on that sentiment when his voice breaks. Shatters. He clears his throat, blinks furiously. Fuck. Fuck. It's happening—

Shangri-la sits in his fist, taking the shape of an e-mailed receipt. 

In his periphery, he sees Simon's head come up. Watching him. Measured. 

Laswell, too, eyes him with a degree of wariness. He supposes to them this means the end of everything. 

She breathes in. “Tuscany would be my choice.”

“Oh?” He tears his eyes away from the screen, gracing her with a steady, unflinching look. “Was thinking something a bit more local. Liverpool.”

It gets a scoff, one full of disgust. “She'll divorce you within the year.” 

“I'm having a baby, Laswell. Not getting married.”

“Oh, no?” It's a challenge. “I seem to recall something about someone being a proper gentleman, or was that just the lie you told your unofficial missus?”

“We'll get married. That's not up for debate—” an intern makes an alarmed face, like perhaps it ought to be. Had he not been holding nirvana in his hand, he might be a bit more cautious with his madness. Too bloody bad. “Wherever she wants—Tuscany, Udaipur, fucking Siberia. I don't care. What I’m a bit more concerned with is my expectant wife.” 

“Soon-to-be,” she volleys, just because she knows it's the sort of thing that will itch under his skin. 

“Already is, Laswell.” He gripes, flat. “Or damn near close to it.” 

“If she knows what's good for her, she'll say no.”

“Lucky me, then, that she doesn't.” 

Lucky him, indeed. 

On his way out, Ghost utters a heated congratulations to him, and John can see his gaze is absent. Turned inward, mind whirring. Reeling. He can hear the gears grind from where he stands, and if the ink-black madness in his lieutenant’s drifting, pensive eyes means much of anything, then John sends a silent hail mary to whatever unlucky person was misfortune enough to unleash the muzzle on that particular dog. 

Well. It's not really his problem. Until it is. Until it becomes one. But since it's not something that'll impact him in the next five minutes, he tucks it away. “Thanks.” 

He doesn't linger. Doesn't, really, even remember the ride home, head buzzing with thoughts that keep twisting around themselves, driving him mental. Things like, is it real? what if you were joking. what you weren't? 

Oh, fuck—

You better not be. 

But you wouldn't. You're conniving and wily, but you're not cruel. 

This is happening, then. 

You've been playing house with matches inside of a tinderbox. He shouldn't be surprised when it all goes up in flames, in smoke, but as he walks through the door, and glimpses the pregnancy test perched innocently on the counter beside a card—congrats, daddy (and the caricature of a man in a pinstripe suit nearly makes him gag)—he feels all the maligned pieces inside of crack. 

It shifts—

You walk out, hand cupped protectively over your lower belly. Eyes gleaming like a wild cat crouched low in the tussocks surrounding the savannah, watching him an eager sense of anticipation, excitement, and just the slightest edge of what he can only imagine the unfortunate mate of a black widow sees before it's consumed. Spare parts. 

It thrums inside of him. Ignites this wicker basket he calls a heart until it's cinder. Ash. Soot. He breathes it in. Tastes you on his tongue. 

John doesn't have the words. Can't think beyond the steady brag of his burning heart. 

His. His.

—and then it all falls into place. 

Yours.

He dotes on you with an almost unhinged devotion, murmuring stilted, gruff words of muted affection into the shallow bump on your belly. Ones that you, politely, pretend not to hear. 

A new bedtime ritual, one he adheres to with an almost obsessive need. 

Until it becomes too much. 

“Go and get my prenatal vitamins from the washroom, please. I just need five minutes without you smothering me, you stupid bear of a man.”

“You love it,” he grumbles, but acquiesces, giving your small, barely there bump a pat. “I'll be back soon.”

“Oh, no… please take your time.” 

Despite the prickle in your tongue, your eyes are soft. Warm. Melting him just a little more. 

John pulls away, and doesn't even pretend the reluctance to be apart is feigned. 

“It's in the drawer,” you call, voice stretched. Echoing. “Next to your shaving cream.” 

He pulls the drawer open, scanning the contents briefly, before finding the purple bottle in the back. Why you chose here of all places to put the bloody things—

His knuckles knock against the old box of condoms, tipping it over. There's a strange rattle as it falls, and his brows furrow at the noise. 

Curiously, he reaches for it. Shakes it as he picks it up. The same sounds spill out. He pops the flap of the box open, peering inside, and—

A gruff chuckle crackles in his throat. 

Inside the old box of condoms—the ones he never bothered to throw out, or use—is an accumulation of all the pills you'd meant to take. 

His jowls ache. He rubs at his jaw with his hand, and feels the skittish patter of his heart thudding out of his skin. Madness in his veins. 

John closes the drawer with his knee, and then tosses the box of condoms in the bin, leaving it for you to find later when you're inevitably wracked by another wave of morning sickness. A little shred of vindication for this little game you made him play. 

Though he supposes turn-about is fair play, and the number of pills in the box is less than the months he spent scheming for this vision of his.  

In the back of his head, the beast purrs.

“Do we need to play these games again for the next one,” he rasps. “Or can I just fuck you until it takes.” 

You blink at him, wide and owlish. Full of faux innocence as you coax the beast out of hiding. “I don't know what you're talking about, John.” 

More games, then. He thinks he might crack open your ribcage and rest his weary head on the frantic beat of your heart. 

“Mm, don't know what I'd do without you,” he says, guns aching. He reaches for the pack of gum (no smoking around the baby or you'd toss him off the balcony), and pops a spearmint into his mouth. “Might live longer, I reckon, but—”

Your elbow digs into his side. “You sure about that?”

He just kisses your crown in response, and places his heavy, scarred hand over the curve of your belly. The beast inside purrs, content for now. Satiated. 

When he looks into your midnight eyes, he finds your own beast slumbering away. 

A match made in a tinderbox, he guesses, and kisses you until you're dizzy. His very own Shangri-la sitting pretty inside his bed, nestled in the castle in Spain you helped him build.

Will help him fill. 

[lunarw0rks]

the scenario: you’ve been really pent up lately, stress between work + everyday life and graves decides that he’s gonna help you de-stress (by riding him 🤭)

in the act, you’re practically fucking yourself stupid, like into oblivion…deep in. and you don’t even realize how overstimulated graves is getting until he literally pulls you off him (he came about three times prior)

🗝 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔣 🗝 𝔭𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔭 𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔰

a/n: anon -- send me that audio you were talking about, too!! ;) not proofread/edited. warning(s): nsfw, established relationship, overstim. (g & r), stress relief but make it steamy, husband!graves, fem!reader ───have a request? ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX ˎˊ˗

As if the day couldn't have been worse, you dropped your keys when you made it to the door. Every muscle ached as you bent down to pick them up — now upright with a tight scowl on your face.

The lock struggled until you jerked the key around a few times, finally hearing the click when it budged. With a flustered grown, you stepped inside and shut the door behind you, greeted with the comfort of your home. Dim and quiet, but still preferable over the migraine-inducing fluorescents of your workplace.

Your purse slid off your shoulder, falling somewhere on the hard ground. Frankly, you didn't have a care in the world about picking it up. That was a task for the morning — the first day of the weekend after a hellacious work week.

You made your rounds in the kitchen first, cracking open the first bottled beverage you could get your hands on. Flavored water, though if it would've been alcohol, you weren't in any mood to refuse. You finished the drink with heavy breaths, setting it down on the counter.

"Tough day, darlin’?" His well-acquainted voice hits your ears soothingly, shifting your attention from the counter below you to him. Wearing one of his old PT shirts and boxers, still visibly disheveled from lying in bed.

You bite back the urge to be snarky, reminding yourself that it’s indeed not the fault of the man comforting you that’s got you so worked up.

“Just work.” You mumble, then let out a defeated sigh. It’s your shitty boss, it’s the overwhelming workload, it’s everything, really.

With his lips pressed into a line, he nods as if he’s simply accepted your answer. You know by now that his wheels are turning, however.

“Mind if I help?”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

You didn't get a full breath of air until his back finally hit the mattress, nor did you bother to get undressed fully. Instead, straddled him in your work clothes; panties pulled aside, button-up disturbed and slightly open from his yanks.

Graves found it best to say nothing unless it was muttering a comfort or praise into your ear. But you still hadn't let go of those frustrations yet — even with his honeyed worship.

Even after you pulled your first orgasm, even after his warm spurts of cum filled you — you had no desire to stop.

The silver lining? Whatever got you so worked up had long passed. Now, all you could scrounge in your psyche was the sensation of your husband's cock crammed up inside you.

His tip, reddened and slick with his seed and your arousal, still upright and swollen despite how long you've been using your cunt as a means for abuse. Nothing but a toy, at least while you were in the midst of a sour mood.

But Graves had no qualms about that; watching your tits bounce, your face contort as you moaned, the sweat rolling down your forehead until it went between your cleavage. His rough hands are on your hips, aiding you in swallowing every inch of him. Each time you'd clench or constrict around him, he felt another jolting sensation — inching him towards yet another release.

You hadn't stopped once, only slowed when you needed to readjust or cope with the burning of your thigh muscles. The pleasure was too divine to halt entirely — evident in how you had successfully overstimulated yourself and him.

"That's it, doll. Look at you..." Though his smirk had turned more into a muddled expression of ecstasy, his praising and bluster prevailed. Your soaked, pillowy cunt pulsing around his length, rendering him officially pussydrunk.

The lude squelches increased in volume when you began rocking against him at a wicked pace, feeling your third orgasm approaching rapidly. Remnants of the previous were leaking out of you, either spilling down your inner thighs and onto the sheets or being fucked back into you when he would thrust upward to meet you.

Graves' head snapped back against the pillows, yet again ready for another quick release. Every time he thought you would be too fatigued to continue, you rutted and got more desperate for another rush of erotic euphoria. It was too much, even for him — but you were too goddamn attractive like this, using him as an appendage to fuck away the frustrations, mouth wide open, hair ruinous and damp with sweat.

With the little strength he had left, he found himself determined to make this orgasm triumphant over the others. Before, all he had done was lay back and be used, but currently he found himself sitting up to meet you chest to chest.

His speech was slurred, as desperate as your bellows of pleasure. "Good girl, gorgeous. Keep usin' my cock— gonna cum again, aren't you? Atta' girl." His thumb found your puffy clit, circling and applying pressure to surge your approaching finish. Focusing on much of anything when so deeply stimulated was hard enough — however, this, he could manage.

How your moans had gotten louder, how you began to tremble all over again, it was worth it. Your eyes rolled slightly, head in the crook of his neck when you came undone around his cock for a third time. Nails dug into the tanned flesh of his shoulders, muscles tightening as the coil in your abdomen expelled all at once.

Overwhelming pleasure coursed through you, heightened by the two climaxes before. This one is the most daunting, the most fiercely shown on your body.

He had reached his own finish while you were too lost in your own. You only noticed when you heard his desperate grunts, that hot searing deep inside you as his cum spurted deep within you. Your back seemed to be stuck in a partial arch, every muscle in your thighs burning and aching for rest. But your mind was a fog, a fog with only one thing on your mind; more pleasure.

Graves fell back against the mattress as the remainder of his intense orgasm retreated, completely out of breath and flushed.

With less effort than before, your hips resumed a meek grind, powering through the ache of over-exertion. Another whimper slipped you as your nerves fizzled with the mounds of stimulation resuming all over your body.

His eyes shot open again, hands digging into your sides and forcing them to halt, "no more, sweetheart, you're exhausted." He slurred, taking a few seconds to lift you off of his now softening length. His cock fell limp against his thigh, slick and with a milky ring where you had creamed in the heat of the moment.

"I-I'm sorry, baby. Got carried away, huh?" Your chest heaved repeatedly, eyes lidded and drowsy — and all from your own doing. He barely lifted a finger, so to speak, and you were fucked-out. To think seconds ago you were desperate for another release and rutting again was miraculous. You found yourself slumped on top of his sweaty chest, still in the midst of catching your breath.

"You could say that darlin'. Don't think there's anything left down there." Graves chuckled slightly, though the expression was subdued with exhaustion.

He snaked up an arm, brushing away your sweaty strands and pressing a kiss to the side of your head. "Christ, you're shaking."

The sheets shuffled as they rubbed against each other until the throw blanket was draped over your trembling frame, engulfing you both into a literal bed of warmth.

Your eyes drooped without effort, the flutter of his heartbeat muffled as your senses dulled. The last sound you heard before plunging into much-needed sleep was his soothing voice. "Get some rest, sweetheart. Just sleep for me now..."

[lesservillain]

borrowing.

Steve wasn't a pervert.

Sure, he's done some unsavory things in his younger years that he's not proud of. But he's never been the type to take advantage of a woman. He's not like some of his guy friends who look down women's shirts or touched someone without their permission.

Call him a pussy or a feminist, but that shit makes him sick to his stomach.

And yet...

"Fuck your pussy tastes so good."

Steve pants against the crotch of your panties. The fabric hugs his face tight as he breathes in your scent, his nose tenting the cotton fabric. His lips hold the crotch between them as he sucks and licks the damp material until your juices coat his tongue and then some.

His eyes open for a moment, looking out the leg hole to check his surroundings for bystanders. His beemer sits in the far corner of the YMCA facing the back of a gas station. It's not where he had originally parked when he arrived for his work out today. A work out he didn't even get to, all because he bumped into you.

He's noticed you ever since he got the membership with Robin. Their goal was to attend 3 days a week together per Robin's request. Something about wanting not wanting to gain the freshman fifteen when she started her semester.

But school quickly became overwhelming for her and Steve found himself going to the gym by himself.Without Robin to distract him, Steve started paying attention to some of the people at the gym.

It was just a couple passing glances at first, not wanting to be one of those guys who stares at girls while they work out. He couldn't deny you were beautiful though. And when you approached him one day after it was just you and him in the gym, he felt that there was chemistry between the two of you. You laughed at his dumb jokes, engaged him with personal questions...hell you even touched his arm with your hand.

Your friendliness expanded beyond that day, too. If he didn't say hi to you first, you were approaching him to wish him a good workout. You'd even brought him "counter productive" donuts one day because he said he loved the local shop.

It was safe to say Steve had become completely head over heels for you over the last few months. And he totally has plans to ask you out. He really does. But, after all the failed dates he had been on since high school...he was almost afraid to jinx what the two of you had going on.

Today was going to be the day though. Or...it was supposed to be.

He was running late getting to the gym this morning, bad traffic on the commute to drop Robin off to her classes put him an hour behind schedule. So as he pushed through the YMCA doors with haste, silently praying to himself that you'd not left yet, he accidentally ran full speed into a body as they were leaving.

"Woah!"

Steve recognized your voice. It pulls him out of his head, focusing on your frame before him. He's bummed to see you in your work uniform, obviously done with your work out for the day.

"Sorry I didn't mean to almost knock you down," he apologizes, looking you over to make sure you're okay.

"It's okay," you reassure him, your bright smile making his heart ache. "I thought I wasn't going to see you today, so running into me is better than nothing!"

"Ugh, yeah, I really was trying to get here earlier but traffic and--and, life! Ya know?"

You nod sweetly. "Totally!"

"Yeah..." Steve's heart thumped in his chest. He didn't need to suffer through a whole work out routine before asking you out. He could ask you out right now. And if you rejected him, he'd be able to walk away and inevitably cancel his gym membership since he'd never be able to show his face again in this establishment.

Or, you would say yes, and he could walk you to your car so you could give him your number on a napkin you keep in your glove box in case of emergencies.

"Well, I guess I'll see you on Friday," you say after a beat of silence. Steve felt the words on the tip of his tongue. But, when your hand landed on his arm with a squeeze, he froze in place. All he could muster was a weak goodbye before you were pushing out the second set of double doors and walking to your car.

He waited to make sure you got in okay before letting out the breath he had been holding. His head slumped in defeat. What happened to the crown that sat on his head when he was in high school? Was it because he wanted something real with you?

There wasn't much dwelling on the subject as a bundle of pink just a few inches away from his feet caught his eye. Steve's eyebrow quirked, and he crouched down to grab...whatever it was.

The material felt soft but wet in his hands. He cringed a bit until the material unfurled in his hands, revealing to be a pair of pink, skimpy panties. The initial shock had him almost dropping the panties, but a split second closer look had him twitching slightly in his pants.

The underwear was yours. They must have fallen out of your gym bag when he bumped into you.

He knew they were yours because he'd see them peaking out of your work out shorts when you were bending down to tie your shoe. He didn't look on purpose, you'd just happened to have stopped in front of him and he saw them. He told himself it was on purpose when he touched himself that night, but deep down he knew it wasn't.

The door almost came off its hinges with how hard he pulled it open, making a bee line to his car. He slammed the car door shut and locked it, giving a quick look around before he was ducking down just out of view.

He breathed in deeply as he inhaled the scent of your panties, exhaling with a groan as your smell infiltrated his nostrils. It felt like he took a hit from a drug. He could practically taste you on his tongue when he went in for another sniff.

Flipping the underwear so that the crotch was resting between his hands, Steve's mouth watered at the sight of the creamy white that painted the pink fabric. His tongue darted out slightly, eyes darting around again as the nerves set in. This wasn't like Steve, but he blamed the way you drive him crazy on the dirty thoughts that were running through his head.

Just as he was about to act on them, the sight of a person walking out of the building had him hesitating. He placed your panties in his passenger seat and started his car, moving to the back of the building in a far off spot that was less traveled and slamming it into park.

Once the coast was clear, Steve wasted no time bringing his tongue to your underwear and lapping at it messily. He whined as your taste hit his tongue, and suddenly his pants were way too tight on his crotch.

This wasn't like him he thought to himself. Not that he hadn't had a hook up or two out by Lover's Lake. But to do what he was considering in such a public place went against his morals...

Your panties sit between Steve's teeth as he undoes his belt. He has to scoot his seat back or else his hard cock will just bump against the steering wheel. He pumps himself a few times in his hand, squeezing some of his precum out of his tip and using is to lube himself.

Steve sucks in a breath as he starts to fist himself. He holds the panties against his face as he begins to imagine your pussy on his face. His imagination runs wild as he thinks about all the ways he would eat you out, your pussy right in his face waiting for him to run his tongue through.

"Such a pretty pussy," he says to himself.

Without much thinking, he pauses his jerking to take the panties and stretch them out, hooking under his chin and pulling them until they're taught over his face.

With his free hand, he's able to cup his sensitive balls as he jerks himself with more vigor. He doesn't know how long he's at it, too engulfed in his pleasure to care about the passing time. All he can think about is making you cum all over his face and thanking you after.

Steve's hips buck into his hands. He can feel his climax approaching, his hand focusing on his tip as he brings himself to the edge.

Just as he's about to come, Steve pulls your panties off of his face and wraps them about his cock. He does the best he can to aim for the crotch where he has completely saturated it with it with his own saliva, cumming hard into the bunched up fabric.

After a moment of coming down, Steve slumps back into his seat. Guilt begins to wash over him as he looks at the sticky mess he's turned your sweet pink panties into. How could he even face you, let alone ask you out after what he's done?

Steve shoved your underwear into his gym bag. He didn't think he could give them back, even if the thought of you wearing them after he's cum in them made him almost half hard again. He would just throw them away in a dumpster somewhere...or he could wash them and--

thanks for reading.

[luxaofhesperides]

For ghostlights: baby Ellie + tired Danny + Duke the baby whisperer?

He has no idea how his parents did it. 

Babies are exhausting. Toddlers more so. Any infants in the strange stage in-between? Doubly so. 

Ellie is wonderful and sweet and cute and such a terror that Danny genuinely has no idea how his parents managed to raise not one, but two kids. For all their eccentricities and absent-mindedness, he and Jazz turned out pretty well. Ignoring the whole halfa thing because that’s more his fault than theirs even if Jazz says they shouldn’t have created the dangerous environment in the first place.

That environment is exactly why Danny refuses to let Ellie go to his house in Amity Park. His parents say they’ve disabled all the weapons and ecto-sensors since he’s had to reveal himself as Phantom, but he knows that things slip their minds and if they can’t guarantee that the house is safe, then Ellie isn’t going in there. Simple as that. 

This means that they live somewhere else now. Danny had thought about it, during the hours Ellie was asleep and he was awake, exhausted and worn down to his bones, and took Jazz’s advice to accept Vlad’s offer of buying a house for him. Except he argued Vlad down to an apartment in a city of his choosing where he wouldn’t stand out too much and he would be safe, or as safe as he can be, from anyone trying to hunt down ghosts. 

So here they are. Standing in the empty living room of their new apartment in Gotham. 

Gotham may not be very safe as a city, but it’s good for two ghosts trying to pass as normal. 

Danny sighs yet again, and looks at the space he’ll need to fill. At least Vlad is footing the bill. It’s the least he can do for creating Ellie. Frostbite was the one who was able to stabilize her, though it was almost too late and resulted in her reforming as a baby, just one and a half years old. Jazz is the one who’s choosing most of the furniture, thankfully, so it’s something that Danny doesn’t need to worry about it.

It’s a new start to their lives and it feels so empty. So overwhelming. How did his parents do it? How do any parents do it?

Ellie smacks a small palm against his cheek and babbles lightly.

“I know, Ellie,” Danny says, giving her a tired smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll have this place looking good in no time.”

He adjusts her in his arms, then heads towards the bedroom. It’s the only room that has any furniture, and all that’s there is a bed, a crib, and a bookcase. There are a few boxes on the floor, labeled ‘bedroom’ and ‘clothing’ and ‘books’. Most of it came from his bedroom in Amity Park, but he’s pretty sure he caught Jazz sneaking a few things in before they closed the boxes and loaded them up into the car. 

“Can you be good for five minutes?” he asks Ellie. 

She babbles again and smacks his shoulder.

“I’m taking that as an agreement. Just let me open these boxes and start unpacking before you start causing trouble, okay?”

Ellie makes another sound, but it seems agreeable so Danny carefully lays her down in the crib and gets to peeling off the tape on the boxes. The opens the one labeled ‘bedroom’ first, finding blankets and sheets folded and stacked in vacuum sealed bags. One of them is his old childhood blanket, the one he carried around everywhere that was faded with age, barely blue, with white bunnies decorating it. 

He was so small when he had this. It makes him oddly emotional to unpack it and pass it on to Ellie, draping it over her so her pudgy little hands can grab at it. 

This is no time to cry, though! He forces himself to focus and makes his own bed, shaking out the sheets and fluffing up the pillows. He’ll worry about washing everything later; Vlad made sure to get an apartment with an in-unit washer and dryer, which means he was actually sensible while apartment hunting for Danny. 

He doesn’t mean to flop onto the bed once it’s made, but he ends up there anyways. He’s barely gotten a full six hours of uninterrupted sleep since Frostbite deemed Ellie healthy enough to leave his care. The drive up to Gotham was long and wore him down to his bones.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he does, drifting off as he wonders, distantly, when Jazz will be back from getting them dinner.

Ellie wakes him up at dawn with a loud cry. Danny jolts awake, heart pounding in his chest as he panics because Ellie isn’t here, she’s supposed to be in his arms, where is she? And then he sees the crib, where Ellie is staring at him through the bars, and he nearly collapses with relief. 

“Morning, El,” he says, voice rough from sleep, as he picks her up. She just stares up at him, then leans forward and rests her head against his shoulder.

It’s quiet moments like these that make his heart melt. Ellie’s had a hard life already; he wants to give her a better one, this time around. 

A quick check of the time on his nearly dead phone shows that it’s barely past six in the morning, and Jazz texted him a few times. All about furniture, saying that she didn’t want to wake them and that food is in the fridge. 

It’s only the mention of food that makes him realize how ravenous he’s feeling. Danny makes a beeline for the kitchen, ignoring everything else, and pulls out the boxes of take-out Jazz left stacked in the fridge. He devours it like he’s been starving for weeks, then gives Ellie her Ecto-Jello, the only food she’s allowed to eat until Frostbite gives the okay for solid, human food. 

Once he’s got her burped and cleaned up, Danny looks out of the kitchen and realizes that Jazz was very productive while he was asleep. The living room isn’t empty anymore; a dark green couch is against the wall, a low, rectangular coffee table made of dark wood in front of it. Two armchairs are on both sides of the couch, and a television has been installed, fixed into the wall. 

Jazz is asleep on the couch. Her legs hang off an armrest and she’s drooling slightly. 

Her phone is charging on the floor, so Danny takes it and snaps a picture of her for later teasing, then sends it to himself and writes a note to her that he’s going out with Ellie to explore the neighborhood.

He’s finally feeling more settled, energized from sleep and food.

In the warm dawn light spilling in through the windows, Danny looks down at Ellie and thinks that they’ll be just fine after all. 

. . .

Four months ago, Danny had hope. He was optimistic. 

Gotham was a fresh start, a new lease of life for Ellie. It is Danny’s attempt to be a single parent, sacrificing college for Ellie, and he’s planning to go out and beat the gangs black and blue if they start anymore shootouts in the next year.

He had just gotten Ellie to sleep. She was actually peacefully taking a nap.

And then a drive by shooter raced down the street, gunshots echoing down the road, and Ellie work up crying. She still hasn’t stopped, despite how Danny rocked her, soothing her as best he could.

They had been outside when Ellie fell asleep, her head on his shoulder. He had been catching up with Sam and Tucker when the car drove by, people ducking and crying out to avoid the bullets. Danny instinctively covered Ellie and made them both intangible, saving them from any stray bullets, but they ruined her nap and he needs to make them pay for that. 

“Shh,” he soothes, “You’re okay. We’re both fine. It’s okay, El, it’s okay.” 

Her little hands clutch at his back, twisting the fabric of his shirt, and she lets out a heartbreaking wail. He pats her back, hurrying down the street to get back to his apartment building, ignoring the looks people were giving them as they passed by. 

“I know it was scary, but you’re alright. You’re always safe with me, El.”

Ellie’s cries down down a little, but they don’t stop. She whimpers, burying her face against his shoulder as he finally reaches their apartment building.

The door’s locked, which wouldn’t be a problem except Danny can’t get his keys from his pocket. He knows he has them! But his pocket refuses to relinquish them and he has to stop every few seconds to pat Ellie’s back, trying in vain to calm her down. 

“We’ll be inside in a second,” he tells her, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice, “as soon as I can get these freaking keys!”

“Hey, you alright?”

Danny startles, whirling around so fast it makes Ellie go quiet, clinging to him so she doesn’t get flung into the air. There’s a guy standing before him in a gray hoodie, looking at him with clear concern. It speaks to Danny’s level of constant exhaustion that he hadn’t clocked someone sneaking up behind him. 

The guy offers an awkward smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you or anything. Um, do you need me to open to door? I live here too.”

Danny wonders for a moment if this someone dangerous, someone hoping to hurt Ellie, but she starts to cry again and he steps to the side. “Please. I can’t get my keys.”

“I’m Duke, by the way. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

“Danny,” he replies, watching as Duke pulls out a large key ring, jangling with the amount of keychains on it, and easily opens the door. “I’ve been here a few months, but I’m usually inside. Or walking around in the mornings with this little monster.”

“That would explain it,” Duke says as he holds the door open, letting Danny in first. “I��m usually in classes at GCU, but I decided to take a mental health day after my lab, so here I am.”

Danny walks in and waits for Duke to follow, making sure the door closes properly behind them. “Thanks. How is GCU? What do you study? I was thinking of going there myself once she gets a little older and can go to school.”

“Oh, I’m majoring in English and Human Services.” He goes to say more, but Ellie wails again and Danny winces.

“I’m so sorry. That drive by woke her up and it’s really rattled her.”

“Hey, no need to apologize. I get it, Gotham is rough to kids.”

Danny tries rocking her back and forth, but it doesn’t help. He resigns himself to another hour of her crying before she exhausts herself, and makes for the stairs, going up to the fourth floor. Duke holds open the door again, then follows after them. It makes Danny wonder if Duke is planning to do something to them, then decides he can beat Duke in a fight, so it’s fine.

Duke doesn’t try to hurt them or steal Ellie away. He opens the door to their floor and stops before they do. “I’m in here,” he says, “If you ever need me to open more doors.”

“Thanks. Um, actually, I might need help opening mine?”

Duke just smiles and makes his way back to them, following them farther into the hall until Danny stops in front of his apartment. 

“If I could just get my keys,” he starts.

“Here, let me hold her for a second so you can get them,” Duke offers. Danny wants to insist that it’s fine, but Ellie cries directly into his ear and Danny, at the end of his rope, passes her over. 

Like magic, Ellie settles as soon as she’s in Duke’s arms. She sniffles and hides her face away, clutching to Duke’s hoodie, but she stops crying. They both go still, surprised, and stare down at her. 

“Seriously?” Danny says as he finally pulls out his keys, “Are you trying to say that I’m the problem?”

Ellie babbles lightly, and Duke turns his head to futilely hide his grin.

He grumbles as he unlocks the door and pushes it open. Ellie is acting as if she’s never been upset before a day in her life, making herself at home in Duke’s arms. 

“I can’t believe this. Betrayed by my own blood.”

Duke laughs as he follows Danny into his apartment, lightly patting Ellie’s back. “It’s always the smallest, cutest ones that do this.”

“Yeah? Do you work with a lot of kids or something? Used to being betrayed by the little ones?”

“I don’t work with kids per se,” Duke says, “But my foster family is a hot mess and the youngest of them likes to keep us all on our toes.”

“Family,” Danny says in a tired, fond tone.

“Family,” Duke agrees.

With his door open and Ellie calm, Danny’s ready to just lay face down on the floor for the rest of the day and not deal with anything else. He moves to take Ellie back, holding his arms out, and Duke tries to pass her over.

The key word being tries. 

Ellie tightens her grip and kicks at Danny. She refuses to be taken away from Duke, making him awkwardly try to pry her off his hoodie. Danny really hopes Duke doesn’t notice how she goes slightly intangible to make his hands fall through her arms and legs. It shouldn’t be noticeable, but it’s hard to focus on anything but a kid that clings to you, so Danny holds out for Duke’s goodwill and silence.

“As nice as it is to meet you, you need to go back to your… parent?” Danny nods when Duke looks at him in askance. “You need to go back to your parent. Okay? Come on, kid, he’s waiting for you.”

Ellie shakes her head, makes a frustrated noise, and then turns and reaches out a grabby hand towards Danny. 

She still refuses to be taken from Duke when Danny tries to pick her up again, so he settles with just letting her hold two of his fingers. 

“I’m so sorry about this,” he says to Duke, face burning. This is why he hasn’t been going out and being social since he moved in; Ellie is a handful even on the best days, and Danny doesn’t want someone to judge him as unfit to parent her and have her taken away.

Duke shakes his head, stepping closer. “It’s all good, man. I don’t mind. It’s not like I had any plans today. I’m already skipping my classes, might as well spend it with you two than sleep all day.”

“Are you sure? I’d be happy to invite you in, but I know Ellie can be a lot and not everyone wants to spend their day off with a baby.”

“I’m sure. Besides, I’d just be down the hall anyways. It’s no skin off my back, man.”

“Well,” Danny says, stepping to the side to give Duke full access to his open doorway, “Come on in, then.”

Ellie keeps them connected, one hand in Duke’s hoodie and the other holding Danny’s fingers, and though her cheeks are still red from how hard she had been crying, she’s calm now with her eyes shining with mischief. 

As the door closes behind them, Danny realizes that this is the first time someone he’s not related to has been inside his apartment. Not even Vlad has come in, always choosing to invite Danny and Ellie out for lunch instead. 

It should make him nervous, but Duke is calm and easy going and kind. 

He’s making silly faces at Ellie to make her laugh, completely at ease with her in his arms, as if he’s done this a thousand times before. 

Gotham is a second chance at life for Ellie. It’s a sacrifice for Danny, to be alone and without friends or family around. He’d been ready to give up everything for Ellie, to focus solely on raising her, but with Duke filling his apartment with laughter, he thinks that he can make a life here too.

All he needs to do is take that first step, reach his hand out, ask Duke to stick around.

He can do this.

[ghosts-bandwagon]

TF141 + König help you move

Here’s some backstory (bc this is incredibly self-indulgent send help): you take everything upon yourself, plan everything down to the last detail so you just wind up overwhelming yourself and then you’re just running on fumes the entire time, you are not at peace until you’ve moved into the new place, you are a ball of stress aaaand go:

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

He’s very much the type to watch you go, he knows you’re overloading yourself and he wants to step in but he also knows you need to learn how to ask for help

That’s not to say he’s completely hands off, he’s listening to every word when you review your checklist, he’s helping you pack- everything from assembling the boxes to sealing them when they’re full

He’s taken it upon himself to make sure you eat a proper meal

“What’s this?” You ask as you mute your phone while on hold with the utilities company for your new place,

“It’s breakfast. Eat.”

“I already-”

“Iced coffee isn’t food, love.”

Bet

So he’ll take to cooking or grabbing your favorite take out

If you’re worried you forget something, he’ll go down the list with you, going so far as to grab your notebook and review it with you

He encourages you to sort through your belongings and figure out what you want to keep and what you want to give away

His rule: if I haven’t seen you use it, wear it, read it, or touch it in the last six months, it’s going in the giveaway box (save for stuff with sentimental value)

Surprisingly enough, it helps reduce how much you have to pack and you couldn’t be more thankful

All in all, 10/10

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

He’s so much fun to be around

He knows you’re taking on too much and he’ll tell you as much

“I’m fine, Johnny, I just like these things done a certain way. And when the order gets messed up, I have a panic attack.”

“Well, then explain how you’d like it done, and I’ll see to it that it stays that way, sound good?”

He’s so understanding god bless

He does everything possible to make the process stress free, from putting on music while you’re packing and cleaning, to being in charge of snacks 

He helps divide the labor very seamlessly, he does all the physical stuff (packing, cleaning, moving furniture, etc) and he leaves the logistics to you, (utilities, new apt, address change, etc)

If at any point you feel like it’s still too much, he’ll jump in without hesitation 

Just tell him where you’re struggling and what your next task is and he’ll gladly take over

You point, he’ll shoot (or pack, in this case)

John Price:

Like??

Good luck trying to take control of the whole thing

He’s way ahead of you and doesn’t let you do a single thing on your own, that’s not true, he’ll let you do things on your own but not all of it, you get the idea

Man’s a Captain for god’s sake, he definitely has a system to make the process easier

He makes sure you start the process sooner rather than later to avoid scrambling last minute

Before even buying boxes, he’ll sit down with you to come up with a checklist for things to do and what order to pack your place in

He’s very encouraging throughout the whole process

“Phew, almost an hour later and I was successfully able to transfer my car insurance.” You sighed slumping against the table, practically throwing your phone to the other side of the room

“You’re doin’ great, love, keep it up.” He comes up behind you to rub your shoulders and rub your back encouragingly

He’s with you every step of the way

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick:

I love him but I can see it as being kind of chaotic lmao but still fun!

You better believe he’s got Animal Crossing music on loop

He claims it’ll help you get into the cleaning/packing frame of mind and son of a bitch he’s right 

He sets a hard limit of one to two things a day, so if you finished packing up your living room sooner than you expected and now you want to move on to your bedroom, too damn bad

He’ll physically stop you lol

“You already did enough, babe, it’s time to rest.”

“I feel fine, Ky, I can keep going.”

“Trust me darlin’, take it easy, you’re doing great.”

Definitely the type to give you a treat to help keep you motivated, or even start your day with a treat

You’re dreading calling the new internet company to set up your new wifi? Well guess what? He’s treating you to coffee and a cinnamon roll from your favorite cafe to help motivate you

You’re dead tired after packing up all your belongings in your room, dinner is your pick babe, whatever you want, yes, Taco Bell is perfectly ok 

König:

Very good at following directions and equally good at being perceptive and knowing when to step in without being asked

He knows you have a habit of taking on more than you can handle but he also knows your tells just as well

Increased irritability, you’re more tired than usual, you’re not eating as much, drinking more coffee than you normally do, jittery leg, trouble sleeping, he knows you babe, he sees you

So he does everything he can to prevent you from getting to that point

If you’re complaining about packing all your books, don’t worry about it, he’s on it

You’re stressed about cleaning as you pack, no need, he’s already coming behind you with Clorox wipes, a broom, and a swiffer mop

He encourages you to offload some of your tasks to him, insisting that he knows how you want it done and can do it accordingly

“Schatz, you have so much on your plate already, let me handle renting the truck and getting the supplies, we’ll go over what you want to do first, and I’ll help you do it, ok?”

At the end of the night when your limbs ache from exhaustion, he gently taking your hands in his and massaging the tension away, placing little kisses as he goes

[kaveehs]

Sweetener — Gojo Satoru

fem!reader, wc 0.8k, fluff, established relationship, workaholic!gojo, first years make a cameo <3

synopsis: gojo had always liked sweet things, you were no exception

a/n: i’ve been so busy lately but i finally finished this piece!!! recently i’ve been missing gojo so much so i had so much fun with this <333

requested by: @the-weeping-author

Gojo Satoru undoubtedly had a sweet tooth.

Sure, he had a variety of pastries and candies at his disposal that he could use to curb his insatiable need for sweetness in his life, but they all paled in comparison to you. From the moment Satoru first met you, he could tell something was fairly different about you.

At a first glance, he could tell you were a bit apprehensive of him. This was nothing new, after all he carried such an intimidating title attached to him since he was young. Despite it all, you always greeted him with a smile and such warm words. There was no doubt that you were a kind girl at heart, but there was so much more to it than that to him. Your compassionate nature didn’t come with a catch, nor did it waiver the closer you and him became, it only strengthened his feelings towards you.

You always thought he had been exaggerating when he had expressed how just you alone could calm his overwhelming sweet tooth when your relationship with him first began, but he truly meant every word of it, no matter how dramatic it sounded.

“Honey!” Satoru called out to you, snapping you out of your thoughts. Of course it was only natural for him to call you something so sweet you couldn’t help but smile. “I didn’t expect you to be back so soon, let alone spare time to visit me at work, how was it?” Before coming to his office, you had been scoping out a new bakery he had been dying to go to, but couldn’t due to being constantly cooped up at work.

“Great, I brought back some things I thought you might like,” you answered, handing him the small box of pastries you’d saved for him. He pulled back half of his blindfold, happily accepting the box into his hands which had been much larger than the pastry box. Just as he flipped open the lid, he noticed a shift in your expression.

“What’s with the sad face, sweetheart? You wanna try some too? You know I don’t mind sharin’,” he teased. His comment caught you somewhat by surprise— you didn’t even notice the change in your face.

“No, it’s not that,” you slightly bit the lower corner of your lip. “I just wish we could’ve gone together. You’ve been workin’ so much, y’know?”

Satoru paused for a moment, placing the treats on his desk as he got up from the comfort of his office chair. “I know baby,” he uttered sympathetically as his arms engulfed your body. “‘M sorry,” he said as he pressed his lips to your forehead. “When I have free time, I promise I’ll take you on the best trip ‘n you’ll have my full attention.”

“You mean it,” your eyes glistened with excitement at his words. A full trip where you could simply enjoy each other’s company, the thought alone was lovely.

“Y’know I don’t like to make promises I can’t honor,” a grin found its way to his face. “Of course I mean it.”

As you subconsciously squeezed him tighter, pulling him closer for a soft kiss, you heard the sound of snickers just as your lips were about to connect… his first year students. You pulled away from him, despite the small pout on his face.

“Before we get to that, I gotta assign my students here, more work. Clearly they seem to have a bunch of time to kill,” he spoke in a sarcastic yet matter-of-fact manner, laughing at their pleads for mercy. “Utahime’s been houndin’ me about your academic performance anyway. Perfect timing if you ask me.”

“Come on ‘Toru, go easy on them,” you remarked while trying to contain your own laughter.

“…Maybe I’ll let the assignments slide for today.”

“And just like that, he folds,” Itadori blinked, in awe at how quick he was to change his decision because of your interjection.

“It’s almost impressive how much control she has over someone like Gojo,” Nobara chimed in. Megumi shook his head.

“It’s nothing like that,” he sighed as if he knew all too well the truth of his mentor’s nature. “He’s just soft. Always has been.”

“Now now,” Gojo cleared his throat, it was telling he had been a bit embarrassed by the back and forth banter of his students. “Maybe I should switch things up a little bit— and teach you all a small life lesson.” This promise of a new lesson seemed to pique the interests of Nobara and Itadori. “When you find the love of your life—” he began as he looked over to you, however his speech was cut off by the simultaneous groans of his students.

“How informative,” you joked, followed by such a genuine laugh that spread to him so easily. Though you did learn something new with his eight words— that he saw you as the love of his life.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad to be Gojo Satoru’s sweetener afterall.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Three times Luffy fell for you (Monkey D. Luffy x Fem! Reader)

A/N: So fucking cute! Send more requests and help :v - Val

Words: 1, 763

Warnings: Spoilers of anime/manga One Piece! Mentions of death, and I think that's all.

Three times Luffy fell for you. 

1 

Luffy wakes up in the middle of the night, but this time, it’s not because of a nightmare or a noise, he just feels weird. 

His first thought is to go to the kitchen to find some food. Of course, he couldn’t get anything, thanks to Sanji’s tramps. He whines, but a noise interrupts his thoughts. He realizes it’s someone crying. 

He gets to the Sunny’s deck, and he finds you sitting on the stairs. “Y/N? Are you okay? Why are you crying? Are you hungry too?” He quickly sits beside you. 

You look at him startled and feel overwhelmed by the rain of questions. It only makes you cry more. He panics and decides to hug you instead of trying to keep talking. 

As you feel his body around you, you melt against him hiding your face on his chest. He stretches his arms around you many times to hold you tighter and rest his head over yours. 

The two of you stay like that until you stop crying, you can control your breathing and you stop hiding. He loosens his grip but still holds you. 

“I had a nightmare,” you say with a broken voice. “I lost all of you and I couldn't do anything to stop it.” 

Luffy hums. “I had that kind of nightmares too,” he sighs, “I can’t blame you, they’re really scary and it feels real.” 

“Yeah,” you nod. 

“But you know who hates them the most?” You lean back to look at him. “Zoro,” he giggles. “When I have those nightmares, I have to make sure everybody’s okay, but the first person I see it’s him, so I wake him up every time. And it’s hard to wake him up and, he’s never happy,” Luffy makes a funny scary face that makes you giggle. 

“And sometimes the others wake up too, so they all start to scream at me, but it’s okay. At least I know they’re fine,” he smiles. 

“That’s a good solution,” you say sarcastically, but Luffy doesn’t get it. 

“Right?” His chest starts to feel funny when he sees your smile again. “See? You’re not the only one with that nightmare. Everybody’s okay. And I’m here with you, and I heard the others snore, so they’re okay too!” You giggle again. 

“You’re right,” you sigh. “Thanks, Luffy.” 

Now Luffy feels funny in his stomach, so he remembers. 

“Oh, right! You know, this could be a great moment to have a sweet!” He pouts. “But, bad news, Sanji locked the fridge again,” he whines. 

You laugh at his childish behavior, but you move a little to lose more of his grip and turn to the side to pick up a small blue box. 

“Here,” you offer the box. “You can have the honor to eat my last cookie.” 

Luffy’s eyes sparkle. “What? The last one? Really?” You laugh and nod. “Thank you!” He squeals grabbing it, but then, he stops to look at the cookie and then at you. He frowns when he still sees your teary eyes, pink cheeks, and tired smile. “I want to share it with you,” he says breaking the cookie in half. 

“What!?” You exclaim. “You never share your food with anyone. You just take it all!” 

He laughs at loud. “But I want to share with you! C’mon, captain’s orders” he says with a playful authority. 

You giggle. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah!” He smiles. 

“Thank you, Captain.” 

“You’re welcome!” He turns his sight to his half of the cookie and eats it in one bite. 

You take a moment to see the details on Luffy’s face, his skin, his rebel and raven hair, some freckles, his nose, fine lips, and his eyes, always full of excitement. Without thinking much, you lean forward to kiss his cheek. 

He raises his brows and looks at you with a confused face. 

“Why did you do that?” He asks curiously. 

You shrug. “I wanted to,” then you panic. “I—is that okay?” 

He smiles. “Only if I can kiss you whenever I want,” he says without any sign of flirtation. 

You blush. “W-what?” 

“It’s only fair, right?” He says with a chuckle, so casual and calm while you’re a mess. “Deal?” 

“D-Deal!” 

He nods and looks at his ship, but there’s still something he can’t figure out. The funny feeling in his stomach increased and now it’s on his chest too. Maybe he has to ask Chopper about it… or eat more. 

2 

Every year, on the same day of Ace’s death, Luffy gets so quiet that it feels wrong. 

Sometimes, Luffy’s complicated in other situations, but this is another level. Nobody knows what to do. They’ve tried to ask him, but he doesn’t talk all day and he rejects any help from his crew. 

He’s sitting in his favorite spot, he’s been looking at the horizon for many hours, just until he hears someone’s steps and groans. 

“Shit,” you say grabbing another part of the Sunny’s head as you keep trying to climb it. There’s a reason why this is Luffy’s spot. It’s hard for someone without a devil fruit. 

Luffy leans to look at your struggle. He frowns, stretches one arm to grab you by your waist, and pulls you to his side. 

“Uff… thanks, Luffy!” You smile gratefully.  

“Why do you want to climb?” He asks. His voice’s raspy. 

“Oh!” You act like you’re not worried about his state. “I-I know you uh, you don’t like anyone else to sit here but...” 

“No,” he interrupts you. “It’s okay. You can.” 

You smile blushing. 

“Thanks, uh...” you move on your place “I just—I Just don’t want you to be alone for so long,” you whisper. “I mean, I can go if that’s what you want, I know it’s a hard day for you but...” You look at him. “You don’t have to face it alone.” 

He doesn’t answer, he just moves and lays down with his head resting on your lap. Then, he reaches for your hand, and when he finds it, he puts it on his hair. You catch what he wants and start brushing the tufts with a soft giggle. 

“Thanks,” he whispers. 

3 

It’s a tradition for the straw hats to throw a huge party after a tough fight and this isn’t the exception. 

Zoro and Nami are betting about who can drink more sake while Usopp’s singing with Brook and Franky since they lost a bet, Robin’s watching them dancing around. Chopper and Luffy are eating all Sanji’s making.  

At first, you celebrated with the same enthusiasm as your friends, but now, you feel like your body’s finally giving up. You return to the Sunny, directly to your room. 

As much as you want to take a shower to wash off the party’s sweat, your body aches so much that you think it wouldn’t work on your own and you don’t want to call Robin or Nami for help. 

“Just the pj’s then,” you say out loud. You leave the weapons on the floor and grab your shirt to pull it up, but the pain of your wounds stops you. “Fuck!” You groan. 

“Are you okay?” says Luffy arriving at your room.  

You turn to him scared. “Shit, Luffy!” You yell at him, and he smiles. 

“Sorry,” He walks up to you. “Why did you leave the party?” 

You chuckle. “Shouldn't you be... you know, turning into a big ball full of food and having fun?” 

“It's no fun if you're not there,” he says like is nothing, but you’re blushing, and your heart pounds. “So, why you don’t go back?” 

You shake your head. “I’m exhausted, Luffy. I can’t even put on my pj’s,” you laugh. 

“Oh! Do you want me to help you?”  

His eyes tell you that his offer is pure and innocent. You’re 100% sure that your captain has no other intentions. But you can't help feeling uneasy and nervous. 

“Y-you don’t have to.” 

“I want to.” He smiles and you nod. 

He grabs the end of your shirt and gently pulls it over your head. You hiss a little and then throw the shirt away. When you look up, Luffy’s eyes are on the bandage around your waist. 

“Luffy?” You almost whisper. 

“You fought great,” he grins and he feathery touches the bandage. “You’re an awesome fighter,” he nods. 

“Thanks.” 

“Sometimes… I forget that you and I are different in battle.” 

You frown. “What do you mean?” 

He returns to your eyes. “You can't last as long fighting as me, you get exhausted sooner and you heal last,” then he smiles. “But no matter how strong your opponent is… you always find a way to win,” he giggles. “You always surprise me with your smart brain.” 

“Really?” You smile. 

“Definitely.” 

You realize the proximity of your bodies, Luffy's breath mingles with yours and your noses almost touch. You can’t help but lean a little up and kiss his lips sweetly. It lasts a few seconds, and you move away, waiting for his reaction. 

He frowns. “Wait! I’m feeling funny again!” 

“What?” 

“It’s like—I dunno. When I’m with you… in my belly—and chest—and then you kissed me, and it got worse!” He steps back. “It’s all your fault!” He points at you. 

You think for a while about all his words and his reaction, then, you figure it out. You blush with a smile. “I feel the same, Luffy.” 

“You do? Are we sick? Are we gonna die?” 

You giggle stepping closer to him. “No. It means that you like me and… I like you.” 

“I don’t get it. I like everyone in the crew but with you it’s different,” he pouts. 

You nod and take his face in your hands. “It’s okay, Luffy,” you whisper leaning to kiss him again. This time the kiss is longer, and he reciprocates following the movements of your lips against his.  

“I’ll explain it to you, I promise...” 

“’Kay, but does it mean that we can keep kissing? It feels nice.” 

You giggle. “Yeah, we can do that, but...” you flush looking down, realizing you’re just in a bra and jeans. “Can you help me with my clothes? I’m still tired.” 

“Oh, right!” 

He undresses you, leaving you in your underwear, and then helps you with your pajamas, and cuddles up with you in your bed and so it starts a make-out session between whispers, laughter, and love. At some point, you fall asleep, resting on his chest as he hugs you without hurting you. 

[mrsbarnesblog]

barbie

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Summary: Bucky takes his best girl to watch a Barbie movie and then spoils her with gifts.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, Bucky being the best boyfriend, he's healing your inner child.

Author's note: it was inspired by Barbie movie when it just came out. I think that Bucky is that type of boyfriend who would do everything possible to make you happy<3

You had been excited about the Barbie movie since the day you found out that it was in the making, and you may or may not have annoyed Bucky with it like a million times.

You begged him to go see it on the day of the premiere, and even if at first he really wanted to say “no”, he couldn’t.

Yes, he was your grumpy old supersoldier, but he would do anything to make you smile.

When the tickets started to sell, it was almost impossible to find one because people went crazy about this movie.

When you finally had time to look for the tickets, they were sold out. Obviously. Even if you didn’t say anything, Bucky saw sadness written on your face when you didn’t get the tickets for the opening night, and it hurt him to see you that way.

So, as the best boyfriend in the world, he got them for you. 

Yes, there was definitely one good thing about being a famous Avenger: you could get almost everything.

You and Sam also taught him how to use TikTok a few months ago, and besides a million videos of cats, he started to see Barbie-related content. He wasn’t really interested until he saw a video where a guy bought his girlfriend a doll and a lot of pink and cute things as a surprise.

Would you like it if he bought this for you? Did you even like dolls?

Bucky didn’t think about it too much; he just went to the store. 

He probably stood in front of the shelf with Barbie dolls for way too long because, while he was looking for the one he thought you would like, a shop assistant came to offer him some help. Bucky explained his situation, and the young girl—Stassie, as he found out—was almost jumping with excitement to help him and said that his girlfriend was really lucky.

She showed Bucky two dolls that came out recently: one in the western look and one in a light pink dress. It was hard to pick one because both were really cute.

So he bought both.

Stassie gave Bucky a few tips on what else he could buy for you; that's why, after another hour in the mall, he went home with a big box full of random pink and cute stuff.

You weren’t at home, so he hid the box in a safe place and decided to give it to you after the movie.

The day before the premiere, when you two were already getting ready to sleep, laying under the blanket and ready to cuddle while watching a movie, he silently gave you a white envelope.

“What is this?” You asked, looking at your weirdly smiley boyfriend.

“Open.”

You studied his face for a few seconds, but then sat up and carefully opened it to not rip whatever was inside. 

“Bucky…” You whispered as two tickets with “Barbie” written on them fell into your hand. “You didn’t—how did you get it?” Your eyes were watery as you looked at him.

“That’s a secret. But I wanted to make you happy.” The soft look in his eyes made you want to cry, but instead you just jumped into his arms, leaving kisses all over his face.

“I fucking love you, James.” 

“I love you more, doll.”

It was safe to say that he got his reward for being a thoughtful boyfriend, and you both fell asleep only a few hours later. 

You two walked out of the movie theater holding hands while you were still sobbing a little bit. It was an amazing experience, and you were overwhelmed with feelings. Bucky led you to the side so you wouldn’t bother other people, wrapped his hands around you, and held you close to him.

“Are you okay, baby?” He mumbled into your hair and kissed your temple.

“Yes. I’m so happy that we watched it. And that you came with me.” You wrapped your hands around Bucky’s neck and melted into him.

“I liked it too, actually.” You heard a deep chuckle.

“You know, I told you that you look great in pink, and you didn’t believe me.” 

You obviously decided to stick to a non-official dress code, but it was hard to convince your boyfriend that he needed to wear something pink too. So the only thing that he liked in the store was a pink jean jacket, and you were okay with that.

An old lady that sat in the movie theater behind you with her grandkids said to Bucky that he was a really good young gentleman and that you two were perfect for each other. 

Bucky didn’t really like any interactions with strangers, but you still noticed a light pink color on his cheeks and a sweet smile that he gave to the woman.

“If you think so, I’ll accept it, baby.” He was silent for a few seconds, but then smiled again and cupped your face with his metal hand so you would look at him. “I have something for you at home. Do you want to go there now and then order some food?”

“Something for me?” You frowned at him but still leaned into his touch. “And you should know better than to ask me whether I want to order food or not. I always do.”

You were sitting in your living room on the couch, where Bucky told you to stay and wait for him. He went to your bedroom and came back in a few seconds, holding a big pink box.

“This is for you.” He put the box near you on the couch and sat on the free spot at the other end. 

“For me? Why? I forgot about our anniversary or something?” You tried to laugh. 

You opened the lid, and your mouth opened as you saw what was in there. Your shaking hands gently pulled out two boxes with dolls, and you took a few seconds to look at them properly, trying to blink away the tears in your eyes. Then you got the rest of the stuff: a pajama set, a journal, a candle, masks and bath bombs, and a lot of your favorite candies. Of course, everything was pink. 

“I hope you like it. The girl at the store said–” You didn’t let him finish before you stood from your place and sat onto Bucky’s lap, hugging him as hard as you could, sobbing into his neck.

“Sh-h, baby, that’s okay.” He wrapped his arms around your body, gently swaying you from side to side.

“T-thank you so much, Bucky, really. You didn’t have to do it.” You moved back a little bit, and Bucky’s right hand immediately flew to your face to wipe away tears. You took one of the boxes with a doll on your lap and carefully took her out of the box. “She’s so pretty... I’ve never had a real Barbie before. They are expensive.”

“It is worth every dollar if it makes you happy. I saw this idea on that video app, and I wanted to give you something special.” 

He looked at you with a soft smile while you were unpacking the second doll and then gently touching her hair and clothes. He thought that he gave this present more to the younger you, and it made him feel so happy.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” You put the doll down and took Bucky’s face in your hands. “I am so lucky to have such a person in my life. Thank you for everything. Not only for dolls, it’s all amazing. I love you, James.” You closed your eyes when he moved closer and put his forehead on yours. 

“I’m the one who is lucky to have you. I’ll give you anything if it makes you smile this way. I love you.” 

[g3l3mb]

how to generate creative ideas:

(i need to get this out of my brain)

Make moodboards, playlists, keep a list of people who inspire you. Before starting a project think about the general vibe you want it to embody. Ask questions like “What would this concept sound like if it was a song?” ,“What would this concept be like if it was a person?”. Create a shirt that looks like a building you like, literally anything can be combined.

Take unrelated things or concepts and mix them together. Let’s take Addams Family as an example. “What if it was a story about a typical suburban family…but GOTH!”. It basically flips everything upside down. Or “What outfit would someone wear, who’s personality is the mix of the vibes of these two songs?” Random word generators are amazing for this if you don’t know where to start from.

Try making something truly BAD and then add a twist to it. It’s a great way for your brain to let go of expectations and then think outside of the box. But you can also use this to find out what you do not wanna do under any circumstances.

Think without worrying about the limits of what you can do and when it’s time for excecution, find a way around what’s impossible. It births more creativity and adds uniqueness.

Consider what your idea is NOT before considering what it is. Limits are the best way to avoid getting overwhelmed and giving up. Don’t ALWAYS do this though (unless you wanna…), it’s just something to try out when you feel like you’re seeing too many possibilities to the point that they’re contradicting each other. Unless your goal is to make something full of contradictions, you’re a Free Man, do whatever you want.

Keep a list of random ideas you have throughout the day in your notes app or something and then at some point actually review them. Keep what you think is worth exploring and then act on it.

Find out how something works very throughoutly so you know which aspect can be changed to create something new.

Take a concept and break it down into smaller concepts, ideas, questions, key elements and then also break those ideas down etc. This will naturally lead to associations, unique ideas you wouldn’t think of without doing this. I found that this is a great way of coming up with metaphors.

This one is similar to the last two: take a piece of art you really love and try to find out the thought process behind. What’s the story, where did the artist get inspiration from, how did they incorporate those ideas in their work. How did an artist combine their personal interests and knowledge into one big thing. For example: Tolkien was an erudite linguist, so much so that he created entire functional languages in his work, such as Elvish in Lord of the Rings. Hirohiko Araki loves 80’s music so much he named characters in Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure after music references. This is why no knowledge is useless knowledge.

Think about the times you’ve been the most creative before. What were the specific circumstances? For me my best ideas always come when I have a strict deadline for something unrelated, like school (which I’m way too willing to sacrifice), or when I’m doing something mindless like walking and listening to music, or playing a game that requires no thinking. Most of the time after 10p.m. This doesn’t mean I can’t “force” myself to be creative (tips above), it just means these are the times ideas come most naturally. For some people this might be being out in nature or experiencing high emotions, maybe having their life on the line idk, to each their own.

You can’t just create. You also need to consume. The more information you absorb, the more possibilities you have with your ideas. So if you’re not feeling that creative, that’s fine, it’s the perfect opportunity to learn something new.

If you don’t already do these things and you’re looking to get more creative my advice is to ACTUALLY TRY THESE OUT. You’ll best understand them in action.

[mechaknight-98]

Overwhelming Overtime (NSFW) FT: Sua

She has no business being this needlessly hot

Your boss was both the best boss you ever had but also the worst. See when you started you had this quiet but strong boss named Kim Minji. Sure she was a bit spacey but when push came to shove she would shove back. She was a tough but extremely pleasant boss but he was promoted and in turn, chose Kim Bora (her right hand) as her successor.

You had met Kim Bora before in fact she was the one who hired you. She was a tiny little thing with a fire that drove her to win at all costs. When you interviewed her the thing that stood out most was the rapacious look she had. You thought it was because she hadn't eaten that day but as you got to know her and did a few projects with her you quickly learned that her intense appetite was all genuine. You were no slouch yourself you strived to lead the pack and often did with your out-of-the-box solutions and creative problem-solving skills. Kim Bora or Sua as she demanded to be called now was often reliant on you for not only your insights but also rigorous morale-boosting efforts. So much so she had you in her old position 4 months after you got hired, and a week before the first major audit of the quarter. The audit went well but it was after that when “Kim Bora” died and “Sua” took over completely.

The day after the Audit you got in early to work on a side project you had going on. You were off the clock obviously and needed a quiet space that wasn't your apartment you shared with several roommates. While you worked a co-worker and designated “office puppy” Yoohyeon walked in

“Well well well. Who do we have here? A hard-working Hound slaving away before his shift even starts?” Yoohyeon says to you. You look up from your project and smile admiring her short blue hair which she had dyed the previous week.

“I'm good Puppy and how about you?” you ask giving her your full attention.

“I'm tired. That audit took it out of me. It also didn't help that Gahyeon and Siyeon’s work all got corrupted at the last minute.” Yoohyeon laments. You console her reminding her it's over and that Bora and you finished it.

“Thanks, hound…hey where's Bora?” Yoohyeon asked as you and here usually come in around the same time.

“Oh, she’s at my place. We didn't finish work until 3:30 last night so she stayed the night since it was closer,” you explain. Yoohyeon smiled at you.

“I knew you were a hound but I'd never take you for a dog,” Yoohyeon says with a pleasant laugh

“What do you mean?”

Yooyheon gets shoulder to shoulder with you and nudges you“Taking her back to your place, after a stressful day of work. A little bit of Office romance in the air?” she questions. You shake your head and try to deny it but there's this pit inside you and in that pit, something has awoken as you think about your boss in some less-than-professional ways. Yoohyeon notices your laptop and asks what you are working on.

“Oh it's just a movie script,” you say which makes Yoohyeon’s eyes go wide

“Oh can I be in it?” she asks preciously. You say sure and she beams off happy. By the time you finish up the first draft of the last scene, your boss walks in. She walks over to the desk and leans in as normal.

“Hey, honey. How are you?” you hear Bora ask.

“I'm fine boss. Just wanted to get some quiet time in before work. Did you enjoy your breakfast?” Bora smiles tired and nods as she drags herself to her office. Her voice is Huskier than usual from fatigue and further awakens the pit inside of you that is currently imagining your cock stuffed down her…Wait did she just call you honey? you think to yourself. You're not allowed to think for too long as the work hustle and bustle starts. As you settle in you get a call from Bora.

“Dear, can you come into my office please?”

Instinctively you say sure thing baby without being able to stop yourself before it comes out.

“Thanks, honey,” Bora said before hanging up the phone. You try to push down the feelings arising from the pit inside of you as you walk to her office. The pit had other plans though as your brain conjured lurid visions of you and Bora around the office until you got to her door. You see her and you going at it on Siyeon’s desk Bora screaming your name. Doggy at Gahyeon’s cubicle. Bora venting about how much of a little brat she was. Bora deepthroating you in Dami’s chair talking about how deep you are in her throat. It's disorienting and distracting but before you enter Bora’s office you breathe and calm yourself. You open the door to see Bora leaning back on her desk It is almost enough to send your body feral as you see not only her cleavage but also the way her pantsuit curves around her fit body. Your visions continue of her smothering your cock with her tits. Had you had less self-control you would have gotten on your knees and eaten her out before pounding her into oblivion and both of you pass out.

But instead, the words out of your mouth were “Yeah boss what's up?”

“We have a new hire and she should be coming in soon. I would like you who welcome her with me since you're my left hand.” her innocent reference to a previous inside joke had made you laugh and calmed the raging beast inside. You both sit in her office waiting for the new hire. Sue walks over to you and leans on you for a bit. She groaned before she said.

“Geez how did you still wake up so early today?” Bora asked. You shrug and respond “Not sure.” Bora smiles at you with admiration. Before hugging you.

“See that's what I love about you, honey. your persistence is unrelenting and inspiring.” the pet name reawakens the beast inside and you struggle to regain your composure. Until the door opens. In walks in a pretty blonde with bright eyes. She smiles and sits to the right of you across from Bora’s desk.

“Good morning Mrs Han,” Bora says. You nod as well as Mrs. Han sits next to you.

“This is my left-hand man Percival but we all call him Hound,” Bora says. Mrs Shin looks over at you confused.

“Each of us was given animal-related nicknames I got Hound after a particularly brusque interaction with a potential business partner”

Bora laughed and exposed the following, “you nearly bit his throat out when he attempted to forcefully couple with our little Fox Gahyeon”

Han’s eyes went wide as she remembered the story from two months ago about an office employee who broke the arm and several other bones of a CEO who was currently under investigation for multiple accounts of Misconduct. Mrs. Han laughed and said, “I heard about that. The article I read said it took 5 guards to stop you from killing him.” Mrs. Han teased

“I wasn't going to kill him,” you say

“Hound I know you're trying to not scare off the newbie but remember we are a primarily women-led office so I wanted her to know we have a hell of a guard dog helping who takes care of us,” Kim Bora explains. You shrug which makes Bora laugh. After that, Siyeon walks in and takes Mrs Han away, before she can. Bora asks you,” Hey honey can you pick up the food for today’s luncheon? The order will be ready at about noon.” you nod and walk out. When you get back to your desk you find that moment later Siyeon approaches

“What's going on between Sua and you?” she asks flatly.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Siyeon pointed to Sua’s office and said “Sua called you a bunch of pet names like babe and honey.”

“Oh good you heard it too, so I am not hallucinating that,” you say relieved you say half half-joking.

“Yeah, Handong asked me if you two were dating?” Siyeon asked confused. You shrug equally confused. Siyeon smiles at you and asks how you are handling it and why she's calling you that.

“Well, she stayed at my place after we got off last night since it was so late. As you know I live within walking distance from the office, but we didn't do anything but watch a movie and eat fried chicken. I got her some beer but I don't get why she's acting so different. I let her sleep in my bed sure but nothing happened because I slept on the couch.” you explain.

“I mean do you like her?” Siyeon asked

“Yes!” you explain “Too much to be exact” you add

Siyeon looks at you confused before saying “What do you mean?”

You sigh before answering “Well you have to promise me that you won't call HR on me.”

“Wait why?” Siyeon asks confused

“Just promise me and I'll explain.” you sigh again

“Okay. So ever since this morning when Yoohyeon came in and teased me about Bora and me. My mind has been racing and giving me visions of her and I “having a good time” all over the office.” you explain

Siyeon’s eyes go wide “Holy shit.” she exclaimed a bit too loud causing others to take notice. You tell those who looked over that you just shared a good recipe with her. You get suspicious looks all around but everyone eventually goes back to what they were doing.

“Oh, so you like her,” Siyeon affirms. You nod and she responds by asking, “What are you going to do about it?” you hesitate before you respond in a whisper

“Probably transfer departments, but hopefully it won't come to that.”

Not only did Sua come to work with more enticing attire but the pet names continued and her touch became increasingly more flirty. It was agonizing. It also didn't help that the work days got longer so your invites to her became more frequent. On the nights she stays she cuddles you relentlessly. On the off nights, she teases you all day with flirty touches and revealing outfits. Your only respite was your chats with Siyeon which would always end the same. “You should just fuck her and see what happens.” and your response would be. “Siyeon that's our boss. I can't do that” Siyeon would shrug and leave. Usually, after that Sua would call you in to start working.

Weeks go by the treatment gets better and worse. It became so flagrant that Dami asked you if Sua and you were dating. This is significant because Dami and you barely talked about anything besides work. That wasn't even the craziest part. You would think that with this unrelenting sexual tension between the two of you work productivity would be diminished and you'd be at each other's throats, but the exact opposite happened. All of your metrics/numbers were through the roof, and Sua and you were on fire. Spend almost every evening together after work going on cute dates all over town, but eventually, the guilt and overwhelming infatuation began to eat at you.

So You call in a favor with your friend Sakura who works in a different department. She gets you transferred in the nick of time because Sua’s advances grew more intense each day and the Beast inside grew more rapacious to indulge your hunger. That night before the schedule transferred Sua and you were working late on a massive project. Sua knew she and you were going to have to stay late so she brought a change of clothes. Her work out however was distracting you as it was a blue crop top with a black tie (which fueled several more fantasies and visions) However that wasn't the worst part. Every time Sua would stretch or lean into you the crop top would move and you get a major peek at her breasts. You are barely holding it together when the two of you finish up.

“Ah, I can't believe we finished all that,” Sua exclaimed you nodded quietly. She looks over to you her eyes Misty and sincere. So you tell her the truth… partially

“I feel stuck. Like I love working with y'all but I just need a change of scenery,” you say holding back the fact that for the last three weeks, you have had an erection that wouldn't go down no matter how many times you jack off at home because of her. Sua seems to take your words at face value and is saddened. You invite her to stay the night, which she takes. Your night with Sua is surprisingly chaste and comforting. The two of you go to a nearby steak house where you both eat and fight off fatigue. When the bill comes you pay for it as Sua has gone to sleep sitting upright. You smile at her cut expression. When it's time to leave you carry your passed-out boss back to your place. As you do you hear Sua say “I feel so safe in your arms honey.” it tears you up inside because your brain is full of images of groping her and having your way with her. When you get home you set her down on the bed and lock the door. You try to get to sleep but every time you close your eyes visions of her and you plague you. The most common being her riding you into orgasm after orgasm after orgasm till you were left raw and shaking under her tight lithe body. She mentioned how she was a dancer so you also would imagine all of her flexibility being put to use as you would pound into her through various positions. These dreams left you painfully erect and awake. You eventually do fall asleep however and can relax with Sua who eases on the sexy teasing the weekend she stays over.

As you work with Sakura and her team dubbed “le serrafim” due to the angel statute outside of the office you excel. Productivity goes up as you help the operations leader Chaewon whip the team into shape but you can't help but miss Sua. So on your first free lunch break, you visit your old office. on the way you stop at your and Sua’s favorite sandwich shop and get yours as well as hers. The Lady smiles at you and asks “Where's your work wife?” you explain to her that you had been transferred for fear of getting too close. the clerk nods and tells you life is too short to fight love so just go with it. You laugh as you head back to the office. The air is cold as you walk in. The remaining people working look at you with confusion. You ignore them and walk over to Sua’s office. You notice a distinct fragrance but you can't place it.

You open Sua’s door and are shocked at what you see she is wearing. It's a suit Jacket over a bralette and shorts.

“Aish why don't you ever knock?” Sua groans as she works on her laptop until she looks up to see you.

You tried to be good. You did but her outfit was too much for you not to let the beast out. You walk over to her and carefully set your food down before walking behind her desk and kissing her passionately. You pull her shorts down to see she wasn't wearing underwear. You fish out your cock and tell Sua.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me? You little minx.” Sua moans into your lips through a kiss before saying

“I know. I wanted you to take me. What stopped you?”

You roll your eyes at her, “You were my boss and I didn't want to get fired.” as you spoke you lower yourself down to her pussy. She smells exquisite. You take an experimental lick which causes Sua to buck her hips into you before she pulls your face back up.

“I don't need you to tease me. I need you to fuck me. We can do build-up later.” Sua demands. You acquiesce and align your cock with her folds and you plunge in. “Yes, baby yes.” Sua moans as you begin thrusting into her. As you do you vent your sexual frustrations to her.

“That whole last week before I transferred you left me with a boner I couldn't get rid of or sleep off. I'd be having these intense visions of fucking you all across the office,” you growl at her as you pound into her. You slip a hand under her bralette to learn she isn't wearing a bra either “You're such a slut.” you tease Sua. She arches her back as she leans into your body

“No, I just know what I want and how to get it.” Sua rejects

“Oh and what do you want?” you question

“You. Now shut up and cum in me. I need it.” Sua demands. You finally fully submit to her and the Beast inside as you plunge deeper into her pussy. She groans as your cock pierces her again and again.

“God you're so tight,” you say in between thrusts. Sua smiles at you deviously and says

“Wait till you fuck my ass then will talk about tight.” her words are so hot that you tumble into your orgasm blasting her womb with your seed. Sua moans as she comes all over your cock.

“Fuck you came so much,” Sua says as you drip out of her.

“Can you take the rest of the day off?” you ask. Now that you had a taste you needed more.

“Oh so now you're bold and brave. Where was all of this 4 months ago when I was practically throwing myself at you?” Sua demands

“Look I didn't want to assume anything, especially after that bozo tried to put the moves on Gayheon.”

“My hero.” Sua teases you before kissing you again.

“Sua you keep this up I'm going to fuck you all day in this office.”

“Ooh, I like the sound of that.” Sua purred.

“I don't think your employees will So I am going to ask again. Can you take the rest of the day off?” Sua looked at you with a focused and determined look before groaning.

“No, I can't. We have a big project coming up, but today is Friday so you can meet me after work.” you furrow your brows and nod. As the both of you get dressed and try to clean each other up.

“Also we are dating now officially,” you say which causes Sua’s sexy smile to turn into a bigger wholesome one, as you sit down and hand her the lunch you got her.

“Good. I'll see you tonight hound.” you nod and get back to work.

The rest of the day is cake for you now that you've removed that Sua-sized monkey off your back. A lot of the tension you felt washed away. The horny brain fog seemingly lifted and you powered through work with an intensity that impressed and scared Sakura. After work, she asked what had gotten into you

“My girlfriend,” you reply as you go home. Sakura's eyes go wide and smiles.

“Well, then you probably should get going!” Sakura asserts. You nod as you leave for your apartment. You order fried chicken as you wait for Sua to arrive. Two hours later Sua arrives with food at the same time the order arrives. You met Sua while picking up the chicken from the lobby. She smiled at you and walked with you to the elevator.

When entering your apartment Sua grinned happily, “Ah my home away from home.” she said as she sat on your couch. You set the food out for the two of you.

The air grows humid, as the anticipation builds. "So how was work?" you ask trying to resist the urge to pound her in that moment. Sua smiles and responds,

"No, you don't get to just be normal with me like you didn't fuck me in my office." Sua teased

"But babe you looked so hot." you protest

"I know I did, but that wild beast in you couldn't help himself and now you need to take responsibility for your actions. Do you have any idea how you left me so horny after lunch. I had to masturbate during one of my afternoon breaks something I never do because I kept thinking about your cock the rest of the day pounding me. Now you are going to come over here and fuck me. then we are going back to the table to eat." Sua says as she takes her sweatshirt off revealing she was wearing nothing underneath, but in all honesty her words had left you hard anyways. You walk over to her and strip which draws a wide smile out of your paramour. You draw your manhood out of your pants and plunge into her core. You start slowly hoping to not cum fast but Sua was having none of it.

“No enough of the foreplay fuck me like you mean it. I need your cum.” sua demanded so you oblige. As you take her from behind you smack her ass a couple of times before really pounding her. Sua moans. “Yes claim me as yours. Fuck your slutty pussy cum in me.” Seeing Sua so lost in her own pleasure sends you barreling to your own release. You feel her tighten as she screams and cums all over your cock. She then pushes you down and begins riding you.

“I love how you look under me. Maybe I should sound proof my office and take my cock whenever I need it.” the possesiveness in her voice was surprisingly hot to you. You keep pounding her relentlessly as Sua arches her back into you she says, “you like how my pussy takes you. You line how it just wraps around you to tight like a vice.” her words and tone prove to be to much and you cum into her again. You feel her body also reach it's peak as well. But the two of you keep going. Sua’s body is so enticing that you can't help yourself. So you keep pounding her. Sua moans in exctasy “yes keep going she encourages as you venture deeper into her folds. Sua groans in pleasure.

“You like that?” you ask aggressive. Sua moans in response letting you know all you need. Your hand reaches out to her clit where you gently rub and massage. Not used to the overwhelming sensation causes Sua to cum almost immediately. You follow her as well down the rabbit hole of pressure as your errection finally goes down. Sua is almost ready to mount you again but you hold the tiny woman back and put on enough clothes to eat the meal you paid quite a bit for. Sua laughs and gets dressed as well.

Sua jaunts over to your dining table and sits across from you ready to eat. She sits down and eats with you. out of habit, you hand her an ice-cold beer which she happily accepts. While you do so Sua asks some very serious questions.

“So how's the new job?” Sua asks shyly

“It's fine I love working with the Fimmies (the nickname of the department) Although I do miss working with y'all.”

“Yeah, it hasn't been the same in the office without you. I don't have my late-night partner in crime to do sand which runs, or joke partner to make those endless meetings go by faster.” Sua explains

“Well you've always been welcome here I mean I did give you the spare key,” you reply

“ I completely forgot about that.” Sua chuckled. The two of you ate a bit in silence until Sua gave you an intense look. You both got up and raced to each other. Your kiss was passionate and intense. As Sua explored your mouth with her tongue she would bite your lip. On your side, you were desperate to fuck her again and were stripping her to the best of your ability. You stared at her big pale tits desperate for a taste. Sua licked her lips as she stared at your bulge. You attack each other's bodies in a very mirrored sense. You devour her tits while she clutched your cock.

“Yes, baby suck my fat tits.” Sua lets out her voice made Husky, and raspy with intense lust brimming from her body.

When you were both naked Sua smiled, and you plunged into her suffocatingly tight pussy again

“God you're so hot taking my cock.” you exclaim to Sua who moans back

“You like how this tight slutty pussy takes your cock?” Sua moans

“Oh god yes I love how tight you are.” you compliment. It sends Sua wild

“I can't believe you kept this cock from me for almost a year. It fills me up so well” she yells. You bring your eyes up to hers and she engages in another lurid kiss. She is as desperate for this as you are. You paw at her tits now covered in a thin layer of sweat as claws at your face trying to kiss you deeper and deeper Sua grinds on your crotch hard before demanding, “Baby please cum for me I need it. I need you to cum for your slutty noona. I need you to fill me up.” her words and the suffocating tightness of her folds push you over the edge, but Sua is as relentless in pleasure as she is in business and keeps grinding you hoping to coax you into another session, but your body doesn't work like that and so you have to pry her off of you. Fueled by her insatiable appetite for you she gets down on her knees and begins to suck you off. You groan

“Fuck babe at least let's get to the bed first.” you groan out. Sua smiles then drags you (by cock) to the bedroom. After getting into the bedroom and locking the door she says the scariest and horniest thing you've ever heard

“I'm going to fuck you until your brain is mush. You are going to cum in all my holes and on my tits. When I'm done with you your balls’ contents will be all mine. So relax and let your noona drain you.”

You gulp as you watch Sua’s eyes narrow with such intense lust, and want that you begin to grow hard under her gaze alone. She licked her lips as she sashayed over to you. You laugh to yourself because you remember how Gahyeon did little animal cartoon signs she put on each of your doors based on how she saw each of you. Sua was the only one you think Gahyeon got incorrect she was not a warm Crow tit. She was a ravenous tigress and she was not going to be stopped from taking what she wanted. She gave an experimental lick of the right side of your rod and when she reached the top of your head she gave a probing Pierce of your slit. The sensation was insane your body felt on fire in both positive and negative reactions but Sua was a lot stronger than she looked leaving you at her mercy. She smiled watching you squirm as took you down her throat. She looked up at you with an evil smile that gave way to her malignant intent to drain you drier than Death Valley. The crazy part is some weird part of you likes it, and your body relented to her demands. Your dick grew harder in Sua’s mouth which made her smile even bigger as she inhaled more of you. When she came up for air she smiled before devouring your cock whole. The hungrier she became the harder you got for her creating a vicious cycle until you came down her throat. Sua’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as she swallowed your load. As she came from your still-hard clock she smiled before saying “One shot. one kill” You can't help but laugh at her goofy expression and attempt to be sexy.

“Ah, what?” she yells at you before smacking your thigh. The sexual tension bow having dissipated considerably left you with your close work friend whom you spent many hours with. She crawled up to you and smiled.

“I know this is early but God I love you,” you say to Sua which only makes her smile more.

“Well to me we've been dating since you let me in your house. We are just official now,” she says with self-assured confidence. You laugh as the both of you sit up.

“We should finish eating.” you propose. Sua nods, and the two of you get up and put on underwear so neither of you were sitting on cold metal with bare ass. Sua moves her chair close to your side while the two of you eat.

She gives you an inquisitive look before asking, “Hey how do you feel about food play? Or other kinks like that.”

You hesitate as you are pretty vanilla in your taste. Sua picks up on this and says “Don't worry I'll be with you the entire time.” She smiles at you in a way that’s reassuring before hugging you. You chuckle and Sua asks, “What’s so funny?”

“You go from cute to sexy at the drop of a hat. It’s jarring but also funny.” You answer and Sua smiles. The two of you finish your meal before getting up.

“You wanna finish that movie?” Sua asks. You nod as the two of move to your couch. The two of you sit comfortably and watch the end of Shin Ultraman. After the movie Sua stretched before yawning, You were so right that was a good movie and scratched that Avengers itch I'd been having."

"I know right? Plus you're in and out in a quick two hours max." You respond

"Yeah. Maybe next time I'll give Mask Rider a try." Sua said pleased. Her eyes narrow as she gets closer “we have one hole left.” she said hungrily before pulling both of underwear down. She gets on top and says “let me ride you baby.” before sinking her ripe ass on your manhood. You groan Sua’s eyes widen with rapture as she bathes in the adoration you give her as you paw at her breast trying to release the overwhelming sensation of her ass on your dick. She also revels in the dominance she has over you. “You like your tight little ass.” Sua says as she bounces on your cock while you massage her tits. You nod.

“Good because from now on this cock is always going to finish our sessions in this tight little ass.” you groan as Sua speaks. She loves watching you squirm under her. “I need an answer dear.” Sua says in a honeyed yet malicious tone. .you're trying to hold on but Sua demands your attention as she is trying her hardest to force another orgasm out of you.

“Babe stop trying to hold off and just let me wring you dry.” Sua teases as she rides you harder. Your moans serve as more fuel to her passion as she rides you determined to drain you. “Come on baby cum for me. Please cum for me.” Sua’s words make you explode inside of her which triggers her orgasm. Sua smiles before saying “not bad for my work husband. When she hops off your dick she laughs at your still hard dick. She smiles and wraps her tits arou d your cock. You scream as pleasure and pain blur and sends you into another orgasm. Sua gets up when your cock finally softens but it's not for long as she starts to rub your cum all over her tits. Your dick hardens once more and you put your foot down.

“Sua stop I can't cum any more.”

Sua mounts you and says “we’ll see about that.” you growl at her and slam your cock into her pussy. If she needs to drain you to get off then you would get your pleasure first. You thrust into her violently as Sua is enraptured. Her pussy squeezes you tight as your sensitive cock runs in and out. You groan as her body draws another orgasm out of you and sends her into another orgasm. Sua screams, “yes baby yes.” before the two of you pass out. When you come to you still feel a wet sensations around your cock. You jolt down and see Sua and you are still connected. You sigh and go back to sleep content and at peace with holding Sua tighter.

[celtic-crossbow]

Blood Ties Chapter 18

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; mention of injuries; sexual themes; illness

A/N: I know I say this almost every time but this chapter is very lackluster and not my best. I had some major writers block and I struggled to get this done to the point where I was ready to give up altogether. I knew where I wanted to go, but words just weren’t happening. Hopefully, now that I’m past this part, it will be easier. Thank you for reading. I’m so sorry for the subpar work. 😢

You were actually a good patient, following Hershel’s recommendations by staying in bed, drinking more water, and not skipping or sharing meals. Daryl, to your surprise, returned to the room just a while later with a plastic bowl of some tasteless stew Carol had made. You didn’t complain, the woman always did the best she could. They had run out of any seasonings or herbs and with the cold weather, it was unlikely you’d find anything growing. 

“Ya need anything?” Daryl asked. You regarded him as he stood at the foot of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck while avoiding looking at you. 

“No, I’m okay.” You took another bite, eyes following him. He retrieved his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder, heading for the door. “Where’re you going?”

“Gonna try an’ hunt. S’cold as fuck out there but maybe I can manage some rabbit.” He shrugged halfheartedly. You hummed and stirred your stew until you heard the sound of the doorknob turning. 

“Daryl?” You blurted out. 

“Yeah?” He still wasn’t looking at you. You could feel the difference in the atmosphere. It wasn’t hostile, just uncomfortable. 

“Please don’t disappear.” You meant it in more ways than one, though you weren’t sure if he would pick up on the entirety of the request. Please don’t leave us. Please don’t hide away. Please just come back. 

“I won’t.” And then he was gone. He left the door slightly ajar, in case you needed something. 

Daryl didn’t lie aside from his constant use of ‘I’m fine’ when he was always so clearly not. So, you knew he’d be back. He wasn’t just going hunting. He was going to clear his head. You knew that because it’s what you would do, were you able to seek refuge in the woods safely. You missed hunting, the safety and comfort of the trees surrounding you. The stillness and quiet sounds that provided much needed calm in times of overwhelming chaos. You wanted to believe that you would feel it again, but you would have a newborn in a few weeks. A little person that would rely on your constant presence. Maybe those days were over for you. 

Daryl wanted more. He had made that clear. He wasn’t going to run away from the newness of what you had both expressed you were seeking. He needed time. It was fresh and formidable. You weren’t sure of his past experiences with relationships or perhaps even lack thereof, but it was clearly overwhelming for him. 

Especially since you had proclaimed to love him. 

That had shaken him. You could have kicked yourself for burdening him with that information. It wasn’t the right time. He had only just accepted that you meant more to him than you could have ever hoped and you just had to go and complicate it. You could only hope that it wasn’t so much that he’d change his mind. 

Rick had taken Glenn and Maggie to rummage through some nearby homes and a small town, returning with a bottle of meds for you that was about a third full. They had managed several cans of vegetables, two bags of rice, and a box of angel hair pasta. It wasn’t much but it would keep the group from starvation. 

You managed most of the stew, getting out of bed to join everyone else downstairs. Hershel had been apprehensive until you immediately stretched out on the couch and wrapped up in a blanket to continue resting without being trapped in isolation. The silence upstairs had been too much, the voices of fear and doubt in your head speaking too loudly. 

“How are you feeling, young lady?” The old man asked. He checked your stitches, used a stethoscope to listen to the baby’s heartbeat, and felt around on your belly, chuckling when he was continuously kicked at each disturbance. “Someone’s lively this evening.”

“Yeah, they’re tap dancing on my bladder but I don’t…” you trailed off and looked out the window. You had needed to pee since coming downstairs but didn’t feel safe going without Daryl anymore. It almost made you nauseous how dependent you’d become. Always the damsel in distress, the wimpy princess who couldn’t do anything for herself. 

“Things change when you find yourself in your condition.” You slowly brought your attention back to Hershel. The veterinarian was wise, had proven to be so back at the farm. Not always reasonable— as a barn full of walkers had shown —but wise, nonetheless. “You’re accustomed to living a certain way, taking care of yourself. And then there’s suddenly this little person depending on you to keep them safe. It’s not always easy to make that transition.” He gently rolled down your shirt and pulled the blanket up over you. “I could sense from the day I met you that you were a free spirit. You didn’t always want to listen. I’ve watched you shift from a woman who took care of herself by any means necessary to a woman who would do anything to protect her child. There’s no shame in that and the rewards will be sweeter than anything you’ve ever known before.” Hershel stood, knees cracking. With a gentle smile, he patted your shoulder. “You’ll see.”

You returned the smile, rubbing a hand over the swell of your belly as the old man took his leave. “He’s right, Thumper. You’re worth it.” Glancing back out the window, Daryl was trudging tiredly toward the house with two rabbits. You smiled, resting your head on the back of the couch to watch him interact with Rick. “You’re both worth it.”

“Whatcha doin’ outta bed?” Daryl was pulling off his crossbow, watching you warily. You wiggled until you were sitting up against the couch arm. 

“Don’t worry. I asked Hershel. As long as I rest, I’m okay.” He watched you for a moment longer before giving a nod, disappearing to prep the rabbits for cooking the next day. Carol smiled at him in passing. You couldn’t see his face but heard him grunt in acknowledgment. Maybe one day you’d be fluent in the complicated language of Daryl. 

“How’re you feeling?” A bottle of water was handed to you. You hadn’t even realized you were thirsty until you were removing the cap and tilting it to your lips. 

After several generous gulps, you lowered the water and sighed contentedly. “I didn’t know I needed that.” 

“Well, you’ve been—“ she turned her head toward where Daryl had walked away, looking back to you with an arched brow, “preoccupied.”

Your face warmed and you ducked your head. “Is it obvious?”

“Well, I’m not deaf.” She chuckled, patting your knee. 

“You heard?” You blanched, knowing you had grown impossibly redder. 

“I think everyone did.” 

“Oh god.” Mortified was an understatement. You were suddenly trying to recall the moments they could have heard but only succeeded in encouraging a sudden wave of arousal between your thighs. Well, that’s not helping. “Don’t say anything to— they can’t tease him. He’ll never—”

Carol reached out to rub your upper arm, shaking her head. “No one is saying anything. We’re all just glad some of the tension around here has eased.” She meant Rick and Lori, that wasn’t hard to figure out. 

You had barely opened your mouth to reply when Rick came in, moving quickly but quietly. 

“The fire.” He whispered harshly. You sat up straight, ignoring the pull of the stitches, and looked out the window, the scene becoming clear once the reflected light from the flames was doused. 

You managed to duck your head just as a walker passed by the the glass, its arm dragging across the surface with an eerie scraping. A myriad of shadows danced across the wall, your wide eyes following them until Daryl was crouched in front of you with a finger to his lips. His crossbow was by his foot while his hands held your boots and jacket. 

“Be quick.” He whispered so quietly that he may have only mouthed the words. You nodded and took the items, pulling on your boots without tying them and shrugging on your jacket. “Stay low.” It was hard not to smile, even with danger lurking so closely, when he wrapped his hand around yours. You let him guide you, walking as low as you could manage. 

Carol was coming down the stairs, your bag on one shoulder and her own on the other. Daryl let go of your hand to grab his bag on the way to the back door. Everyone had already gathered, Rick falling in behind Carol. The archer held up a hand to have you wait further back while he checked outside. 

“Here.” Carol whispered from your right. You glanced at her only to find her looking down, your knife held out to you. “I’ve got your gun and holsters in your bag.” Nodding your thanks, your hand wrapped around the handle and you brought the weapon in close, meeting Daryl’s eyes for a fleeting moment before he cracked open the door and peered outside. 

“S’clear. Go ‘round the right. Straight to the cars.” He began to wave everyone through, catching your hand as you passed. “Stay close to Carol. Be right behind ya.”

“Okay.” You agreed quickly and followed the other woman out. Only the pale moonlight illuminated the snowy ground as the lot of you bobbed and weaved your way around the herd. You couldn’t hear steps behind you but that wasn’t uncommon with Daryl. Even with the extra weight you carried, your own footfalls were light. 

It was close to impossible to see the dead and with the symphony of moans and snarls echoing from all around, you barely had time to stop and take a step back before the walker crossed into your path. Knife ready, you took down the woman with ease, lowering with the body to keep the noise to a minimum. 

She looked to have been a pretty lady, maybe in her thirties. Her blonde hair was missing in patches and her skin was torn and gaping in places. She was sporting a t-shirt that read “No. 1 Mom.”

You let that simmer after Daryl pulled you to your feet, urging you to resume the trek to the van. It was within view now, with only three walkers circling. Glenn, Maggie, and T-Dog dispatched them quickly enough, creating an open path straight to the vehicle. 

Twenty minutes on the road was long enough to lose yourself in consideration of the woman you’d put down. It wasn’t hard to imagine yourself meeting a similar fate, maybe forced to bear witness to the grizzly death of your child or dying without knowing what became of them. What if she had been the one to kill her kid? What if it was an infant, a toddler? Unable to understand why this person who was meant to protect them was causing them pain?

You cried for her. You cried for the child. Silent tears that you didn’t attempt to hinder while you sought out the comforting rumble of Daryl’s bike just ahead. Even if you did fall victim to the dead, he’d never allow your baby to be hurt. You could take comfort in that. As long as one of you was breathing, your child would never know harm. 

The weather only grew more unforgiving as the days wore on, chipping away at any shreds of hope that were managing to survive in your little group. Another home found and lost. Freezing nights huddled against Daryl in the backseat of the van. A great deal of the blankets had been sacrificed when fleeing the dead. Of course, you, Lori, and Carl were given the heaviest ones that remained. Daryl would wrap you snugly and then hold you tight, claiming that alone would keep him warm enough. Apparently he still thought you were stupid. 

Food was dwindling. Once again, you were arguing with the archer about eating meager portions so that you could have more. If each bite wasn’t worth more than gold had been valued in the old world, you would have surely thrown many a bowl at him. 

His hunting trips grew longer and longer, now gone for no less than two days at a time. Measures were in place to ensure he knew how to find the group should the need to flee become necessary in his absence. Still, you worried. He manged to bring back more, usually rabbits but had lucked out with a small doe on the last excursion. With an extra few runs, enough salt was procured for the majority of the meat to be dried into jerky. It was sorted into each of your bags so it was sure to not be left behind if you had to leave quickly. The rest of the meat was prepared into a stew that could be reheated for a couple of days. 

It was nice to eat well for once, surrounded by full bellies and sleepy faces. The one face you wanted to see was absent, however. Daryl was on first watch at the small ranch style home. There were no fences but the land was open for a good distance before the treeline. Walkers would be spotted and the group could move on before the dead even made it halfway to the house. 

You bundled up, pulling up your hood, meaning to sit outside with him for a while. You grabbed one of the smaller blankets on your way out. Whether he admitted it or not, the long sleeve flannel under his vest was not enough to keep the frigid temperatures at bay. He was coughing into his elbow as you passed over the threshold, noticing his stew, long cold, was hardly touched. Pointing it out would only lead to another argument and at 28 weeks pregnant in an apocalypse, you just didn’t have the energy to spare. 

He was scrubbing a hand roughly over his face when you draped the fabric over his shoulders. For once, he didn’t argue, simply nodding while watching you move his bowl aside to sit down. 

He cleared his throat, his voice quiet and raspy. “Weren’t that hungry.” 

“I can heat it for you later if you change your mind.” Shoving your hands into your pockets, you leaned onto his shoulder and watched the gentle flurries pepper down from above.

“Ain’t gonna nag me?” 

“Nope.” You smiled fondly to yourself. “You’re stubborn as ten mules and this baby has been kicking me non stop for two days. I don’t have the energy to attempt and force feed their father.” He nudged his shoulder upward, jarring a giggle out of you. “We do need to find you a coat. It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here.”

“Your tits ain’t never cold.”

Rolling your head on his shoulder, you feigned offense. “Why, Daryl Dixon. Did you just call me a witch?”

“If the broomstick fits.” 

That coaxed a startled laugh out of you. “Huh.” You stared at him a moment longer and then settled back into watching the snow. 

“What?” He leaned a little to angle his head in order to see your face.

“Thought you’d misplaced your sense of humor, that’s all. Maybe you found it while your head was so far up your ass.”

“Think you're funny?” He huffed, clearly not annoyed. It was refreshing to just talk like two people in a relationship on a cold, snowy night. Maybe you could pretend the world hadn’t ended for at least a moment. 

“Oh, I know I am. It’s part of my irresistible charm.” You retorted cheerily. Daryl made a pfft sound and joined you in watching the snow. It was almost hypnotic; the peace of the moment drawing you in until you were sure you’d fall asleep. 

When Daryl coughed again, you startled and sat up straight. He had turned away and buried his face in the crook of his elbow, muffling the sound to the best of his ability. 

“Are you okay?” It was hard to keep the concern out of your tone, terrified he’d withdraw from you. He had been trying, the evidence of his efforts displayed in his own ways. 

Over the last month, you’d never felt closer to him. He had found a truck, loading the bike in the back so that you would be with him anytime moving was necessary. There wasn’t much time for intimacy, not sexually, though he’d made you cum on his fingers a few times while the others laid behind him, sound asleep and none the wiser. He seemed to enjoy your company, especially while on watch. He didn’t speak much but when he did, he was soft and attentive. He would watch you in silence, tinkering with his crossbow or prepping a kill to be cooked. He still agitated easily, but he was trying. You couldn’t ask for more than that. 

“M’fine. Just a cold.”

It made sense. He was out in the elements more than anyone. He wasn’t eating or sleeping nearly enough. His body could only take so much abuse. 

“We have the venison, Daryl. Why don’t you stay in for a few days?” Pulling your hands from your pockets, you dragged the sleeves down to cover them. How did the man stand it without proper clothing?

“Could always use more. That jerky ain’t gonna last forever an’ the stew will keep a day or two.” The flickering glow from the lighter’s flame cast a soft hue across his face, gone too quickly for you to truly admire. Pulling the cigarette from his lips, he turned his head to blow the smoke away from you. Such a small gesture, but it made your heart flutter. 

“Well, I can’t argue with that, I guess.” In truth, you couldn’t. Food was food and it was necessary. “Maybe I could go with you. You know I can hunt and—”

“Nah. No way.” He barely got the words out before coughing again. “You’re stayin’ here with ev’ryone else.”

“I can help and you know it.” You weren’t angry, but still found it difficult to keep the bitterness out of your words.

“Know ya can. Don’t mean ya should.” He took another draw from his smoke, exhaling while rubbing at his throat. Was he even aware he was doing that? “Best way ya can help me is stayin’ here an’ keepin’ the two’a ya safe.” It was dark but you could still see the pink beginning to cover his cheeks. “Get inside ‘fore ya get sick.”

You smiled slyly, crossing your arms. “I’ll go inside if you go too.” He turned his head toward you, brow drawn inward. You couldn’t tell if he was annoyed, angry, or amused. Either way, you tipped up your chin defiantly. “Someone else can take watch. You’re leaving to hunt tomorrow and need to sleep.”

Those blue eyes narrowed, the flare of the cigarette giving them the illusion of burning like the hottest flame. He never looked away, exhaling from the corner of his mouth to keep the smoke away from you. “You’re a brat.” 

“Yep.” You grinned. 

“Fine. Jesus, go inside. Be there in a minute.” He grumbled something under his breath and continued his smoke, shaking his head after looking away from you. With a triumphant HA, you grabbed the dilapidated railing by the steps and pulled yourself to your feet, cradling your belly to bend enough for your lips to press against his cheek. “Pain in my ass.”

He made you cum twice that night but not before denying you for an agonizing amount of time. 

“This baby is definitely a Dixon. Doesn’t ever stop moving.” 

Carol chuckled, stirring the stew she had just removed from the fire in the other room. “You’re gonna miss it once they’re born, I promise.” Her smile faded, a morose air encasing her. As your baby moved under your hand once again, a pang of guilt came with it. 

“Oh, Carol, I’m sorry.”

The silver-haired woman rarely spoke of her daughter anymore, but that wasn’t to say that the pain ever left her eyes. There was a permanent sadness etched there. Now two women she traveled with, survived alongside, were pregnant. It was a slap in the face from the universe. 

But Carol? She handled it with a grace you weren’t sure you would ever possess. 

“Nothing to apologize for, silly.” She reached for the hand that lay across your rounded middle and squeezed it. You smiled solemnly as she went back to stirring the day’s meal. “Daryl should be back today. He never stays out more than two days.” She chuckled quietly. “I think he only does that much out of necessity. He’d likely stay right here with you if he had a choice.”

“I think he leaves for two days cause he needs a break from me.” You mused, plucking a piece of venison right from the pot. Carol shot you a sarcastic look of disapproval but refrained from scolding you. “I’m not easy to get along with at the best of times. Forget being in a relationship with me while I’m 92 weeks pregnant.”

“So you did take that step.” When you blinked at her with wide eyes, she shrugged. “He’s not exactly forthcoming with details regarding his personal life but sightings have been noted of cheek kissing and even a little hand holding.”

“Glenn never could keep his mouth shut.” 

“Don’t worry. He’s been informed that if Daryl ever hears him, he’s likely to lose a limb. He’s aware of the dangers.” While the two of you laughed, Maggie stuck her head in the door. 

“Daryl’s back.” She waggled her eyebrows at you, prompting a one-fingered gesture in return. “Real classy, Y/N.”

“Hey, I am the perfect representation of a lady.” You winked at Carol and squeezed her upper arm before meeting Maggie in the doorway, bumping her with your hip. You quietly released a tense breath once out of sight. It was getting late. Try as you might, you couldn’t help but worry when it took him a little longer to get back. 

Grabbing your coat, you quickly pulled it on and zipped it. There was still plenty of room for your growing belly. It should last you the remainder of the pregnancy. The snow was at least four inches deep, quite the difference from when the archer had left two days prior. Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog were out scavenging for the usual food and medicine, but you had cornered them before they left and made them promise to find a warm coat for Daryl. 

The wind was frigid in the evening hours, the temperature steadily dropping. Your face stung from only seconds of exposure when you walked down the steps to meet him. At first glance, everything seemed fine. It wasn’t until he was closer that you noticed his unsteady gait, the way he was dragging the string of rabbits through the white powder behind him. 

“Hey.” You called over the gusts, smiling at him when he slowly looked up. He didn’t return the expression but he wasn’t a teeth and gums smiler anyway. That much you could brush aside without concern. It was the wet, barking cough into the crook of his elbow that shifted your concern to something just short of panic. “Daryl?”

“Got some rabbits.” He croaked, walking right past you and into the house. You followed on his heels, leaning forward to relieve him of the four animals before he could object. He fixed you with a sharp glare but you only smiled and backed toward the kitchen. 

“Just gonna put these in there. We can clean them together in just a bit.” There was no time for either of the other women to question your hurry. You deposited the rabbits on the counter by the old sink and exited just as quickly as you had entered. 

Daryl was coughing again when you returned, a painful sounding hack that jarred his entire body. His chest seemed to rattle with each breath, his movements sluggish while he removed his crossbow from his back. 

“Hey, are you okay?” You moved closer but still gave him several feet of distance. 

“M’fine.” He gestured vaguely around his upper torso. “S’just this fuckin’ cold.”

“Right.” You answered, watching him remove his poncho and vest. He must have sensed your eyes on him, an irritated glance thrown your way. 

“What?” He snapped. 

“You look like shit and sound even worse.” Your feet were propelling you toward him but he somehow managed to sidestep around you. “Daryl, hang on.”

“Ain’t in the mood for your shit, Y/N.” There was a sharp retort on the tip of your tongue that you swallowed when he began to cough again and staggered to catch himself against the wall. 

“Daryl?” You were at his side in an instant, your arm winding around this back to help support him. You couldn’t miss the heat you felt beneath his shirt. “Fuck, you’re hotter than a jalapeño’s ass!”

“Told ya, m’fine.” He hissed, probably attempting menacing but only managing a weak rasp. 

“You’re not fine, Daryl.” You held on tighter when he tried to shrug you off, a good thing since his legs buckled a moment later and took you both down. You managed to control the fall, ending with the two of you on your knees. Daryl coughed harshly, only managing to stay upright with your support. “Maggie! Maggie, get Hershel!”

“What’s wrong?” The eldest Greene ran into the room, followed by Carol. “Shit.”  One look and she disappeared, yelling for her father while Carol came around to Daryl’s other side. 

“Ain’t…no reason…for all this fussin’.”

“Shut up, Daryl. Daryl?” Your eyes met his briefly, fear and panic flashing through them before they rolled up and he slumped forward against you. “Daryl!”

[alonetimelover]

My love, we were in Paris

pairing: Harry Styles x tennis player!reader (fem, she/her)

summary: After winning her third French Open title, YN was excited to call Harry, not knowing he had rather big surprise already waiting for her.

warnings: a few swear words and just fluff!

word count: ~1,7k + a few social media posts!

more of a tennis player!reader here: masterlist ask, come say hi, request!

She won. 

For the third time in her life she won the French Open. 

After the second set and the first half of the third one, when she was ready to give up. It was all foreshadowing her eventual loss. At least she felt like it. Her serve somehow lost its force, the precision she always praised herself to have got forgotten in the middle of the match. For the audience it must have looked like she was done with it, unbeatable YN YSN finally defeated on her favourite court. 

Well, it was all wrong. Not knowing how, the precision she craved, came back. Her serve felt like it doubled in force and the confidence sprung like flowers in the spring. When she defeated the break-point going for 3-5 in games for her opponent, she said to herself ‘you got it’. 

And she won. 

Now, squatting down on the ground, crying tears of joy she couldn’t believe it. Third time champion in Paris sounded proud and surprisingly good.

Her mind, though, was just made of two things right now: ‘you won’ and ‘call Harry’. 

After receiving congratulations from her opponent and speaking to her briefly about the match, she stood in the centre of the court clapping for the crowd. The squeals and whistles were overwhelming, but being there in the middle, acknowledging all of it was the first move to thank all of the people for their support. 

Moving swiftly to her bag, she unlocked her phone and chose ‘Harry💜' from her favourite contacts. It was so loud, she knew she wouldn't be able to hear half of the things he was going to say. But she called anyway. She promised him last night, when they were speaking through FaceTime.

“Call me right after the match,” he said, yawning. 

“Goodnight, sleepyhead. Right after? So from the court?”

“If you’re allowed to then why not? I want to hear it from you, whatever it’s going to be.”

Harry knew she would win. And at the same time he knew that saying ‘I want to hear it from you “I’m the champion.”’ would put too much pressure on her shoulders. She was stressed enough and what he could provide was his lifelong support. 

“I’ll call you. I promise.”

After four long signals, the smile on her face was slowly but gradually diminishing. She quickly remembered that the eyes of all people interested in tennis were on her, and put that smile back on.

In a few hours Harry was playing one of the biggest shows in his life, a concert for 80 000 people to be exact. She shouldn’t be mad and wouldn’t be. Maybe sad, but she would allow it after getting back to her hotel room. 

Tossing her phone back to the bag, she ran towards the box where her coach and loved ones were sitting. Getting closer and closer to the stands she finally looked up as to plan her way to her family. 

She stopped in her tracks. Right next to her parents was one and only person she was thinking about for the last hours. Person, she was unwillingly (deep down) mad at not picking up her call just a minute ago. 

He was here. Harry was here. His beaming smile, brightening her mood in seconds. He was clapping his hands then whistling on his fingers, and repeating the process. The white hat matching hers, and a simple black t-shirt so as to not draw attention towards himself. But she would recognise him anywhere, in the dark, in the place full of people, at the end of it all. She would know him because nobody had his divine smile and kind-hearted eyes.

Eventually, she sprung to jog up the stairs and around a few corners. In what felt like seconds she was at the stands. People were reaching for her, saying and shouting ‘bravo, YN’, ‘you did a good job!’ and all the congratulations. But she couldn’t bring herself to care right this moment. There was only one person’s opinion she cared about. 

When only a few steps were between them she jumped into his arms, embracing him, wanting to never pull back. 

“What are you doing here?” She whispered into his ear. 

“What d’you mean?” Teasing smile was growing on his face. “I came here to watch my girlfriend win her third title in Paris. You know when she’s startin’?” 

She pulled back a little to swat his shoulder playfully, “stop it!”

He just smiled, looking at her lovingly. Pride and happiness just swelled in his chest, making him all warm and fulfilled. 

“Hi.”

“Hi.” She laughed at the absurdity of the situation. In her wildest dreams she wouldn’t have thought about Harry coming to her match just hours before the concert he was playing in another country. “What are you doing here, really? You play in, what, six or seven hours?”

Harry brushed one unruly strand of YN’s hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek. 

“You really thought I would miss this match?”

“Yeah. You said it yourself, didn’t you?”

“Well, if I didn't, you wouldn’t be this surprised. Also if you knew I was here, you would think about it too much.”

“Because you’re such a distraction?”

“You said it,” he teased her back.

YN was looking up at him, still trying to comprehend that it was, indeed her Harry embracing her and caressing her cheek and waist. It wasn’t a dream or a fantasy. He actually flew over to Paris to support her.

How could she not love him?

“Thank you,” she said, tears in her eyes, daring to fall down her face. 

“Nothing to thank me for.” 

They kissed softly. Knowing, in the back of their heads it would draw so much attention, but they couldn’t not do it. It had been a week without seeing each other. They missed it. 

“I am so proud of you, lovie. So fucking proud. You’re unmistakingly the best player out there. And don’t argue with me. Take it in. I’m so proud. I love you,” Harry whispered into her ear, squeezing her even closer to him. “Now, go. You have a trophy to accept and a speech to make. Go be the best out there.”

After stealing one more little kiss from Harry and saying ‘I love you’ back, YN hugged every member of her team and her parents. Then she ran back on the court where the podium was placed.

She was going to accept the cup for the third time in her life. 

“Woah, thank you so much and sorry for breaking the cup,” She started her speech with a laugh. “Ah, there are so many people that I’d like to thank. My team - my coach, my psychologist, my physiotherapist - without you guys my body wouldn’t be able to pull any championship. To my family, my boyfriend tha-” she needed to stop because of the cheers erupting around her. Yes, people loved Harry everywhere. “Thank you all for believing in me, bringing me joy and so much support, I’ll never be able to pay you back. Thank you! And thank you to all of you here, the fans. For your support and kind words. Thank you! Je t’aime Paris!” 

***

It took them two hours to finally get to the hotel. Harry closed the door behind them, placing a card on the table in the corridor. 

“When do you have a plane back?” YN asked, while looking for some clean clothes to wear after the shower that was calling her name. 

“In about two hours.”

“Fuck, give me 5 minutes to shower and I’ll ride with you to the airport, okay?” She said in a rush to get ready as quickly as possible. 

On the way to the bathroom Harry stopped her, gently catching her by hand. “Wait. What if you pack a small bag and come with me?”

“Come where?” YN asked with a laugh. 

“Dublin. And then Slane for the concert.” 

“Wha- but, well. I have a media day tomorrow from 11 a.m. And a dinner tonight with the sponsors. Harry, I can’t miss it,” YN answered with a frown on her face. 

Harry smiled mischievously, “what if I told you I already talked to your coach and team? And they said it was okay for you to go with me as long as you come back for tomorrow's photoshoot?”

“No way.” She shook her head in disbelief.

Harry nodded his head, taking YN’s clothes in his hands and throwing them on the bed. 

“Yes way. I’m very convincing when I want to be.”

“Oh, are you really?” YN mirrored Harry’s smirk, placing her hands around his neck. 

“Oh really. You are coming with me.” 

He pecked her lips. 

“I am coming with you to Slane. And then what?”

“Then I’m playing the concert in front of 80 000 people. But-”

“But, what?”

“I think I’m gonna care about only one person there.”

YN shook her head with a smile. She knew him for more than three years now, but he still could make her blush. He was still so smooth with all the flirty comments and compliments. She was sure, she wouldn’t be able to find any other person who was as appreciative and thankful as Harry. Not like she wanted to. 

“You wanna know the plan for the next few days?”

“Tell me all about it,” she encouraged him, pulling her hand through his curls. 

“Mhmm, we’re flying back here in the morning. You have a photoshoot and a media day. And then in the evening I’m taking you to my favourite restaurant here to celebrate our achievements so far this year. Aaand the day after that we’re going by train to London.”

YN’s eyes lit up at the mention of the train ride. “Did you buy tickets for the train already?”

“Yes, I did. I know how much you wanted to try that route.”

“Do you know you’re the best boyfriend I could ever ask the universe for?”

“You can remind me of that from time to time. Feed my ego,’ he laughed, hugging YN. 

“Thank you. I love you, Harry.”

“Nothing to thank me for.” He tightened the embrace. “I love you and I am so proud of what you did today and the days before.”

——————————————————————————————

harryismyfriend

liked by harryfan11, harrysfan202 and 810 others

harryismyfriend I saw Harry in Paris this morning!!!!!

view all 1 021 comments

harryparis I've met his as well and he asked not to upload any pictures! please take it down!

harryupdates he's there to surprise yn, please take this down

hArrysbtch dont spoil the surprise!!!!!

ynupdates delete this, please

harryismyfriend im so sorry, im deleting it right now!

this post has been deleted

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tennisworld

liked by ynupdates, harrystyles and 2 201 830 others

tennisworld You hear it first here! TREBLE French Open Champion - YN YSN! Congratulations!

view all 92 201 comments

ynupdates THEE champion!!!!

harryupdates the best player out there!

ynshands i love this woman

ynsmybestie god is a woman after all

hArrysbtch i don't know her personally but im so proud of her, i wish i could hug her

harrysmoustache did you guys see harry cheering????

⤷ hArrysbtch oh god, yes! he was so cute

⤷ ynsmybestie that man clapped and whistled more than me during his concert

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harryupdates

liked by ynupdates, hArrysbtch and 58 301 others

harryupdates YN AND HARRY AFTER SHE WON THE THIRD FRENCH OPEN IN HER CAREER!!! It seemed like Harry's presence was a surprise for YN!

view all 9 201 comments

ynupdates i love them

ynupdates and im so proud of yn. she overcame so many obstacles during today's match

ynshands 😭i😭love😭them😭so much😭

hArrysbtch this man is playing the biggest concert in his lifetime in 4 hours and he's not even in the same country right now

⤷ hArrysbtch and before all of you start hating on me: i love that he found time to support yn during one of her most important matches this season

harryandynforever im gonna sleep on a highway tonight

tennisyn THEE couple, ladies and gentlemen

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harrynews

liked by harryupdates, ynsmybestie and 23 301 others

harrynews Harry and YN landed in Dublin just two hours before the start of the show in Slane. The ride from Dublin to Slane takes about 40 to 60 minutes. I hope they'll be there on time!

view all 3 201 comments

ynupdates she went with him to Ireland?????

ynsmybestie they are so supportive of each other, I can't

harryupdates this man loves living on the edge

harrysmoustache outfit repeater!!!!!

ynsfan101 so she won't have a media day today? i hoped to meet her 😞

⤷ ynsmybestie i think she'll be back tomorrow. she needs to do a photoshoot in front of the eiffel tower

⤷ ynsfan101 oh, that's reassuring! i hope to get an autograph or even a photo!

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ynupdates

liked by harryupdates, ynsmybestie and 93 301 others

ynupdates HARRY DANCING FOR YN VIA HER IG STORIES!

view all 18 301 comments

harryupdates i-

harryupdates wow, just wow

ynshands if that was my man, i would post it too 'see, world? and that's all mine!'

ynsmybestie girl..... don't throw it in our faces like that, we know

hArrysbtch 🫠

hArrysbtch what do you mean it's the same harry scared of performing life just few years ago????

harrysmoustache unhinged, both of them

harrysfan82 why is he so hot and cute at the same time

ynupdates can we take a moment to appreciate their support for each other? harry went to Paris event hough he had a show tonight. and yn went to Slane even though she has a busy day tomorrow in Paris. amazing, just amazing how they can cooperate and work with their busy schedules

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yourinstagram

liked by harrystyles, taylorswift, annetwist, ynupdates, hArrysbtch and 4 392 027 others

yourinstagram 🎶my love, we were in Paris🎶 ... and then in Slane and in Paris again. And then no one needs to know where 🗺

view all 72 302 comments

harrystyles we were somewhere else

⤷ yourinstagram 💜

⤷ hArrysbtch not you singing Taylor, Harry!

⤷ ynsmybestie yn turned you to the bright side, i see

⤷ ynshands and he finishes what she sings???? 😭

⤷ harrysmoustache harry is a swiftie, confirmed!!!!

taylorswift Congratulations on your third French Open title, YN! I hope to see you on one of the concerts!

⤷ yourinstagram i'll be there, wherever and whenever it is, i'll be there

⤷ ynupdates talk about being a committed swiftie

ynupdates posting a pic from Harry's concert before hers with a trophy??? medal for the best girlfriend goes to yn

harryupdates enjoy your free time!

wimbledon See you soon, yn!

[ioniansunsets]

Alright but hear me out (hello btw how are you ?) kayn heartsteel have canonically been kicked out of his previous band ; imagine fem!reader (successful idol herself or civilian) comforting him and trying to help him push through it and get back on his feet to continue his music !

✖ Pre Heartsteel!Kayn Being Kicked Out ✖

✖ Word Count: 1.3k

✖ Tags: Established R/S, Idol!Reader

✖ A/N: You were a performer too and met him at a gig before either of you got famous! You two live together in this one, you’re a solo idol that practices at home so you can spend your days with him. These are headcanons! Whee!

----

-  It wrecked him. You two got together while he was in his old band, so it was an important memory to you both. As a solo artist, you understood the intricacies of being in the public eye but still, being kicked out? That was rough…something you personally could never experience. You did your best to comfort him.

- The first few days was the worst. Kayn was the perfect definition of bi-polar. Either his Rhaast ego was full blown, wild, and uninhibited. Man straight up was about to do crimes and was only stopped by you begging him not to make things worse for himself. (You caught him with a bag full of spray paint about to go wreck his old studio.) Or he was the trained Idol, Kayn. Rhaast entirely held back, the perfect definition of an average idol, obedient and reserved. Joining you in your dance and vocal practices in your home studio.

- Don’t even talk about the things he tweeted during that era, you had to run into his room and tell him to delete them minutes after posting. It was a bad time. If you were to ask Kayn now about those old tweets? He was on the very fence of, cocky pride on how he was a “badass” that “didn’t follow rules back then” or just overwhelming embarrassment for being young and dumb.

- There was a lot of work to be done over those first few days, you got the help of your own PR guys to try and get Kayn’s media presence looking better. You yourself doing your best to give him advice on performing, it wasn’t even that he was a bad artist, it was just…he had some strong ideals and just didn’t work well with his old band. It took months honestly but as always, drama died down and Kayn slowly got to live his life again.

- The saddest part of all this drama was that because you were an idol too it was hard to bring him out to comfort him. Paparazzi were hounding you both, media wanting to know what went down with Kayn and if you were seen beside him…gods who knew what the media would say about your career. You two barely left your house because you just couldn’t.

- So, all you could do was your best. Dragging him to game with you on the PC, buying new consoles to try new games with him (murdering things in game really helped him unsurprisingly), watching movies together at home (feel good films that actually make him cry), getting him to do weird shit like painting your shared room (you have a messy signature of his by the door), crocheting weird little animals (he made Rhaast!), hells you managed to get him to read a book (banned in various nations). It was…different. But it helped keep his mind off doing anything that would ruin his career more while satisfying his need to just be a creative.

- On one of those uneventful days, Kayn ordered a nice little delivery package and excitedly ran into your room. Holding the plastic bag up proud. “ Y/N. I’m going to change my image. Entirely. Can you help me. Like…Right. Fucking. Now.” You stare at him in confusion until he walked up to your table, and pulled 7 boxes of bleach and dye, dumping them on your table. “ I’m going to go hot pink.” You laugh, but oblige anyway. If it would cheer him up then you would spend the day helping him out.

- There was a lot of angry snuggling on boring evenings. Kayn would lie in bed in your arms ranting about his ideals, how he was meant for bigger, greater things, things no one else in the industry or his old band could comprehend. And you would hug him tight, supporting him as he complained, listening, agreeing where you can, giving him bigger and better ideals of grandeur. The both of you knew it wasn’t anything serious, but it really did help lighten his mood. “ I’ll really set the stage on fire next time just watch me.” “ I’ll bring the gasoline then.” “ For real! I will fucking bring fireworks and shit too. It’ll be sick as hell! Never seen before! I’ll wreck the stage!!!! Livestream that shit!!!” Such evenings would end with the both of you laughing. It was nice to see him happier again in those small moments. Sometimes you could even see a sneak of a soft smile creeping onto his face, his appreciation for you playing along and not stopping him.

- It took about a week before you felt it was right to get him to pick his guitar back up. Convincing him that the best way to get over the bad memories was to form new ones, the two of you sitting down to write a song. He really went HARD with the lyrics, it was a damn god rap at that but it was honestly a diss track at his old band and shall stay hidden in the files of your computer forever. You do secretly listen to it sometimes, it was raw as fuck, personally it helped YOU when you were angry and frustrated. Not that you would admit to him. It would only stroke his ego more.

- He only admitted it once. Once when you two were soaking in a hot bath together. Only Once did he tell you how much your support meant to him. Nice smells and colors from a bath bomb floating around you two. It was a slow morning, a few weeks after getting kicked out, right before he joined Heartsteel. You sat there, back against his chest as he rests his head on your shoulder. Relaxing in the tub. It was peaceful silence before he spoke up. “ Y/N…I’m going to join a new band.” You actually had to pause and turn to stare at him. Shocked. Asking him if he was sure, if he was ready, if he was comfortable to be performing with people again. You held his face, asking once more if this is what he wanted to do in his career, if he was going to give up on going solo like you. His hand rose to hold yours against his face as he spoke. “ Yeah, I talked to them a lot the past week and…they genuinely accept me and all my crazy ideas. They love Rhaast for who he is and I think I can work with this. I’m sure about this.” He laughs, putting your arm down as his hands wrap around you in a tight hug. Kayn moving his face down to your neck as he gives you a soft kiss, gentle, barely there as he whispers, not looking at you. “ I have to thank you for this by the way. For letting me Be Rhaast. For telling me time and time again to just be the Rockstar that I was meant to be. That my unique brand of rock was fine. I’ll remember this forever. Every time you see Rhaast on stage it’ll be thanks to you. Remember that.” And that was it. He never really showed his vulnerability about his old band ever again. The next day he joined Heartsteel, and it was great for him. Your own heart feeling warm and fuzzy seeing him laugh and have fun with new bandmates. And when you stand in the audience, seeing Rhaast rap some sick bars, you can’t help but smile. He was Your Rockstar.

[pearlywritings]

Finally... we’ve waited for so long

synopsis: tempting images fill your husband’s mind, when after yet another long day he is relaxing in hot water. He is aching and yerning for your caress, but instead it’s his hand reaching down, because he cares for your your well-being too much.

pairing: Diluc x fem!reader

tw: nsfw, established relationship, masturbating, fingering, bath sex

word count: 3.1k+ words

Diluc sighs in frustration, resting his chin in his open palm, elbow firmly planted on the side of a bathtub. He can faintly hear you right outside the door - moving around your shared bedroom, surely tending to his discarded clothes, sorting through what should be left for maids to wash, what can stay, and what will end up stored away in a jewelry box. Only the golden band around his ring finger is shining brightly, and upon catching how lights reflect in the metal, the guilt twists the heart in the man's chest.

He feels like he is failing you as a husband. Admittedly, it was a horrible couple of weeks, too much happening, with preparation for the festival weighing on his shoulders as well, and he was rightfully exhausted to even talk when his head hit the pillow far later than acceptable. But so were you. You were involved in all these business and preparation things because of him, coordinating and being a mediator in conflict arising situations, which wore you out mentally as much as it did him physically. Many nights only one of you made it to the Winery, the other staying behind in the city and crashing to the hotel room. Maybe you really should consider getting an apartment within the city walls for such occasions. Something small and comfy, enough for two people to spend the night. He'll need to discuss it with you.

Not today though. He groans, straightening his back and realizing how full of pent up stress his body is. Usually he'd ask you for a massage, not forgetting to give one in return, but right now he can do as much as finish bathing to get himself in an appropriate form and get in bed with you to cuddle.

Diluc's fingers twitch at the thought of wrapping his arms around your soft and warm body, burying his face in your neck, inhaling that ever-present scent of fresh fruits that sings of summer, so full and juicy, that one bite can make them leak. A sweet sugary droplet would run down your chin, your bobbing throat and maybe he could catch it on his tongue before it reaches your plump breasts-

Fiery eyes snap open. He didn't realize it but his breathing suddenly became labored, his lungs got into a frenzy, hungrily inhaling the air and almost choking on the bath products' aroma swirling in the air. Why would he have such impure thoughts about you? Of course you are his wife, his lover, the woman whom he's seen in her best and worst, and also neediest, whose body he wants to worship till the rest of his life and whose voice fills him with thrill every time your beautiful lips part open. But…why? Why now? Shouldn't he be too exhausted to even think of your bare skin, of how you'd prettily lay sprawled under him, back arched and fingers buried in his hair? Oh, the sinfully clear details of his thoughts.

The gaze shamefully falls down to the still hot water, temperature unchanged, due to how warm his pyro vision is making his body, and then crimson orbs widen. Shit, maybe those really were long two weeks, with not much but a brief kiss here and there, and even rarer hugs, replaced by holding hands for a few minutes when things got too overwhelming.

Just mere thoughts are making him hard, and it seems like his mind doesn't want to stop fantasizing about you. It's been awhile, he admits, he probably hasn't touched you intimately in a whole month, and it fired back at him with a hard on at the slightest image of your gorgeous body imprinted into his brain.

It wasn't fair to you either, but he wasn't going to ask you to help him now. You've already done so much, and the least he could do is let you rest properly. 

Maybe if he pictures more scenes of when you rocked your bed, it'll bring him to relief in a matter of time, to get out and let you use the bathroom for your own relaxation.

He could keep quiet. It will be quick.

His back meets the tub's edge. Hand immediately goes for the half-hard cock, grasping the pulsing length and applying the pressure. Diluc curses under his breath, when his thumb swiftly swipes over the sensitive slit and sends a jolt through his body. Archons, he is aching, stomach muscles immediately flexing when he moves his palm up and down, pushing the foreskin away, revealing a flushed head.

Another memory resurfaces of when you were helping him relieve stress after a long night at the tavern, kissing his lips and letting your hand play with his leaking length. He traces the starting to bulge veins the same way you did, and even if it's hard to replicate your godsent touch Diluc still shudders again. Flaming gaze turns hazy, glazed over, overtaken by the image of your pretty fingers drawing hearts on his pectorals while your hand never ceased moving, gripping and teasing the hell out of your husband, and the Dawn Winery owner tries his hardest to do the same. But it doesn't feel the same, not with his hand being so rough and calloused that it actually feels a bit uncomfortable without lube - no amount of hot water can soften the scarred palms toughened by hardships. You like them though. You like to hold them, kiss them, have them plunging and curling deep inside of you, soaked in your juices, rubbing again those spongy walls, fuck… 

He has to lift his hips a little to let the precum run down his fully erect cock, to have at least some form of lubricant. Oh, if only you were here…

No, he has to remind himself, you are tired, you deserve a break, not another hour of pushing yourself beyond your limits to deal with his aroused state. 

Just to cum once, he repeats in his head, speeding up the stroking, come once and get out. Just one release, and the bath is all yours, he'll pour new water for you while you take off all your clothes and when he turns around, you'll be standing there in all your naked beauty, folding the garments, hair undone and those plush thighs pressed together, ngh-

Diluc doesn't hear the door open. He doesn't see another person stepping inside, doesn't feel a slight chill entering the bathroom from a window cracked open in the bedroom. His long lashes are kissing the apples of his cheeks, his pants and quiet moans escape those glistening pink lips, and skin too hot with need to be bothered with a meaningless breeze.

He is so close, just a little more-

"Love, you forgot to bring a fresh towel with y-oooooh," your sweet voice and a loud gasp are like a bucket of cold water, making him choke on another prayer of your name. Flaming eyes are wild when they snap open and stare at you, cheeks heating up upon seeing the stunned look on your lovely face. The raging blush coating Diluc's cheeks is apparent on his milky skin, and yours are pink too, but not even coming close to the richest red taking over his face.

The hand, which just moments ago was roughly pumping his thick aching cock, is ripped away by its own owner, previously raised hips hiding under the water, and the big muscular body curling over in embarrassment.

"My flame, I-" it's not even his voice, so hoarse and laced with desire, having dropped half an octave lower. Your husband doesn't even have an explanation for this unbecoming behavior of this. Ah, how much he wishes to sink under this water and die.

"Did you touch yourself thinking about me?"

Diluc Ragnvindr, the sole nightly protector of Mondstadt, the businessman who monopolized the wine industry not only in his homeland but the whole world, almost cries out loud because of your bold question. Guilt infiltrates his body and soul, chewing at his mind, which is spiraling with thoughts of you thinking what a dirty pervert he must be. You've never caught him touching himself before alone, not like he did it often anyway.

He truly is an awful husband.

All he can do is nod, because he would never lie to the woman he holds dear in his heart, and prepare himself for the disappointment in your voice. But what you say next catches him completely off guard.

"Finally." 

Diluc turns his head just in time to see you tossing the towel on the vanity and turning around to close the door. When you return and get closer to him, the man is surprised to find your tired expression from half an hour ago being replaced by excitement, desire dancing in your previously droopy eyes and hands feverishly tugging on your clothes to get it off.

Almost in awe he watches your soft breasts bounce, not longer constricted by fabric. Your thighs are pressed together, just like he imagined, when you drag more clothes off, becoming completely naked in a matter of seconds. Archons he thinks with a lovesick look in his swirling eyes, she is a goddess. My goddess.

The love-stricken stupor ends only when you climb into the tub and in his lap, knees pressed to the white porcelain bottom on either side of his strong hips, arms wrapped around his neck and chests pushing impossibly close.

"Archons I missed you too…" You confess, pressing a searing kiss to the corner of his lips, and Diluc believes you. Muscular arms wrap around your waist almost desperately, drawing your body even closer. The low groan finds its way out of his strained throat when your pussy drags against his cock in the process, and is then swallowed by your eager lips, pressing against his.

Diluc keens on the feeling, immediately lost in it, throwing all the thoughts about letting you rest out of the window. Kissing you again and again, he can only wish for feeding both of your desires, giving you the satisfaction that was ripped away from you because of work.

When you gently tug on the roots of his hair, the man quietly moans, cock twitching against you, making you bite your lip and stop devouring his mouth momentarily, instead focusing on rocking your hips, riling not only your lover but yourself up.

This little pause gives you both an opportunity to catch your breaths. Diluc looks down to take in your shuddering form. From the waist down your skin has turned red from how hot the water is but you seem to ignore it, blissfully mewling and moaning, when the cockhead catches against your swollen clit.

"You are not ngh repulsed?" His question makes you tear your gaze from where you soon will be connected and look back at his face. There is clearly worry etched in his features and still some guilt hiding behind the crimson of his eyes. The strong urge to reassure him quickly blooms in your heart.

"Because you were masturbating while imagining me?" He nods, blush bursting onto his cheeks with new brightness. "Oh, firefly," you breathlessly giggle, cupping the side of his face and making him look right into your eyes, "if anything I am happy to know it's me you think of in the moment of pleasure. I am your wife, am I not? I'd take your horny state as a compliment, it is nice to know you are yearning for me. So don't stress yourself over it, okay? Besides…" your voice turns sultry and the smile seductive. "I didn't lie when I said I missed you much. I too did touch myself at the thought of you."

Something in Diluc snaps. Maybe it's the fact he was too stupid not to think that you are married and it's okay to imagine your partner while jerking off, or maybe it's you admitting he's been on your mind in your neediest times as well, or the notion he wasn't there to properly please you, but all his self-restraint is forgotten.

He kisses you again, this time with more vigor and persistence. Hands are all over each other, touching, caressing, groping, carefully scratching, digging nails in the skin of your thighs and his shoulders.

You don't think you can take it any longer.

"Stretch me, love, please" you murmur between kisses and before Diluc knows it a big hand on your hip pushes you up onto your knees, making you stick your ass out, and two of his fingers are already sliding into your hole. Celestia above you are tight. So neglected and horny, closing onto him with a vice grip, walls velvety under the pads of his long fingers, so warm and slick.

Your sounds though… Diluc thinks he is going to come undone just because of them. He picks a pace to thrust his fingers properly.

"I've waited for so lo-ooh, mmm to make love to you, but couldn't find a moment to initiate any-thi-," you shudder when he curls his fingers against that special spot. You almost collapse on top of him, burying your face in his neck and clinging to his back for dear life. "Didn't want work to interfere in an unfortunate moment. But fuck!" Your voice rings, jumping a few tones higher, sounding so much needier. "I wanted you to take me!"

"I will, my flame," he hurriedly promises you, kissing your temple and pressing a thumb to rub your clit. "I will make you feel so good, I will take care of you…"

"You are already doing it," your muffled cry and how your thighs clench together, sandwiching his hand tell Diluc that you are close. "One more finger, please, please, please, please-"

And he complies, adding one more, pumping three digits in and out, in and out, not forgetting about the sensitive nub. You kiss him again, burying fingers in his disheveled hair, wet strands streaming through your fingers like a river of fire, and Diluc feels that it's him who is being swallowed by the flames of temptation, but if you are the cause - so be it.

Just don't stop wanting him.

"Come on, dear," he whispers, taking his hand off of your hip and bringing it to hold the side of your face, "I need you to cum for me. Get all wet and slick for my cock, right?"

Your jaw goes slack at how fast he starts to fuck your pussy, eyes blown wide and cheeks red in response to his bold words. You might have initiated it, but Diluc is sure to finish it.

One last rough press to your clit and you burst, crying his name and convulsing around his fingers. Juices of your relief immediately coat them, making your pussy squelch as you are guided through your orgasm. Your husband gently shushes you, littering your face with sweet kisses, and carefully working the digits out of your gaping, gushing cunt. You tremble and whine quietly when he helps you lower yourself back in the water, head pressed to his chest and eyes closed, going a bit limp on top of him.

The room grows quiet, save for your shared heavy breaths, and Diluc hugs you tightly, kissing the top of your head. The small heart you draw on his shoulder, too breathless to speak just yet, fills his calming heart with pride and joy. There is no more worry in him over the unholy act you caught him in, not after you took his fingering so eagerly, reassuring him your want for him is just as strong.

Speaking of his want…

He was still painfully hard.

"My flame…" Your lashes tremble before you hum and shift yourself to be able to look up at him. The pretty gems of your eyes shine brightly as you gaze lovingly at the man who's just given you the best orgasm in the last month.

"Yes, 'luc?" 

He clears his throat, reaching to brush a wet strand of hair away from your face. You turn your head and playfully catch his thumb between your teeth, softly nibbling the digit. A smirk appears on Diluc's face. He pries his thumb out of your mouth and instead press with it on your swollen lower lip, locking the rest of his fingers under your chin and tilting your head back.

"Do you think…" he wonders, lowering his head to brush his equally swollen lips against the side of your neck, "...you could help me out?"

And with that he rocks his hips, making you aware of the still remaining problem.

This seems to sober you up, as you are suddenly pushing your body off of him.

"Of course, 'luc, I am sorry, I was so caught up in the moment," you sheepishly chuckle, grabbing the hand that was holding your chin seconds ago, and kissing the wide palm. "Your fingers are just that good."

"I am glad," he smiles, content with your praise and knowledge that he makes you feel this way. He lets you straighten up, wondering what you are going to do next. You wink at him, moving away and to the other end of the tub. He cocks his head in confusion, but it quickly dawns on him, when you turn around to face away from him and grasp the edge with both of your hands, bending your body in a delicious manner. His gaze turns hungry, when he sees your compromising position - legs spread the best the width of the tub allows, back arched, ass raised and lower lips shyly peeking from between your thighs and above the water surface.

"What are you waiting for, Diluc~? Why don't you put it in?" Your teasing voice and a wiggle of your hips spur him into action.

A soft gasp leaves your lips when a big hand slams on the edge near your own and hot lips latch onto your shoulder, sucking the very first mark tonight on your skin.

"Oh, Y/n..." You feel him smirk, clenching around nothing at the way he drags out your name in a rumbling growl. "I am going to take such good care of you… And don't you dare hide your sweet sounds from me."

"Only if- oh yes," you arch even more when a thick head pushes between the lips and nudges your hole.

"Only if what?" Diluc presses, grasping the base of his cock, and pushing the head past your rim, cursing under his breath something along the lines of how tight you are.

"If you promise me to not hold back anything you've got either," you turn your head to glance back at him, but he beats you to it, sliding the hand over your smaller one and threading his fingers between yours, leaning forward and indulging you in a kiss, which ultimately seals your deal.

"Never from you."

And he thrusts his hips forward.

[ddejavvu]

are you taking requests? if yes maybe a short blurb with reader thirsting after rooster in one of those black compression shirts 😵‍💫

Half the time it's great being friends with the bartender of your favorite bar, and half the time she makes you drag out crates of supply from the back room. Tonight happens to be the latter. Penny takes advantage of your military muscles to get three crates of various bottles out from the supply room, and you're setting down the second when Bradley and Javy walk in.

The rest of your squadron is tucked away in a corner of the bar, discussing god knows what, and you're eager to get back to them. You see Javy and Bradley make their way over to them, and all of a sudden they're visible in entirety, having been partially blocked by other patrons from your view before. They're both in casual wear, and Bradley's got a black t-shirt on, the tightest you've ever seen. It hugs his muscular figure that’s usually obscured by a bulky flight suit or a hoodie in the chilly morning air. You won't claim to be level-headed when it comes to your fellow pilot. You've only restrained yourself for professionality's sake, but you're having a rather difficult time doing that while he's in a skin tight shirt. Damn him and his slutty ways.

You watch his back as he sidles up beside Hangman at the too-small table they've secured, but his head turns slightly as he clocks your missing form.

Then Jake motions to you, and it takes a full five seconds of Bradley turning, locking eyes with you, waving with a lazy grin, then shifting the expression into one of concern, to realize that you're staring at him like he's a three-headed alien.

He stands, presumably to make sure you haven't been shot in the leg or tranquilized by the way you're standing frozen. But at the movement you spook like a deer, dropping the crate onto the bar and dashing for the supply room.

You're lucky you've got the excuse of the third crate in there, but you're not sure anything but the truth will explain the way you'd dashed off. You're praying that Bradley leaves you alone, but he's always been caring beyond belief, and you're disappointed but not surprised when he pushes the door open mere seconds after you slam it shut.

"Y/N?" He asks, like he can't believe it's you that's dashed away from him like he's a carrier of the plague. His eyes are dripping with concern, but the sight of his muscled shoulders in the tight black tee have something else dripping.

"Hey, what's with you?" He shuts the door, like he's giving you privacy to tell him whatever secret you've got brewing; like he isn't the secret.

"Nothing! Nothing, just- I'm just helping Penny."

"Yeah, and when you dropped the giant box of bottles at the sight of me, you almost broke them. Last time I checked, that's not helping. What's the matter?"

"Nothing." You insist, hoisting the last crate into your grip, "Open the door for me, will you?"

Bradley's frown tightens, and his jaw clenches. He reaches for the crate, tugging it out of your hands and into his own grip. It makes the muscles barely hidden beneath his shirt bulge, and you physically react, glancing away from him with burning cheeks and an exasperated huff.

"No. Tell me what's wrong," He's firm, but gentle, worry in his voice and eyes alike, "Did I do something? I mean- obviously the problem's with me. Did I make you mad or something? I'm sorry if I did."

He looks like a guilty puppy, his pretty golden-brown eyes fixated intensely, expectantly on you. It makes you insane, the feeling of his full, undivided attention.

"No. No, Bradley, you didn't do anything. I swear, okay? I'm just having a weird day. And I'm- I dunno, overwhelmed. I just didn't know how busy it was gonna be tonight. It wasn't that bad when I hauled the first crate out."

He believes your overstimulation excuse, but there's still a lingering concern in the air. He waits to speak, seemingly evaluating your excuse in his mind to see if it really checks out.

"Okay," He finally mutters, "Sorry, honey. You want me to take you home? We don't even have to listen to music, you can just nap on the way."

"No, it's okay." You promise, trying desperately to avoid staring as he shifts the crate to hang under one arm. It's heavy, but not too heavy for him, and you can't allow yourself to ogle his muscles or you'll give yourself away.

"Alright," He reaches for you with his now-free hand, and you know he feels how stiff you are when he drags you in for a hug. You're suddenly squished up against his pec, his bicep pressed to your face, and you wonder if he can hear the sharp intake of breath you let out in response.

"You okay?" He keeps you close, staring down at you from only inches away. You're not sure your face has ever been this precariously distanced from his own, but if he can feel your pounding heart against his own chest you wouldn't be surprised.

"I'm fine," You manage to utter, nodding and cursing the way it rubs his muscles against your face. As if you need to imagine other scenarios where you'd be feeling the same sensation.

"'Kay. Stick with me," He instructs you, letting go of the side-hug he'd wrangled you in, though his hand drops to the small of your back and nearly sends you into cardiac arrest. "I'll drop the box at the bar, then you can steal Fanboy's seat at our table. It's by the window, you can crack it and get some fresh air."

"Alright," You nod, feeling like you're being led to your death as you reenter the main bar, escorted by Bradley's large hand on your back, "Thanks, Rooster."

"Mhm. Anytime," He promises, simultaneously tilting the side of his body that the crate is pressed to towards the bar so that he can place it on the surface, and leaning the other side of his body towards you to kiss the crown of your head.

"You ready?" He rubs your back, a steady, strong touch that makes you want to keel over. You nod, weakly staring at him as he begins maneuvering through the crowd, "Don't worry, honey, I've got you."