#I want to squeeze it and jangle it like keys | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

calicoups · 9 months

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౨ৎ sweater — csc

synopsis when missing seungcheol turns into you wearing his sweater and socks. pairing seungcheol x fem reader genre fluff word count 1.3k hani’s note cheol calls reader baby, sweetheart and doll. this idea literally just came into my brain because of me taking a sweater out of my wardrobe…inspo by this reel btw hehe!

his sweaters smell like him. like fresh laundry but also a strong masculine scent. it’s comforting, as if seungcheol is all around you. whenever seungcheol isn’t around, you wear his clothes — whether that be his silly looking socks with characters on them, his shirts or his sweaters — and in a sense, they’re grounding, warm and not to mention so cosy. which is why you lay in bed with his sweater. but now your feet are cold. so, you get out of bed for the top drawer, bracing yourself for the cold biting at your feet and face. at the sight of a folded pair of shark print crew socks (seungcheol’s favourite), you jump back in bed and pull the socks on.

a cold draft sneaks in from somewhere and into the bedroom where you’re laying. every few minutes, you’re wiggling around in the blankets you’ve wrapped yourself in, trying to gain as much heat as possible. that draft is beginning to provoke agitation in you and you wonder if you even closed all the windows.

there is no way you’re going to get up (again) to check in this cold, though. you had switched the radiators on, surely you’ve closed all windows and you had closed the doors to rooms that weren’t in use. this was all in an attempt to keep the heat in because you were starting to freeze.

the clock reads 10:18 PM, seungcheol isn’t home yet. he had shouted a quick ‘don’t wait up, sweetheart!’ before he had left in the morning and yes, you weren’t going to wait for him at first but god, you miss him so bad right now. you don’t think you could fall asleep without seeing him first.

reaching out of the blanket for the remote, you decide that the best thing to pass the time with is to watch something. so, you switch on the tv and flick through before settling on whatever seems interesting enough to hold your attention until seungcheol arrives home.

multiple yawns had left your mouth by 11:06 PM, seungcheol was still not home. you begin to doze off after a few minutes, eyes fluttering closed every few seconds before you open them wide and squeeze them to stay awake.

a key turns in the lock, it reaches your ears and has you alert. seungcheol’s keys jangle and you know that the jangling sound is the little batgirl keychain colliding with the wall as seungcheol plugs the guitar key into the wall mounted key holder (your keys held a batman keychain — seungcheol had bought these for you both, opting to have each other’s characters).

as seungcheol sets his coat in the closet near the front door and his shoes on the wooden shoe rack, he turns around and almost goes to slump onto the couch when he catches you staring at him through the open bedroom door.

seungcheol tilts his head a little and smiles at you, “i thought i had told you not to wait up, sweetheart.”

“i know but i wanted to wait for you.” you watch as he walks out of eyesight and hear the tap run, a glass filling up with water. seungcheol walks into the room as he takes a sip from the glass and then takes a seat on the edge of the bed next to you, the glass hanging from his fingertips where his forearm rested on his thigh.

“you missed me? oh, my baby,” he coos and lifts your hand to his lips and gives it a quick peck. he gulps down another sip of water and there is half left which he gestures for you to drink the rest, “all this waiting for me and i bet you haven’t even hydrated yourself, silly girl.”

you shake your head as the water runs down your throat, “not true, i am so hydrated!”

“really?” seungcheol’s lips twitch, trying not to smile as he notices your dry lips. his hand holds your jaw and his thumb is on your bottom lip, “why are your lips chapped, then?”

at this, your tongue darts out to lick at your lips, “what do you mean?”

seungcheol shakes his head, he reaches for the vanity table drawer and takes out a lip balm. its cherry flavoured, his favourite. you set down the glass on the bedside table.

his hand tilts your chin and applies the lip balm to your lips and oh, that concentrated look on his beautiful face. lips parted, eyes shining and focused on your lips, trying so hard to not get the balm anywhere other than your lips.

and when he’s done, he asks you to rub your lips to together so that the balm is spread evenly. he watches you intently as you follow his instructions.

seungcheol carefully moves your head around (at this point, you’re just letting him do whatever, it’s endearing to watch him do things like this) to check that the balm hadn’t smudged anywhere else then he lets go, “there, all done! now, make sure you drink a lot of water if you don’t want chapped lips, okay?”

you nod your head slowly as a response and he gets up to put the lip balm away. seungcheol turns around and squints at you, “are you wearing my sweater?”

“huh? yeah, it was getting cold and also, i missed you,” you explain, “wearing your socks too!”

he looks at the end of the bed where you stick out your feet from the blanket, “you can have all of my sweaters and socks if you look that adorable in them, doll.”

the nickname makes your heart skip a beat. doll. it sounds lovely coming from his pretty lips.

seungcheol smiles and you reach for his hands which he gives. you tug with all the strength you have to quickly press your lips to seungcheol’s, pulling back with an audible ‘mwah’ and you make sure that the lip balm he applied had transferred to his lips too.

seungcheol’s dimples form on both cheeks as he laughs with his gummy smile. full cheeks become rosy and seungcheol shrinks a little in his place. every time you pull your little ‘mwah’ trick, seungcheol gets so shy and you love it. you adore his shyness.

“you’re so silly,” seungcheol ruffles your hair, “i’ll go get changed, be right back,” he pinches your cheek and leaves the room.

when seungcheol re-enters the room, you immediately raise a corner of the blanket to invite him over. he climbs onto the bed, except not next to you. seungcheol hovers over you then lowers himself down onto your chest, his legs between yours and his arms going under yours to hug you.

your heart melts at the sight of his head on your chest, being able to feel his chest rising and falling against your own and his hair tickling the base of your neck which you run your hand through, giving him a slight massage. reaching for the blanket you threw to the side, you pull it over both your bodies to stay warm.

“good day at work, cherry?”

seungcheol’s chest vibrates as he hums, “yeah, and jeonghan dragged me to dinner and he paid, can you believe that? i mean, he always ‘forgets’ his wallet at home!”

seungcheol’s after work stories never fail to make you giggle. it’s the way he tells them with big eyes and even acts them out sometimes.

after the laughter stops from both of you, seungcheol speaks up again, “but i’m tired after that. i would have been home earlier to cuddle with you but jeonghan…” he laughs again, “he wouldn’t let me go! now, i just wanna lay like this with you.”

“yeah? i got you, i’m right here,” you rub his back under the blanket and seungcheol moves his head to kiss your collarbone.

a few minutes later, you’re positive that seungcheol has fallen asleep with the way he becomes heavier and heavier the deeper he sleeps — you feel like your hugging an actual bear — so you give him a quick kiss to his forehead and hold him closer to you before dozing off just after him.

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daisynik7 · 1 year

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the scowl nanami had in the trailer reminded me of the safeword audio, it’s definitely his reaction when finds out you’ve been touching yourself without his permission 😩

Anon, you are SO RIGHT, and for that, I wrote a little something. In case anyone is curious, THIS is the audio anon is referring to (reddit link, 18+). It is SO GOOD. It actually gets so tender and sweet at the end, but I did not recreate that for this little piece LOL. Anyways, ily anon for your brilliant brain. I love the idea of getting caught in the act, I am SO here for it. Also, I’m going feral over mean!Nanami. This is barely edited or proofread. This is a result of my carnal desires for him taking over my fingers without a care in the world. I’m throwing feminism out the window temporarily for this, sorry ancestors. MDNI banner by @/cafekitsune.

You’re well into your third climax of the night, the vibrator buzzing on the lowest setting on your swollen clit, the exquisite sensations resonating down to the tips of your toes. You’re so sensitive now, basically mush puddled in the sheets, skin damp with sweat, arousal smeared over your loins. There’s nothing playing in the background; no porn, no nsfw audios, not even a dirty picture displayed on your phone screen. All that you have to get you off is the memory of Nanami railing you into the mattress, the same one you’re currently drenched in your slick, pumping his cock in and out of your wet cunt. That’s all you need to get your pussy throbbing, skin prickling, belly fluttering.

He's not home yet, still out on a mission with Gojo, doing what he does best: protecting people. Is it unfair that he has to work this hard, risking his life, while you’re twisting in the bedsheets, squirming with pleasure from a handheld toy? Maybe not. But what’s the harm in a little mindless release? What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?

Your eyes are shut tight as you descend from your high, vibrator shut off and teetering loosely in your hand, satiated and spent from tonight’s activities. You could fall asleep this instant, but there’s so much to clean up, all the evidence of your naughty deed that you don’t want your husband to discover without explanation. As you’re about to rise up out of bed, you hear the familiar jangle of keys unlocking the front door. Startled, and still a slippery mess, you quickly wipe off the toy, shoving it beneath the pillow. It’s not quick enough because just as you look up, Nanami is already standing at the doorframe of your bedroom, scowling.

Like a bit from a comedy movie, you twiddle your fingers innocently, completely naked and exposed on the bed. “Hi honey,” you greet, slowly pulling the covers over your body. You smile at him, acting like he hasn’t already caught you in the act. He doesn’t respond, expression serious. Dangerous.

Heat rushes into your cheeks, increasingly nervous by his lack of reaction. “Kento, sweetie. What’s wrong?”

He crosses his arms over his chest, sauntering towards you. “You tell me,” he mutters, sitting at the edge of the bed, studying you carefully.

You swallow loudly, mouth coated in your saliva. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Oh?” It sounds like he’s teasing you. Toying with you. You shudder with anticipation as he reaches over, hand slipping under the pillow, retrieving your vibrator. He waves it at you. “What’s this, then?”

Another noisy gulp before you answer, “My vibrator.”

His eyes narrow, his free hand tugging the blanket off you slowly, inspecting your body from your face, chest, then between your legs, squeezed together, hiding your arousal. “What were you doing while I was away?” he asks, resting his hands on your knees, spreading you apart. “Were you being a bad girl?”

There’s no need for a verbal answer, because as soon as his eyes fixate on your aching pussy, he already knows. “So, you have been a bad girl. Look at you, all wet and swollen already.” He clicks his tongue disapprovingly as you hide your embarrassed face behind your hand, barely peeking at him between your fingers. “You didn’t even have the decency to clean up.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, limbs trembling, yearning for him to touch you.

“Oh, you’re sorry?” he repeats, mocking you. “You fuck yourself while I’m working and all you can say is sorry?”

“I – ”, you choke on your own spit, rendering you speechless.

“It seems that you forgot, so let me remind you one last time: This is my pussy. Not yours. Mine. You don’t get to play with it without my permission.” He sighs, hands sliding languidly down your thighs, prodding at the tender skin. “Such a dirty girl. What am I going to do with you?”

You moan, longing to feel his fingers, his cock, anything inside you. “Baby, please.”

He licks his lips, hungry eyes focused on your sopping cunt. “I guess it’s my job to clean up this mess.” He leans forward, tongue lapping at your sensitive bud, swirling circles around it, puckering his lips to suck. “Such a slutty pussy. So sloppy and wet for me.”

You squirm above him, pleasure stimulating your every nerve. “Fuck!” you cry out, lost in the ecstasy.

His low chuckle vibrates against your clit, pinched between his lips. “How many times did you come from this toy? Once? Twice?”

You grip his hair between your fingers, shoving his face deeper. “Three times!” you stutter.

“And you’re still so fucking horny for me, huh?” He slides his tongue up and down your folds, collecting your slick on his tongue, drinking you up. “I’m going to have to do better than that toy then for you to learn your lesson.”

The need to be used and manhandled by him overtakes you. It doesn’t matter how much you touched yourself earlier. All you can think about is how much you need to be touched by him. How badly you need his cock inside you. How insanely desperate you are for his cum to fill you up.

So you take it. Every lick, every suck, his fingers inside you, curled and hitting that sweet spot that only he can reach. His cock bullying you into submission, body weak and pliant from overstimulation, yielding to his every thrust like his own personal cock sleeve. All the while, he moans into your ear, constantly muttering the same reminder to you.

“This is my pussy. All fucking mine.”

#and with that I bid you all a goodnight and a good weekend! LOL #nanami smut #kento nanami #nanami kento #nanami kento smut #kento nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Summary: With no friends and the looming threat of losing custody of his son, Eddie's the lowest he's ever been. But you know what they say: “Rock bottom just means there’s nowhere to go except up."

Warnings: angst, visits from CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's

WC: 6k

Chapter 5/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

The phone rings as Eddie wrestles Harris into his jacket. He still hasn’t figured out how to break the news about his classroom change; at this rate, he’ll be dropping him off at school before he works up the nerve. Is there any good way to tell your kid that he no longer gets to spend his days with his favorite teacher?

“Keep that on,” Eddie instructs Harris, pointing to the navy blue sweatshirt. “I’ll zip it for you in a sec.” He jogs over to the phone, answering with an irritated, “Hello?”

“Ed?” Wayne’s voice drifts from the receiver. “It’s Wayne.”

Eddie nods before remembering that Wayne can’t see him. “Y-Yeah, hey,” he says, tone softening at his uncle’s familiarity. There’s a dull ache in his chest when he thinks of how he willingly shut him out over the last month. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. Can’t complain.” Wayne clears his throat. “I’d love to see you and Harris. Whenever you get the chance.” Eddie can hear his concern, the unasked questions that dissolve on his tongue: Are you okay? Is Harris? Do I need to file that custody agreement?

He glances over at his son, who, despite Eddie’s promise, is unsuccessfully trying to thread the zipper with its teeth. He motions him over, cradling the phone to his ear and stretching the cord while he kneels to fasten the jacket. “We were actually about to head to the park if you wanted to meet us there,” he says. “This kid’s got way too much energy to keep him cooped up in the apartment. We’ll both lose our minds.”

Wayne lets out a kind chuckle. “Sounds like a Munson.” Eddie can hear the tinny jangle of his keys. “The park over on Porter Drive?”

“Yup.”

“Dad, let’s go!” Harris whines, twisting the doorknob back and forth to emphasize his impatience.

“We’ll be there in ten,” Eddie tells Wayne, catching a glimpse of the neon orange cast peeking out from under Harris’s jacket. It’s now adorned with his classmates’ names. Your signature seems to beckon Eddie, taunt him, even, and he tries to convince himself that it’s because it’s the only one that doesn’t resemble chicken scratch. “Oh, Harris broke his wrist, but he’s fine. I’ll explain everything when I see you.”

“Hoo boy,” Wayne breathes. “Definitely a Munson.”

Harris spends the short drive to the park bouncing in his carseat. “Is Grampa Wayne gonna play with me?” he asks, rocking back and forth excitedly.

“Mhm,” Eddie nods, keeping his eyes trained on the road. He nervously thrums his fingers along his jean-clad thighs. What if Wayne still didn’t think he was a responsible parent? What if he took one look at Harris’s injury and raced home to call his lawyer? “But I gotta talk with him first, okay? You can play by yourself for a little while.”

Harris hums his agreement, eagerly unbuckling as soon as Eddie parks the car. He starts to run towards the field, and all Eddie can picture is him tripping and hurting himself again.

“Harris, don’t–” he starts, but he then remembers those magic words: “Walking feet, bud. Don’t want you breaking that other wrist.” He grabs the soccer ball from the trunk and kicks it in Harris’s direction.

Wayne pulls up in his truck a few moments later, almost as exuberant as his grandson. “Har-Bear!” he calls out, opening his arms wide for a hug. Harris picks up his pace, slowing down when he remembers his dad’s instructions.

“I’m using my walking feet!” he chirps proudly, and though they’re fast walking feet, Eddie beams at him.

Wayne squeezes Harris so tightly that Eddie worries he’ll inadvertently cut off his oxygen supply. When the boy starts squirming, Wayne laughs and puts him down.

“Go ahead and play,” Eddie tells his son. “Grampa Wayne and I are gonna catch up real quick.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence as the two men sit on the bench, waiting for the other to say something first. Finally, Wayne breaks through the tension.

“Missed you two,” he murmurs, not looking at Eddie. “‘S too quiet around my place without that little rugrat.”

“We missed you, too,” Eddie admits, chewing on his thumbnail. “Harris won’t stop asking for Grampa Wayne.”

Wayne preens slightly at this, shifting in his seat. “This is the longest we’ve gone without talking since…”

“I know,” Eddie cuts him off, not wanting to revisit the part of his past that Wayne’s referencing. “I, uh, started working at Rock Records,” he tells him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It sucks, but it’s a job.”

He feels Wayne clap him on the shoulder, pulling him closer to him for a brief side hug. “I’m proud of you, Ed.” He purses his lips before asking, “and no more of the…”

Eddie shakes his head. “Nope, I’m done with that. Returned the rest of what I had to Rick; told him I was out.” His gaze drops back to the ground, and he stares intently at the blades of grass as though they might disappear if he blinks. “But that might not matter anymore anyway, so…”

“The hell you talking about?” Wayne pinches his eyebrows together, adjusting his position to face his nephew.

Sighing, Eddie tells him about what happened at the hospital last week. Wayne’s eyes widen when he hears that they filed a report with CPS. “That’s some bullshit,” he mumbles, scratching at his gray beard. “Kids get hurt all the time. Can’t keep ‘em in a bubble.” He shakes his head incredulously. “They’re not gonna take him from you, okay? They’re gonna see how you provide for him, how great you are with him, and they’re gonna be sorry they wasted their time.”

“I’m not great with him,” Eddie mutters, standing up in a feeble attempt to exert some of his nervous energy. “I’m ruining his life.” He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “He had this teacher, and he adored her. Calls her ‘Ms. Sweetheart.’ And I was just…just a total asshole to her. I accused her of telling people about the CPS thing and said some really fucked up shit about her sick grandma and…fuck, Wayne. She had Harris transferred to another class just so she doesn’t have to deal with me. And now I have to say, ‘Hey, you know that teacher you fuckin’ loved? Well, she’s not your teacher any more, and it’s all my fault.’”

Wayne absorbs the information, contemplating what he says next. “So fix it,” he shrugs.

“It’s not that simple,” Eddie argues, plopping back down onto the bench in defeat. The wood digs into his lower back uncomfortably, so he stands up again.

“It’s not?” Wayne questions, digging a pack of Newports out of his jacket pocket and offering one to him. “Because it sounds to me like you owe this ‘Ms. Sweetheart’ an apology.”

Eddie takes a cigarette, toying with it before tucking it between his lips. It takes a few flicks of his old Bic lighter to get a spark, and he lets the nicotine calm his nerves before speaking again. “I don’t think she’ll forgive me.”

“Never said she would,” Wayne counters, plucking the Bic from Eddie’s hands and bringing the flame to light his own cigarette. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t apologize.”

Inhaling sharply, Eddie watches his son kick the ball around before letting out a slow, controlled exhale. “My boss asked if I could teach guitar lessons once or twice a week,” he says, using his empty hand to toy with the frayed holes in his jeans. “If…if you wanna, could you watch Harris? I can pay you.”

“Don’t insult me, boy,” Wayne scoffs, but a playful smile dances on his lips. “You’re not gonna pay me to watch my own grandson. Just let me know the day and time, and I’ll have a pot of mac and cheese ready to go.”

The pent-up tension dissipates from his body at Wayne’s easy agreement. An unspoken I love you floats between them, and he could cry from the sudden surge of relief.

“Daddy! Grampa!” Harris calls out from across the park. “Let’s play!”

Wayne stands up with a grunt, rolling his shoulders back to loosen them up. “You heard the man,” he jokes. “Up and at ‘em.”

It’s your first day off of work since the start of the school year, yet all you can think about are your students. Well, one particular student and his god-awful father. Eddie’s comment replays in your mind, cutting through you like the chilly mid-October air. The sting still hasn’t faded, despite it being three days since he’d said it.

You say goodbye to your grandma and Elise, her home health aid, grabbing your car keys and closing the door behind you. This morning was already overwhelming; Grandma had woken up at 5 AM, ready to start her day. The sound of her TV blasting at the highest possible volume jolted you from your sleep, and you’d spent the following twenty minutes trying to persuade her to go back to bed. Unsuccessfully, you might add.

You wince when you see your reflection in the rearview mirror. Your eyes are puffy and bloodshot, with pouches developing beneath them that only emphasize your exhaustion. You practice smiling a few times before starting the car, peeling out of the parking lot to meet Jess, Viv, and Jeff for lunch.

The pleasant aroma of burgers cooking on a grill wafts past your nose as you push open the doors to the restaurant. It isn’t too crowded when you arrive; you assume that the usual lunchtime rush is quelled by the Columbus Day holiday. Your new friends are already waiting at the table, waving you over excitedly.

“Hey,” you call out, forcing pleasantries into your otherwise flat tone. You slide into the seat next to Jess and across from Jeff. “How’s everyone been?”

“Better, now that I’m out of the first trimester,” Viv says with a small laugh. “Now that I have my appetite back, I’m definitely getting the grilled cheese.” She glances at the menu again, adding, “and a side of fries.”

Jess nods. “I think I’ll do the same.” She turns to you and her cheerful expression shifts to one of concern. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah, just tired.” Your lackluster reply is unconvincing, but she doesn’t challenge it in front of Jeff and her sister. “Chasing after kids all day is wearing me out.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Viv exclaims, taking a sip of her water. “You’re a preschool teacher. The one with Eddie’s kid in your class!”

“Mhm,” you manage; the mere mention of Eddie’s name turns your throat into sandpaper. “Well, not any more, I guess.” Your throwaway comment is met with inquisitive stares, so you give the group a rundown of last week’s events, watching their eyes grow wide.

“He’s such a fucking douche,” Jess grumbles, resting her hand over yours. It feels like forever since you’ve experienced the simplicity of a kind gesture, and you have to swallow the emotion that comes with it.

“Seriously,” Viv agrees, looking over at Jeff. “Why were you even friends with him?”

Jeff lets out a terse chuckle and shakes his head. “Believe it or not, he actually used to be a good guy. The best, in my opinion.” Disappointment flashes across his face as he continues. “Something changed when he went to Chicago. He was always on-guard, had his walls up, but it used to be more of an ‘if you mess with me, I’ll mess with you’ attitude. But when he came back home, he was…different.”

“Different how?” Curiosity gets the best of you, and the question slips off of your tongue before you can stop it.

“It was like he was determined to hurt people before they could hurt him. No matter what I did, he never fully believed that I was on his side. I was constantly trying to prove that I wasn’t out to fuck him over.”

Viv drapes an arm over her fiancé’s shoulder. “How long did he live in Chicago, again?”

“Long enough to knock someone up,” Jeff muses, mind wandering for a moment before he brings himself back to the conversation. “About four years, I think? He left to chase his dreams of being a rockstar. Then one day, he shows back up in Hawkins with an infant, trying to act like nothing had changed.” He snorts at the very idea of it. “But it obviously did–I mean, besides the fact that he had a whole child, the rest of us had grown up, too. College, work, all that stuff.

“When he suggested getting Corroded Coffin back together, we figured, why not? It seemed like a decent way to chill out, blow off some steam at the end of the day.”

“Let me guess,” you chime in, cocking your head knowingly. “Eddie had other ideas.”

Jeff nods. “He still wanted to do the rockstar thing. And he’d always get angry at us because we didn’t. Not professionally, anyway. Kept mocking us for having 9-to-5 jobs, like it was the worst thing in the world.” He pauses, screwing up his face in contemplation. “Which, come to think of it, was weird. Because back in high school, he told me that it really messed with him, not having that stability growing up. Y’know, before Wayne took him in.”

There’s so much more you want to know, but the waiter striding over to the table to take orders brings the conversation to a natural conclusion. What you’ve gathered so far is that Eddie Munson is a many-layered man, each one more puzzling than the last. Despite your festering hurt and anger, you can’t help but hope that he untethers himself from his complicated past. If not for his sake, then for Harris’s.

“Daddy, what’s a new cents?”

Eddie’s taking the left turn onto the main road when he hears his son speaking from the back seat. “What’s new since when?” he asks, craning his head to check for oncoming traffic.

“Noooo,” Harris whines, letting out an exasperated sigh. Eddie has no clue where his new attitude came from, and he can’t say that he’s a fan. “A new cents.”

“That’s not a thing, buddy,” Eddie answers, starting to twist the radio knob.

“Yes, it is!” Harris insists, clearly growing frustrated. “Ms. Marion told Ms. Paula that I’m a ‘new cents.’”

It suddenly clicks for Eddie, and he grips the steering wheel tighter and hopes Harris doesn’t notice the edge in his voice. “You mean a nuisance?”

“That’s what I said!” Harris groans. “What does it mean?”

Eddie pushes past the question to ask one of his own. “What exactly did Ms. Marion say?” Maybe there was a misunderstanding, he reasons with himself.

But Harris’s answer only confirms his initial suspicion. “She looked at Ms. Paula and said, ‘this one’s a ‘new cents.’ An’ then she pointed to me.”

“Why the hell would she say that?” Eddie’s speaking to himself, but his son replies, still too young to grasp the concept of rhetorical questions.

“‘Cause of my shoes being untied. An’ she doesn’t like when I ask her to tie them.”

Eddie cringes. He’d meant to teach Harris how to tie his sneakers, but the lessons had to be put on hold when the kid had broken his wrist. Pausing before posing his next question, Eddie carefully selects his words. “Did…Did Ms. Sweetheart ever do that? Get mad about your shoes or call you a nuisance?”

“Nope,” Harris shakes his head. “An’ Mr. Will didn’t either.” And considering that his laces had always been tied in neat bows when Eddie arrived to pick him up, he can only assume that the two of you did this without a second thought. Jesus, why even bother to be a preschool teacher if you’re gonna bitch about tying shoes?

“So, what is it?” Harris snaps him from his thoughts.

“Huh?” Eddie’s right foot presses on the brake as he approaches a stop sign. “Oh. Um, I don’t know. Sorry, Har.” It’s the second time in as many days that he’s lied to him in order to spare his feelings. Yesterday, he’d waited until they were already in the school to tell Harris that he was picked for a super special project where he’d act as a secret agent in another class. He didn’t know whether to be proud or ashamed that he’d spent all night thinking of that excuse.

“‘S’okay,” Harris shrugs, raising and dropping his legs so they bounce off the bottom of his carseat. His ankles are exposed, and Eddie realizes that he must’ve grown. Again. Which means that he needs to scrape together some money and buy him new clothes. Again. “How much more days until I get to go back to Ms. Sweetheart’s class?”

“Not sure.” Lie number three. He flicks on the radio, the sounds of Ozzy effectively distracting Harris for the remainder of the car ride.

If only it was that easy to fool himself.

A harsh knock on your classroom door and the formality of your first and last name draws your attention from the mountain of paperwork on your desk. Will left thirty minutes ago with the rest of the TAs, so you’ve been sitting alone, humming a song you’d listened to on the car ride to work.

“Yes, that’s me,” you tell the tall man standing in the doorway. His intimidating stature and sullen disposition juxtapose the orange and yellow hues of autumn-themed artwork lining the walls. “Can I help you?”

He flashes a name tag as he steps into the classroom. “My name is Andrew Smith. I’m here on behalf of Child Protective Services to speak to you regarding one of your students…” he checks his notes, “Harris Munson.”

“Oh, um,” you stumble over your words, “he’s–he’s not my student any more. Not since Tuesday of this week.”

“Right,” the social worker nods slowly, patience already running thin, “but I briefly spoke with his new teacher, and she said that she didn’t have enough information to answer the questions, and directed me to your classroom.” When you don’t respond, he gives the legal rundown about the process and your obligations as a mandated reporter. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s proceed with this, shall we?” He clicks his pen, eyes boring a hole into you as he speaks. “How well would you say you know Harris’s father, Edward Munson?”

More intimately than you know, you bitterly think. “Fairly well. He dropped Harris off and picked him up every day.”

Mr. Smith scribbles that down. “Was Edward Munson punctual? Did he drop off and pick up Harris on time?”

“Yes,” you confirm, and your mind flickers back to the very first day of school. “There was only one time he was late for pick-up, but it’s common for that to happen once in a while with any parent.”

“Right, okay. And how would you describe Harris’s disposition around his father?”

“He adores him. He’s a generally happy kid, but he lights up around his dad. Or even when he’s just talking about him.” One lunchtime conversation in particular centered around how his dad could play anything on the guitar, even “Old MacDonald.” Harris had been bursting with excitement to report that Eddie made the funniest animal sounds, and you’d be lying if you’d said your interest wasn’t piqued. “I’ve never seen Harris act nervous or scared around him.”

Pen flies across the paper, and you swear he’s writing more than you’d even said. “Besides the broken wrist, did you ever notice any injuries or abnormal bruising anywhere on Harris’s body?”

You shake your head before realizing he’s waiting for a verbal response. “Nope, never. Just the usual bruises that come with being a kid.”

Mr. Smith cocks his eyebrow, pressing his lips together. “And where were those bruises located?”

Shit. Did you say too much? Why can’t you just shut up when you’re nervous? “Knees and calves?” You point to the spots on your own body, as though the social worker needs visual aides, while silently berating your own stupidity.

“And based on your interactions with him, how would you describe Edward Munson as a father?” It’s a loaded question, and its magnitude is a weight on your chest.

“Caring, attentive, very loving,” you answer honestly. “Responsible. Harris always showed up with lunch and a snack, bathed, clean clothes, whatever supplies he needed. I never worried that Harris was unsafe or in an unhealthy environment.” You force yourself to meet Mr. Smith’s gaze when you say the next part. “We, um, actually were at the hospital at the same time. My grandma got hurt, and we bumped into them when being discharged.”

This grabs his attention. “And did Mr. Munson appear to be impaired or otherwise behaving out of sorts?” The way he looks at you could easily be mistaken for a glare. “Under the influence of any substances, perhaps?”

“Not at all.” You keep your tone firm and even.

He shoves the paperwork at you, pointing to where your signature is required. “Thank you for your time,” he says flatly, leaving the room before you have time to reply. It seems nearly impossible to go back to the task you were working on before the interruption, but you try to push away the intrusive thoughts about everything that could possibly go wrong.

An hour later, the heavy-handed knock raps on the door to the Munson’s apartment. Eddie knows the drill; unfortunately, this isn’t his first run-in with Child Protective Services. He’s double, triple, quadruple-checked that every electrical outlet is covered, the matches and lighters are far from Harris’s reach, and there’s no remaining product from his recently-abandoned dealing days. The visit is technically unannounced, but since he’s not getting many visitors these days, there are limited options of who could be at his door.

“Edward Munson?” The social worker asks, giving him the same opening spiel he gave you. “I’ll just need to take a look around your home and make sure it’s a suitable living environment for your son.”

“Of course.” Eddie hopes he sounds more confident than he feels, but he can sense the waver in his voice. “Yeah, come on in.” He opens the door a bit wider and lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, drawing unwanted attention from the social worker.

“Something the matter, Mr. Munson?”

“N-No,” Eddie insists, shaking his head. If he confesses to being nervous, this Smith guy could mistake it as an admission of guilt, and that’s the last thing he wants. “Just, um, long day?”

Smith recognizes the response with nothing more than a disbelieving glance as he makes his way through the apartment. Eddie watches silently, pushing down his anxiety with a thick swallow. His mind races when the social worker rummages through the refrigerator. Are there fruits and vegetables in there? Did I throw out that container of leftover spaghetti that overstayed its welcome? His stomach sinks when Smith marks something down in his notes but doesn’t have time to ruminate over it before Harris pokes his head out from the bedroom.

“Daddy? You gonna come back an’ play Hot Wheels with me?” His big brown eyes instantly melt Eddie’s heart, and all he wants to do is scream at the man, See? See how much my kid loves me? See how happy he is? Now, why don’t you go deal with the parents who actually deserve to lose custody and leave me to play with him.

Before Eddie can stop him, Harris traipses out and sees Smith rifling through the pantry. “Who’re you?” he asks.

“Har-Bear, this is Mr. Smith. He’s, uh, one of my friends.” Eddie scrunches his face and shakes his head defeatedly at the blatant lie, but Harris doesn’t notice.

Mr. Smith gives a short wave, neither kind nor impolite. Just one slight movement to acknowledge the boy’s presence. He’s determined to get back to his job, but Harris has other plans.

“I like your glasses.” He points to the wire-rimmed frames on the man’s face. “My Grampa Wayne is s’posed to wear glasses, but he doesn’t. Daddy says it’s ‘cause he’s a mule.”

“Stubborn as a mule, Har,” Eddie gently corrects him, a blush creeping into his cheeks. “I’ll be in in a minute, okay?”

But Harris ignores his request, forging towards his dad’s friend. He lifts his arm and flashes an innocent smile. “Look at my cast! It’s from when I jumped on my bed and breaked my arm.”

“Harris!” Eddie hisses, trying to keep his cool. “Can you go play? In the room?” Pleading with him is like negotiating with a terrorist, and he knows his efforts are futile.

“Actually, I do need to take a look at Harris’s bedroom,” the social worker muses, tapping his pen against his lower lip. Eddie has to stifle a scoff at the charade that this just occurred to Smith. Like he didn’t have this mapped out, another bullet point on the list of uninformed judgments he needed to make.

“We, um, we share a room,” Eddie mumbles, as though there would be another possible reason as to why there’s a twin bed nestled into the same space as Harris’s race car bed. “I used to sleep on the couch, it’s just easier to be close to him when he has nightmares an’ stuff.” His heart races when Smith jots this down. “N-Not that he has nightmares a lot. I don’t let him watch scary movies or anything. Just normal kid stuff.”

The man nods, visibly irritated by his rambling. He clamps his mouth shut to inhibit the flow of unnecessary explanations that freely pass through his lips without a second thought.

Harris motions Smith over, using his uninjured hand to grab the stranger’s and leading him into the room. “That’s my bed,” he announces. It sounds like he’s giving a tour, and Eddie almost laughs at the absurdity of the situation. “And that’s where I falled,” Harris points to the unassuming patch of carpet alongside it.

“Ouch,” Smith mutters, and Eddie swears he can see a semblance of a smile. Leave it to Harris to thaw the most hardened of hearts. “I bet that hurt.”

“Yeah, but there was no blood,” Harris says nonchalantly. “An’ I didn’t need a shot. Just this cast. All my friends signed it. Even Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Ms. Sweetheart?” Smith repeats.

“She’s my teacher. Well, she was my teacher. Now I’m a super secret spy in Ms. Marion’s class, but don’t tell anyone!”

Eddie scoops up a couple of toy cars off of the floor and hands them to Harris, determined to end the conversation before anything else can be revealed. Can you get your kid taken away for being an asshole to his teacher? He doesn’t want to find out. “Here ya go, bud. Why don’t you get the racetrack set up, and I’ll play with you as soon as Mr. Smith leaves.”

“Actually,” Smith says, “I’m about finished. Mr. Munson,” he says, his natural stoicness settling back in as he turns back to Eddie, “after completing this investigation and conducting our interviews, I’ve determined that Harris may remain in your custody. I’ll just need you to sign a few forms and I’ll be on my way.”

Eddie’s relief is palpable. He sweeps Harris into a hug, clutching him to his chest and wordlessly swears to never put him back down. “Th-thank you,” he mumbles, acutely aware of the tears leaking from his eyes. “Wait–what interviews? No one interviewed me.”

Smith nods. “Yes, we spoke with Harris’s teacher. She only had great things to say about how well you take care of him.”

She did? He barely knows the woman; Harris has only been in her class for two full days, and she never indicated any partiality towards him. He makes a mental note to thank her tomorrow at drop-off. For now, all he wants to do is treasure every moment with his boy.

Eddie doesn’t want to let Harris out of his sight, but he begrudgingly takes him to school, not wanting to add a truancy charge to his growing list of misgivings.

Ms. Marion greets both Munsons with a muted stare, harsh enough to drain Harris of the excited energy that typically buzzes through his little body. “Are we going to listen today?” she quips.

“Yes,” Harris says.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harris’s affect is robotic and monotone, and the uncharacteristic spiritlessness nearly distracts Eddie from thanking the older woman for her interview.

“The guy–um, the social worker–he told me that you said some nice things about me. About how I am with Harris,” he stammers. “So, uh, thank you.”

Ms. Marion crosses her arms over her faded pink sweater, pursing her overlined lips. Her forehead is marred with frown lines. “That wasn’t me, Mr. Munson. I directed him to speak to Harris’s previous teacher, since she spent more time with him.”

Ms. Sweetheart.

After everything he’d said and done, you’d still vouched for him. Spoken so highly of his parenting abilities that CPS allowed him to keep custody of his son. You could’ve easily ruined his life, but you didn’t.

What Eddie doesn’t understand is why.

Perhaps he doesn’t need to; at least, not immediately. Right now, he just needs to fix this. And he knows exactly where to start.

Friday marks one week since your blowout fight with Eddie. One week since he’d caught you pathetically crying in your car because of the venom he’d spewed. One week since you’d informed him that you’d had Harris transferred to another class.

Which is why you’re confused when the boy bounds up to your classroom door, shouting, “Ms. Sweetheart! Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Hey, Harris,” you greet him, unable to mask your confusion. “What are you doing here? You’re in Ms. Marion’s class now, remember?”

Harris nods, his curls bouncing with each movement. He drops his backpack to the floor with a thud and unfastens the zipper, tongue poking from between his lips as he digs through it to brandish a cassette. “This is for you.”

You take it from him, eyes widening as you take in Toni Braxton’s face staring back at you. “Harris…where did you get this?”

“My daddy put it there and said to give it to you. So I did,” he answers with a shrug. He looks up at you, innocuous and angelic as he adds, “I miss you. I wish you could be my teacher again.”

“Me, too,” you reply before thinking. Clearing your throat, you kneel down to meet him at his height. “Thank you for my gift. It was very sweet. Go ahead and head to class now, okay? I don’t want you to be late.”

“Mmkay!” he chirps, slinging his still-opened bag over his shoulder. “Bye, Ms. Sweetheart.”

Why would Eddie buy you a tape? Why this tape, the one you’d come in for when he’d said such malicious things to you? You can’t make sense of it, regardless of how many times you try to piece together the puzzle.

At dismissal, you find yourself waiting by the door, hoping to catch Eddie before he can dash out of the school. There’s no logic to his actions: he despised you enough to weaponize your grandma’s cognitive decline, and then he gives you a gift with no further explanation.

You distractedly hand parents the sign-out sheet, barely registering when Joshua Harrington’s dad asks you about any upcoming plans for a class Halloween party.

“Is there gonna be a list of things you need? Candy or cupcakes or something?”

“Oh, uh, I’m gonna send home information about that next week,” you stumble over your words as you try not to make it obvious that your mind is elsewhere.

“Great,” he says, stretching out the word as he tracks your gaze to the spot behind him. “Everything okay?”

“Yup.” You slap a smile on your face just as you spot the mane of frizzy curls you’d been searching for. “Um, excuse me for a second.” You call out to Will, letting him know you’ll be right back, before sprinting down the hallway.

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris’s eager face twists into a frown. “You gotta use your walking feet in school. Or you could get hurt.”

Eddie moves to correct him, but you just smile sweetly. “You’re right, Harris. Thanks for reminding me.”

You allow your gaze to travel upwards, eyes locking onto Eddie’s. You can’t quite read his expression; his brows are furrowed in confusion but the flush in his face indicates that he knows why you’re here.

“Harris gave me the tape. The Toni Braxton one.” Like he’d gifted you myriad cassettes that required this distinction. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“Don’t mention it.” The right corner of his lips turns up into a half-smile. “Besides, I should probably be the one thanking you.”

“Me?” What is he talking about? As far as you know, you’re the bane of his existence.

“Yeah. For, uh, what you said to that social worker guy. Even after I treated you like a piece of…” he presses his palms to Harris’s ears and lowers his voice, “shit.”

That makes sense; he was relieved that you’d sang his praises when it had mattered most. This was an expression of gratitude; nothing more and nothing less.

“You’re a good parent, even if you’re mean to me,” you say nonchalantly. “I wasn’t going to make up lies and ruin your lives out of spite.”

The statement hangs in the air, gathering an awkward silence that has you and Eddie both grappling for ways to end the conversation.

He’s the one to interject. “Well, anyway, I hope you like the tape.”

“Mhm.” It’s all you allow yourself to utter in front of Harris. A thousand questions swarm your head, threatening to spill off your tongue, the first of which is simply: why? “I’ve gotta get back. But, um, enjoy your weekend.” You pivot on your heel before Eddie can wish you the same. With the necessary chaos of your life, you can’t invest any more time trying to unravel him.

“Daddy, when is Ms. Sweetheart gonna be my teacher again?”

Eddie knew it was inevitable that Harris would ask about going back to your class, but he thought he’d bought himself more time with the spy game he’d concocted. He can’t delay the truth any longer.

“I’m sorry, buddy. I don’t think you can switch back.” There’s a pang in his heart when his son drops his hand, digging his heels into the parking lot asphalt.

“Is it because you were mean to her?”

His question catches Eddie off-guard. “Wh-What?”

“In there,” Harris points towards the school, “she said you’re mean to her.” He squints when he looks up at his father, the midday sun shining in his eyes. “Why were you mean?”

Eddie exhales, puffing out his cheeks and rubbing the back of his neck. “Sometimes grownups accidentally hurt each others’ feelings.” Or purposely, in his case, but he omits the complexities from his explanation. He reaches out to once again take Harris’s hand, but the boy pulls back.

“Ms. Sweetheart says that when we hurt someone’s feelings, we gotta say sorry. Even if it’s on accident.”

“I did,” Eddie counters, raising his brows. “I gave her the tape.”

But Harris remains unconvinced. “That’s not saying sorry. You gotta actually say it. Or else it doesn’t count.”

“It doesn’t count, huh?” Eddie clicks his tongue and puts his hands on his hips. “All right, I’ll say it the next time I see her.”

“And then you can be friends?” The question is posed innocently, but it rattles Eddie. Friends? Did he even know how to be a decent friend any more? He’d fucked it all up with Gareth, Jeff, and Danny, and he’s known them for forever. “Daddy?” “Uh, maybe,” Eddie replies meekly; this time, Harris grabs his hand when he offers it. “We’ll just have to see.”

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daisies-daydreams · 11 months

Note

….listen. Simon gets home after being MONTHS away from chubby reader. He comes home and the reader is excited to see him. Hugs him and all that stuff…then when Simon wants to get raunchy, reader shrugs away teasingly. Simon gets very needy and whiney. Out of character for him really. Reader then teases him/nicely degrades him for being so needy. Reader then worships the hell out of his cock and even rubs Simons stomach softly to soothe him. Then Simon manhandles reader to ride his face 🤭🤭 then Simon just takes over and pins reader down, ‘punishing’ them for being so bratty (in his terms cause he’s an impatient man), fucking reader into the bed..and just for comedic relief…it breaks.

C’mere (Simon Riley x Plus-Sized!Wife!Reader)

Pairing: Simon Riley x F!Plus-Sized!Reader Category: Smut (18+) Warnings: Choking, Oral Sex (M!/F!Receiving), Vaginal Fingering, Unprotected P in V Sex (Wrap Before You Tap), Dirty Talk, Pet Names (Sweet Pea, Sweetheart, Love/Lovie, Hon, Baby), Swearing, Reader Being a Tease 🤭 Bed Breaking Word Count: 3.9k+

A/N: Hello my dear! I love how descriptive your request is (especially whiny Simon, hehe). Also the bed breaking suggestion is hilarious (and 100% Simon's fault). I hope you enjoy!

You perked your head up when you heard keys jangle outside of your front door. You immediately closed the book in your lap before scrambling to your feet. Your eyes widened when you swung the door open, revealing your husband. Tears welled in your eyes.

“Simon!” you cried as you pulled him into an impossibly tight hug. Your love cracked an exhausted smile before wrapping his arms around you. You sniffed, hot tears falling down your cheeks as he returned your embrace. Simon's warm breath fell over your hair as he rubbed your lower back.

“Missed you so much, sweet pea,” he murmured, his voice deep and husky. A voice you haven't heard for months. You swallowed thickly as you buried his face in his chest.

“I missed you, too, Si,” you sighed. Simon chuckled as he kissed the crown of your head. You smiled brightly when he trailed his lips down your forehead and over the bridge of your nose. Your heart stopped as his lips collided with yours, the warmth of his mouth sending tingles down your spine.

You gasped as his hands snaked down your sides before cupping your round ass.

"Simon, the door's still open!" you squealed as your cheeks burned. You watched his lips curve into a wry smirk as he squeezed your supple flesh.

"Sorry, got a bit distracted," Simon winked. You giggled and stepped inside, your hand still wrapped around his as he closed the door with his boot. You had no time to react when he suddenly pinned you to the wall, his lips dancing over yours once more. He groaned softly before grabbing your love handles.

“Why don’t you join me for a shower, hm?” he suggested as he played with the waistband of your pants. You bit your lip just the way he liked before slipping away. Simon shot you a puzzled look.

“I already took one today,” you said with a low, sultry tone. He raised his dirty blonde brows as you swished your hips a little. Simon bit the inside of his cheek as he followed you back to the living room.

“Baby…I’ve been gone for four months. Could you please at least spare a ten minute shower?” he asked. You hummed and tapped your finger against your chin. Simon’s frown deepened as you shook your head.

“Nope!” you giggled before sinking down onto the couch. "I actually need to catch up on my book," you added as you reached over for your novel. You flinched when he placed his hand over yours, his wedding band shining beneath the lamp.

“Honey…you’re not gonna make me say it, are you?” he rumbled as he avoided eye contact.

“Hm? Say what?” you asked as you tilted your head. Your lover narrowed his eyes as he took a step forward, his knees brushing against the couch cushions.

“You know what I mean,” Simon said as he rubbed his palm across your knuckles. You shrugged, the corners of your lips curving up a little more.

“I’m afraid I don’t, Si,” you mused. Simon huffed before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Please?” he muttered. You smirked as you held your hand up to your ear.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” you said with a wide, Cheshire grin. You adored the way his bottom lip poked out a little more as he squeezed your hand.

“Sweetheart, please…I need you so fucking bad,” he swallowed.

Your legs instantly turned to jelly at the sound of his low, raspy voice. You dared to glance into his dark eyes. Heat swelled inside your core as you lost yourself in his lustful gaze. You shivered as he rubbed his other palm over your waist, a prominent bulge twitching beneath his slacks as his chest heaved. You gave him a sultry, half-lidded gaze.

“Poor thing. You're probably so touch-starved after being away for so long, huh?” you cooed as you rubbed his shoulders. Simon groaned as his hips bucked forward a little, his hand gripping your waist.

“You have no fuckin’ idea,” he growled. You flashed him a wry grin as you moved a hand down to cup his covered length. Simon released a shaky breath as you rubbed your palm against his strained erection. He bucked into your hand, his Adam's apple bobbing as you teased his cock.

“You’re such a needy thing, Simon,” you whispered. He grunted when you pulled away, his brows knitted together in pure annoyance.

“(Y/N),” he breathed, a half-warning, half-plea. You chuckled as you snatched his zipper. Simon sputtered as you unzipped his pants, his happy trail a bit thicker than usual and briefs barely containing his engorged length. Your love whined as you played with the band of his underwear.

“Fuck, (Y/N), please,” Simon choked. You smiled before dipping your hand into his briefs. He sputtered as you wrapped your hand around his veiny shaft, giving it a gentle squeeze. Before you knew it, Simon crashed his lips against yours, his hands hastily plucking at the sides of your sweatpants.

“You're such a tease,” he snarled. You made sure to slowly swipe your tongue across your lips as you slid down to the rug. You shuffled on your knees before playfully patting the cushion you were just sitting on.

"Are you sure about that?" you drawled before tugging down your tank top. Your husband groaned as your breasts spilled out. You hummed as he sat down, his eyes locked on the way your tits swayed as you shuffled forward. A deep rumble rose from his chest as you rubbed up and down his thighs.

“When are you-”

His breath hitched as you quickly pulled down his pants and boxers, his bulky cock springing free from its confines. You smirked as you gently rubbed your thumb across his leaking tip.

“Miss me much, Si?” you purred before gently lapping up his dribbling slit. Your husband audibly choked as you just barely wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, sucking on it tenderly before pulling back. You giggled as you pumped his shaft, squeezing and rubbing it as you littered the top of his burning sex with wet, sloppy kisses.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Simon shuddered as he slipped his fingers through your hair, his legs spreading a little wider. You pursed your lips over his flush tip before licking a bold stripe along the bottom of his shaft. You smiled as you planted your mouth over his balls, sucking on them tenderly as you let his throbbing cock rest over your face. You exhaled loudly as you let his testicles fall from your swollen lips.

“You taste as good as I remember,” you grinned as a trail of spit dripped down your chin. Simon gripped your hair as you squeezed his shaft, your tongue swirling around his tip. He growled lowly as you shallowly bobbed your head up and down, hollowing your cheeks all the while.

You moaned around his length, the feeling of every vein and ridge making your pussy gush with arousal. Your eyes rolled back as you felt his cock twitch inside your mouth, a rush of precum slathering your tongue. He grunted when you pulled back, his cock completely red and begging for attention.

“I forgot just how big you are, Si,” you cooed as you gently slid your hand beneath his shirt. He arched his back a little as you rubbed your warm hand over the divots of his taut stomach. His breath hitched when you quickly kissed the side of his cock before gazing into his dark, misty eyes.

“I missed how you stretched me, my dildos never do your cock justice,” you lilted.

Simon’s eyes widened as he parted his lips. His jaw suddenly went slack as you sank down on his cock, your mouth pulling him in with a sweet suction before you pulled your head up again. Simon threw his head back as his hips began to thrust forward. Your eyes watered as you gagged, his cock nearly choking you as you bobbed your head even faster. Your breasts swayed with every harsh movement, your nipples grazing over the edge of the couch.

You slathered your spit across his meaty shaft as you gripped the inside of his thighs, nails digging into his pale flesh. Your pussy fluttered as he sank deeper and deeper with every piston of his hips. The wet squelches and pops that echoed through the room made your head spin.

“C’mon, be a good girl and make me cum,” he snarled. You gasped as he slammed your head down on his dick, his cock completely lodged down your warm, tight throat. You gurgled and choked as he spilled inside you, his hot, thick cum coating every inch of your esophagus.

You blinked away the tears that spilled down your face, your nostrils flaring as your lungs begged for air. His hips stuttered a few more times before he went limp. He breathed heavily as he swiped his thumb over your cheeks. Simon hummed as you pulled yourself off of his dick. You coughed and sputtered, your throat burning a little as you balanced your hand on his inner thigh.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” your love asked. You panted as you wiped a string of spit from the corner of your mouth.

“A little,” you replied with a hoarse laugh. You squeaked when Simon suddenly pulled you onto his lap, his hands squeezing your hips.

“Good, ‘cause that’s nothing compared to what I’m gonna do next,” he growled. You shivered, your clit aching against your panties as you bit your lip. You leaned in for a kiss, only for Simon to turn away and squeeze your ass.

“Simon!” you squealed as he kneaded your supple flesh. Your husband groaned as he turned back to you and dipped his head against your neck. You moaned as his lips lingered over your pulse. You felt your brain short-circuit as Simon didn't move, just remaining still holding you close. You whined as you rocked your hips forward, desperate for any kind of friction.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Simon hummed as he tenderly squeezed your thick, round bum. You moaned as he swiftly licked over your pulse. You gripped his shirt.

“I-I want you to cum inside me, Si,” you whined as you ground your clothed cunt over his soft cock. Your husband chuckled.

“Wrap your legs around my waist, hon,” he whispered. You dipped your face into the crook of his shoulder as you slid your legs around his body. Simon grunted as he picked you up, his fingers digging into your asscheeks as he carried you to the bedroom. The two of you burst through the door, his heavy boots stomping against the hardwood floor before he let you fall onto the bed.

You gulped as he pressed his body against yours, his cock already growing hard again. You moaned as he rubbed his dick against your covered sex, your puffy folds soaked in your arousal as he crashed his lips against yours.

“Mmm!” you keened as Simon grabbed one of your breasts and jiggled your mound in his large, rough palm. You panted for air before he dove back in, his teeth nearly against yours as he snaked his hand down to the hem of your pants. Both of your chests rose and fell rapidly as he pulled back, his pupils blown and wet lips parted hungrily.

“Get on my face,” he bluntly groaned. You gaped.

“Wh-What?” you stammered. You gasped when Simon suddenly pulled your pants and panties down in one swift motion. You shivered as the air hit your slick lower lips, your walls fluttering around nothing. You pouted as Simon leaned back and stripped off the rest of his clothes, tossing them aside.

“I want you to ride my face,” he rumbled as he began to pump his heavy cock. You whined as you sat up on your forearms. You gasped as Simon quickly pulled off your shirt, his eyes raking down your naked form as he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Look at you,” he murmured as his hands slid down your sides, his fingers tracing over every stretch mark and roll he could find.

“Si,” you blushed as you glanced away. You gasped when he slipped his thumb over your swollen clit, capturing it in a dance of pleasure as he circled it slowly. Simon grinned as he pressed his lips to yours again, your eyes growing wide as he massaged your bundle of nerves. He parted for a moment before looking deeply in your eyes, his own holding an eager glint in them.

“Want me to suck on that cute little clit of yours, hm?” he murmured as he flicked your nub. Your thighs shook as you arched your back.

“Y-Yes!” you moaned, desperately rubbing your hips against his digit. Simon hummed before suddenly grabbing both of your hips. You yelped as he pulled you against his body, his back becoming flush with the mattress as you sat on top of him. Your cheeks burned as you looked down, your arousal dripping into the divots of his abs. A large lump swelled in your throat as a roaring heat burned through your core.

"Been forever since I tasted this sweet cunt,” Simon murmured, his voice muffled by the fluff of your thighs. You grasped at the headboard of the bed as you inched forward, a bolt of electricity flying down your spine as you hovered your sex above his lips. You keened when he lashed his tongue against your clit, his hands grabbing hold of your tender love handles.

“C'mon, baby: fuck my face,” your husband growled. You gulped before you sank down. You moaned the instant his mouth met with your folds. Your legs tightened as you felt him lick a long, wet stripe up your juicy slit, parting your labia with a low growl. Pleasure shot through your body as you rolled your hips forward, his chin collecting your sweet nectar.

"Ugh, s-so good," you whined as you ground your slick sex against his mouth. Your trembled at every swipe and stroke of his wet muscle, the tip of his nose bumping against your bundle of nerves each time you thrusted forward. You didn’t mind the slight sting of his stubble as bliss overwhelmed every nerve in your body. You nearly fell forward as he suddenly puckered his lips around your puffy clit and moaned.

“Oh, God,” you keened. Simon suckled on your bundle of nerves, his lips expanding and contracting around your sensitive bud as you gulped.

“Ah, Simon!” you mewled as you rocked your hips a little faster. You threw your head back as you felt him suddenly flatten his tongue against your slit and lapped in broad, sloppy strokes. You gurgled incoherently as your heart pounded in your ears.

Your eyes rolled back as you felt him lazily write his name against your sex. S-I-M-O-N. You puffed as he marked you with his muscle. You glanced over your shoulder when you heard a different slick sound come from behind you. You whined as you watched Simon stroke his now erect cock at a furious pace. The thought of him getting off to eating you out only pushed you closer to the edge. Lighting shot down your spine as he swirled his tongue around your clit.

"Y-Yes! Right there!" you screamed as Simon licked around your sensitive bud. Your head pounded as you rubbed your pussy against his face even faster, your body bouncing over his as you gripped the headboard for dear life. Your head grew dizzier and dizzier as he swiped his tongue back and forth before puckering his mouth around your clit again. Your eyes widened.

“Fuck!” you sobbed as your thick thighs clenched around his head, your orgasm quickly rolling over you like a tidal wave. Simon guzzled down your sweet nectar, his head moving back and forth as he moaned beneath you. You shivered as you heard him smack his lips, your high fading away like clouds in the wind.

"That...that was-" you moaned when Simon suddenly grabbed your hips and shoved you down even closer so you were fully sitting on his face.

“S-Simon!” you screamed as he lapped at your weeping hole, quickly flicking his tongue up and down. You gasped as his chuckle reverberated against your core, ripples of pleasure trickling down your spine. He kissed your folds before pulling your hips up.

“Sorry, lovie. Had to get one final taste before I fill you up,” he muttered, eyes lit up with pure desire as he gently pecked your clit. Your heart flipped as he suddenly pinned you to the end of the bed, his thick, heavy cock sliding against your drenched sex. “You still want that? Want me to stuff you with my cum?” Simon teased as he rubbed his head against your slick entrance. You whined and nodded.

“Yes!” you sniffed as you gripped the bedsheets. Your jaw went slack when he pushed his cock deep inside your walls in one fluid motion. You released a scream of ecstasy as his meaty shaft stretched your aching pussy.

“Fuck, I forgot how tight you are,” Simon hissed as he spread your legs a little wider. You choked as his cock sank further inside, the tip kissing your cervix as your walls deliciously pulsed. “Where’d that cocky girl from earlier go, hm?” your husband drawled as he rolled his hips back before snapping forward. Your throat felt sore as you screamed and dug your nails into his shoulders. Simon grunted above you as he pistoned his dick at a hungry pace. You wailed as you felt his cock stretch you wide open, the pleasure nearly divine as you babbled. The bed creaked and groaned as he plowed into you, the headboard slapping against the wall so hard you were sure your neighbors could hear you.

“I shouldn’t have let you cum before since you were bein’ such a brat…but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to taste you after being gone for too damn long,” he huffed before sucking on one of your fresh hickeys.

You swore you saw stars as you felt him everywhere: his cock plunged deep inside your cunt, his hot breath against your neck, the heady smell of his sweat wafting up your nose. You tilted your head back as he rubbed his abs against your puffy belly, your thick legs lazily hooking around his waist as you quickly neared your second release.

“C’mon angel, wanna see you slather my cock with your cum before I fill you up,” Simon panted. You swallowed thickly as you arched your back, your walls fluttering and gripping his dick with such fervor you were sure it was purple by now.

“Simon, baby,” you slurred as your head fell back. The muscles in your lower belly twisted into a tight knot as your legs shivered.

“Go on, sweet pea. Tell me who-“

A loud “crack!” echoed through the room as you felt yourself suddenly sink. You shrieked as you felt yourself nearly fold in half, Simon’s cock still lodged deep inside your slick walls. Both of you gasped and panted for air before you started snickering. Simon tilted his head as you burst into laughter. He chuckled quietly before joining in your laughter. Your sides began to hurt as your eyes watered.

“I-I can’t believe we broke the bed!” you howled as you wiped at your eyes. Simon shook his head as his breathing steadied.

“Think I was thrusting a little too hard?” he sighed. You turned your head to the side as you coughed a little and giggled.

“Just a tad,” you said as you pinched your fingers together. Your husband’s shoulders raised as he huffed a little, the corner’s of his lips tugging upwards as he thrusted his hips forward. You gasped and clutched his shoulders.

“Simon!” you gaped. He grunted in response as he shallowly pumped his cock inside you.

“Yeah, love?” he hummed as he dragged his dick against your gummy walls. You furrowed your brows.

“Could you maybe not fuck me while I’m nearly bent in half over our broken bedframe?!” you asked. Your throat tightened when the head of his cock pulled against your sensitive, plush g-spot.

“I thought you liked being bent in half?” he murmured teasingly. Your eyes rolled back when he shoved his cock all the way against your cervix, feeling every ridge and curve of his thick shaft massage your canal. Simon bared his teeth against your neck as he drove his cock inside you even faster. Your pussy squelched as you moaned.

“S-Simon!” you yelled as your walls suddenly clamped down on his dick, beautiful cries spilling from your mouth as you rocked your hips forward.

“Mmm that’s right. Good…girl…” he grunted before shoving his cock deep inside you. You cried out as you felt his hot, thick cum coat every inch of your needy cunt. You sputtered and shook beneath him, pleasure filling your body from head to toe. Simon took a deep breath above you as his cock twitched one final time. Both of you gazed into each other’s eyes, your bodies worn and shivering.

“You alright?” Simon finally asked. You nodded as your breasts rose and fell against his chest. He hummed before kissing you deeply, his warm lips gently caressing yours. You groaned as a dull pain shot through your lower back. Simon quickly pulled away.

“Could we maybe change to a position where my spine isn’t almost at a ninety degree angle?” you wheezed. Your husband rolled off of you before taking your hand and pulling you up. You stumbled forward and placed your hands on his broad pecs. Simon smirked.

“Already feelin’ me up again?” he piqued. You rolled your eyes and let your hands fall back to your sides, drawing a deep chuckle from your love. Simon rubbed your lower back as his eyes softened. "So...think you want to take that shower with me now?" he asked. You blinked before snorting.

"Considering I'm now covered in sweat and cum, sure," you shrugged with a teasing smile. Simon chuckled as he planted a kiss on your forehead.

----

Thank you for reading! 💖

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erisenyo · 9 months

Note

"could you please come and get me?" I'm BEGGING🙏🙏🙏

For this prompt game! (And also this one!) (Andthis one too lol)

(Can be read as a follow-up to this)

“…and, like, everyone goes through phases!”

Hakoda hastily unfolds from his very undignified stretch at the muffled sound of Sokka’s voice, wincing at the protest of his sore back. Bato keeps saying he’s eventually going to value his posterior chain enough to stop taking red eyes no matter how cheap they are, and one day Hakoda is actually going to listen instead of making jokes about posteriors.

“—and sisters, you know? They never let go of anything no matter how old you all get, and they always take things too far—”

Hakoda glances again around the dim lit, tidy shop as if maybe the angle of the sunlight will have changed, vaguely pleased and surprised that Sokka is here so early as the faint jangle of the admittedly-huge keyring filters through the door.

It’s hours past when they usually open, of course, but judging by the timing of Sokka’s late-night-scarfing-down-dinner phone calls, he’s been working plenty past when they usually close.

“—not in a creepy way or anything, obviously. Just a joke. A bad one!”

Not that Hakoda was really worried. And he was right to now really worry! There’s nothing blown up, no scorch marks or tools missing because Sokka really needed a good shearing weapon for his robot-killing robot, no half-deconstructed engines and piling-up repairs because Sokka is sure he’s figured out a way to get more efficiency out of the whole system.

“—and that one is totally new, anyway. I had no idea it was even there! And so, um. High definition.”

Those this Audi sitting in the middle out of the shop, which is very out of place for Wolf Cove to begin with, let alone in Hakoda’s shop…

“And I mean, you know how sisters are!”

Hakoda does have some questions about that.

That Jesk kid better not be involved, or whatever his name was...

“Or—right?” Sokka’s voice is suddenly clear as he finally finds the right key to unlock the office door. “You—maybe? I mean—you—or—”

“Yeah,” a husky, raspy voice cuts in, faintly amused, and Hakoda pauses in surprise as he realizes Sokka isn’t on the phone. “I have a sister.”

Hakoda glances curiously through the office window as Sokka flicks the lights on, bright light illuminating the office and the break room and the car bays one by one, revealing his son—dressed for work, not starving, not injured, good—and the lean, black-on-black clad boy behind him, and Hakoda feels his eyebrow jump up in surprise.

Ah. He recognizes a pretentiously pre-worn designer leather jacket when he sees one. That would be where the car came from, then.

“And,” Sokka hurries on, darting nervously around the office as he wakes up the computer and sets down his coffee and Hakoda’s other eyebrow slides up to join the first. He can recognize Sokka’s cover-his-ass voice anywhere. “It’s not like I would recognize you out of context anyway without, you know. Or with, or—and so, like, it's not like I was being weird or anything, or like, trying to lock you in the basement or something, or—fuck.” Sokka scrubs his hands over his face before pasting on a bright, game smile and marching toward the car bays. “Yeah, I’m just going to stop talki—Dad!”

“Sokka,” Hakoda greets him, giving the other boy—not a boy, Sokka hates being called a boy, he reminds himself—a curious look. “And…?”

“Oh,” the boy blinks, freezing a little. “Uh—”

“I didn’t realize you were coming back,” Sokka hops in, hurrying over. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to grab a few things from the house, see you and Katara a bit,” Hakoda assures him, reaching out to give Sokka’s shoulder a squeeze and offering a smile to the other boy as he trails Sokka after a moment across the shop floor. “Who’s this?”

“How’s Gran Gran?” Sokka asks as the boy hesitates, mouth half-open.

“She’s doing well, things are coming along,” Hakoda says, cocking his head to get a better look at the boy. He’s definitely familiar—not surprising, with those nearly-gold eyes and scar and the kind of cheekbones that Sokka loves to trip over—but Hakoda can’t quite place… “Are you one of Sokka’s college friends?” Shit, Hakoda should know those. He at least knows it isn’t…what was his name, Tamu? It’s definitely not him…

“Ah, no,” the boy says, shifting on his feet and flicking a quick look to Sokka. “Wh—"

“How long are you back for!” Sokka says over top of him, eyes wide with interest and that’s definitely his cover-his-ass voice again…

“Just a few days,” Hakoda says absently. Is it one of Sokka’s high school band buddies? They used to always be hanging around the basement and crowding into the kitchen. “I haven’t seen around town,” he says slowly, the sense that he knows this kid niggling at the edge of his thoughts.

“…No,” the kid agrees after a beat, equally slow.

“Yeah,” Sokka says quickly, voice coming out high. “He’s not from around here!”

“This is your car?” Hakoda asks, because the kid might not look much like a trombone players but he does look like a speed demon.

“Uh, yeah,” the kid says, glancing at the sleek red lines where Sokka’s set the Audi out with pride of place dead center in the middle of the shop. “Sorry?”

“Sorry?” Hakoda blinks, momentarily distracted from the nagging familiarity of the kid.

“I broke down,” the kid shrugs, apologetic, and Hakoda can only give him a bemused look.

“It’s what we’re here for,” he says. And they’re certainly going to charge him for it, with a car like that—and Hakoda will be making sure he’s charged. He recognizes that look on Sokka’s face…

“Right!” Sokka says, overly bright. “Car repair!”

“A full-service operation,” the kid murmurs, cutting Sokka a sideways look.

“We strive to be,” Hakoda says proudly, giving Sokka his own curious look as his son chokes a little, blushing. Oh yeah. Hakoda is definitely making sure this kid gets charged.

“Car repairs!” Sokka says loudly, clearly powering through…whatever is going on. “We’ve had a lot of those! Want to—” he glances quickly around. “—the books! Want to see them? Or the—I can get you up to speed?” he suggests half-desperately. “On everything?”

Hakoda makes a vaguely affirming noise, listening with half an ear and mostly watching the kid who is in turn watching Sokka, looking faintly bemused by and more than a little curious about Sokka’s immediate, exhaustive, relieved, highly detailed account of the past month.

Maybe he’s a new teacher in one of Sokka’s art classes? He thought they were all old men by Sokka’s description, but this one seems like an artsy type. Though why he’d be here and not back in Republic City…

The kid gives Sokka another sidelong look through his lashes that really isn’t all that subtle to anyone other than Sokka, and ah, that could be a reason.

And he can tell Sokka likes his friend back from the fidgety, half-nervous, half-hyper way he’s shifting his weight and playing with his bracelets and rings and he better be fucking taking those off before work, Hakoda’s not trying to have anyone lose a damn body part inside an engine. At least the earrings are out…

Hakoda thinks, though, that he really would have heard of the kid if he’s following Sokka cross-country to keep him company. But then, maybe that’s why he has the persistent, nagging sense that he’s met or at least seen this kid befo—

“Oh!” Hakoda suddenly exclaims, snapping his fingers as realization hits. “I know you!”

“You—!” Sokka trips a little as the kid startles, giving Hakoda a half-surprised, half-cagey look. “You should really hear about theorderthatPakkutriedto—”

“You’re the boy from the poster over Sokka’s bed!” Hakoda says, triumphant and Sokka cuts off with a high, strangled noise, the kid opening his mouth and nothing coming out.

“The one where’s he’s all shirtless and oiled up?” Hakoda prompts when Sokka doesn’t say anything, pleased to have placed it. “Remember, you got that fancy photo editing program for it? So you could cut him out of the full shot and enlarge the size? And Bato took you to that special print shop in Whale Harbor to get it done out on the special poster paper?”

The kid slowly transfers his stare from Hakoda to Sokka, who is looking more and more like a deer trying to freeze to avoid the notice of an oncoming car.

“You know, for your eighteenth birthday?” Hakoda reminds him, concern fluttering in his chest when Sokka doesn’t immediately latch onto the topic like he always does. “Because you couldn’t find any magazines big enough to see from that far away?” He definitely isn't misremembering, he knows he isn't...right?

The kid slowly closes his mouth, eyebrow inching up higher and higher.

“And you’d filled up all your wall space, so you needed to move to other surfaces? And Katara said you weren’t allowed to put anything up in the shower?” No, he's definitely right. Hakoda had been quietly and intensely relieved by the shower edict enough to be sure.

“I,” Sokka finally says, mouth working, “I, uh.”

“Didn’t you recognize him?” Hakoda frowns, reaching out to feel Sokka’s forehead.

“Yeah, Sokka,” the kid—shit, Hakoda still doesn’t know his name though—says, pointed, “Didn’t you recognize me?”

“I…need to go now,” Sokka announces, suddenly fumbling in his pockets.

“What?” Hakoda blinks, confusion threading alongside his pleasure at finally placing the face.

“What?” the kid half-laughs, startled.

But Sokka just whips out his phone, already marching away, his face crimson and voice echoing off the high ceilings, “Katara? Yeah, I’m—yeah, I’m still in town. Yes, I know that you're on nights, I—yes, I—look, could you please come and get me?” A pause. “No, I—actually, yes. I need to go die now, please. Not here.”

Hakoda stares after Sokka as he finally shuts the office door behind him, bemused, scratching the back of his head and shifting his attention to the kid who looks like he doesn’t know whether to worry or laugh again.

“Well, I’m Hakoda,” he eventually offers, extending his hand and biting the bullet that it’s okay to not know this one’s name, they probably haven't actually met before, “I’m his father.”

“Zuko,” the kid says after a beat, accepting his handshake—strong grip, callouses, no eye contact but that’s okay considering he’s looking after Sokka. “I’m, uh. The guy from the ceiling?”

Hakoda huffs, half-amused and giving him another quick look—and then his hand a slightly harder squeeze. “Grown up a bit, have you?” A lot less oil, too. And a lot more clothes.

Same cheekbones, though.

“Uh—so has he? Since then?” Zuko hazards, glancing toward the office where Sokka is…screaming into a pillow, by the looks of it.

“One could say that," Hakoda says after a beat, thinking of Sokka’s last trip to Whale Harbor and the poster tube he’d come back with happily cradled in his arms. “But maybe not as much as you’d think.”

#Hakoda is so proud of himself #He is going to get a good grade in Dad and in remembering his son's interests and hobbies #A thing that is possible to get and desirable to achieve #Sokka and Zuko are quietly dying and Hakoda is just there like 🙃#asks and answers #prompt games #fic writing #my writing #Sokka #Zuko #Hakoda #Zukka #Zukka fic #Rockstar Zuko AU

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mochimoqa · 5 months

Note

Hiii I just recently hurt myself accidentally while cooking 😭 so can I request how would you write any of the Moon Boys comforting the reader who feels insecure of scars or marks on their body. Would appreciate it a lot 💗

Hello, anon!

I'm so sorry that you hurt yourself :(

But nothing like a good moon boys x reader will fix that :]

WARNING: Some cursing and Intense Fluff 🤭

...

"OW- Fucking shit-" Y/n screamed at the pain of extreme heat touching their skin. You turned off the stove and went to the restroom to grab your mini med kit.

"Son of a b—" You mumbled to yourself.

You've gotten hurt plenty of times. Either from cooking, activities, etc. You've gotten insecure over the years because of the scars and marks from different activities.

The one time where you were frying chicken and the hot oil splutter on your skin. Leaving some marks on you.

You turned on the cold water from your sink and let the burn somewhat fix the burn.

You sat on the floor and opened the med kit. The irritation of your skin was a bit bad. You grabbed some aloe gel and gently placed it on your burn.

"Ow-" You winced at the pain.

While you were doing this treatment, you heard a knock at the door.

Keys jangling and swung open the door.

"Love, I'm home!"

Oh, goodie! Steven's here.

"Ah, shit-" You panicked and quickly hid the medical supplies.

"Love? Y/n! Where are you?" He was pacing around the house til he found you in the bathroom.

You were covering your hand behind your back.

"Ah, there you are! Marc, Jake and I started to become a little worried there." He hugged you tightly and kissed your forehead.

"No, no, I'm always here, baby." You chuckled nervously.

Steven cupped your face and looked into your eyes. God, his cute dark eyes always get to you.

"I feel like you're hiding something..."

Your eyes widened slightly and chuckled nervously.

"What? No-"

He squeezes your face a bit tight.

You instantly knew that this wasn't Steven anymore and it was Marc. Steven was the more gentle of the boys.

"Y/n, I know you're lying to me."

"I- no, I'm not-"

"Yes, you are."

Shit, you've been caught red-handed. (No pun intended.)

"Okay, fine. You got me." You put your burned hand in front of him.

"I burned myself while cooking..."

God, this was so embarrassing to you. You've had too many scars and marks on yourself, you thought for sure they were gonna leave you.

"The burn doesn't look too bad." He grabbed your hand and examined the injury.

"Huh? You- You're not gonna leave me?"

His eyes shot up to you.

"Why would I ever wanna do that?"

"I- because of all of the scars and marks I have on my body... you don't think it's embarrassing?"

"No?"

Marc paused for a moment and seeming zoned out. He was probably talking to Steven and Jake.

"Steven said that he would never leave you."

He looked at your wound and paused again.

"Jake said that he would be stupid to even do that."

You chuckled lightly at their responses.

"Really?" You sighed and leaned against the sink.

"Mhm, and I agree with the both of 'em. You're literally too good to be true, Y/n. Sometimes me and the boys don't even know of how lucky we are to have you."

"But what about my scars?–"

"The scars don't matter. We love you with or without any scars or marks."

He paused again.

"Jake wants to take control to get rid of that stupid stuff you said about yourself."

You sighed, "Alright, bring him out..."

You felt your hand being squeezed.

"Hola, mi amor." (Hey, my love.) He kissed your hand.

You smiled lightly. "Hey, baby."

"So, what in the wrong fucking mindset are you even in?"

"Uh, I don’t know... I just thought that the three of you were gonna leave me and—"

"Esa es la cosa más estúpida que he oído jamás". (That is the most stupidest thing I have ever heard.)

"I know..."

"Cariño, we will love you til the end."

"Thank you, baby... thank you to the three of you..."

"No hay problema, bebé. (No problem, baby.)

"Want me to fix you up?"

You nodded. "That would be wonderful..."

Hello! I hope you enjoyed this! I absolutely love writing Fluff so this was by far the most exciting story to work on!

Also, very sorry for not posting sooner I had a lot of exams so I didn't have time to post this story!

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adverbally · 28 days

Text

I Still Got You to Be My Open Door

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “‘Go, see if I care.’” | wc: 662 | rated: T | cw: referenced parental neglect | tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, steve’s parents suck, references to cutting off contact with parents | title from “Grey Room” by Damien Rice

Steve’s own voice echoes after him as he slams the front door and stomps to his car.

“How did you think I would react?” Infuriated. Poisonous.

He fumbles his keys and they fall to the asphalt with a discordant jangle that sounds the way his nerves feel. He has to shut his eyes and breathe for a moment so he doesn’t fall apart.

“If you don’t want me here, I’ll go somewhere else.” Emotionless. Numb.

Another breath, then Steve retrieves his keys. He wonders, as he unlocks the car door, if he should leave his house key. He could drop it in the mailbox, slip it under the doormat. He could throw it in the pool or toss it into the woods behind the house…

The silence inside the car is deafening. It was quiet enough outside, the sun already setting on a short fall day, but every bird’s song and rustle of leaves had seemed magnified by the roar of his pulse in his ears. The car muffles everything outside, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts.

“Go, see if I care.” Sneering. Disdainful.

That’s the part that stings the most. His parents dropped this on him over the phone. They couldn’t even be bothered to come home to discuss it. Probably because in their minds, there is nothing to discuss. They will be selling the house, they will be moving to New York for his dad’s business, and they need his belongings packed up by the end of the month.

They didn’t invite him to come with them. They hadn’t even thought to ask what his plans were, now that they were yanking his home out from under him.

“Good luck in the city, I guess.” Hurt. Abandoned.

Steve drives around town in silence for what feels like hours, replaying the conversation over and over. What should he have said differently? Would it have changed anything? No, he decides. At the end of the day, the fact is that his parents don’t care about him, don’t even know him, and this kind of fight was a long time coming.

It still makes Steve’s throat tight. Standing up for himself like this means he’s given up all hope of having a relationship with his parents. As unlikely as that was, the possibility had been there. They could wake up one day and realize how absent and neglectful they had been, could apologize and beg for his forgiveness and try to make it up to him. That bridge is well and truly burned, now, which isn’t surprising but still feels like a gut punch.

Without consciously picking a destination, Steve finds himself parked outside the Munson home. He kills the headlights, shuts off the ignition, but doesn’t get out of the car. Now that he’s stopped moving, he doesn’t have the momentum to start again.

The tap on his window is gentle but it still makes him jump. Of course it’s Eddie, standing there in one of Steve’s old Hawkins High sweatshirts, peering at him through the glass with that concerned frown Steve loves so much. “You okay?” he mouths.

Steve can’t begin to answer that right now. He opens the car door, careful not to hit Eddie, and slips out right into Eddie’s comforting embrace.

“Hey, what happened?” Eddie murmurs, one hand holding Steve’s head against his shoulder and the other rubbing up and down his back.

“My parents,” he sighs. That about sums it up.

Eddie doesn’t ask him to elaborate, just squeezes him tighter. “You can stay over if you want. Wayne won’t mind, and he’s working tonight anyway.”

Everything will wait until tomorrow, when the hurt isn’t so fresh and he can make plans with a clear head. For tonight, Steve can cuddle up with his boyfriend, in borrowed clothes that smell like Eddie, maybe smoke a little, and stop thinking so hard.

“Thanks,” he tells Eddie, his voice small.

Eddie kisses the top of his head. “Any time.”

#steddieangstyaugust #steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve/eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #mine #ugh this prompt fought me the WHOLE TIME

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 10 months

Text

title: a very furby christmas

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: t

word count: 3.6k

joel miller masterlist | all masterlists

summary:

it’s christmas eve 1998 and joel miller thinks everything is perfect.

well, until his brother admits he didn’t get sarah the one present she wanted - the furby. now, joel has to go out on christmas eve to find the year’s hottest toy that’s been sold out for months.

turns out, you’re on the same mission. and you’ve both found the last furby in town.

author’s note:

this is just a silly lil feel good holiday fic that’s been plaguing my brain. if you are too young to have experience the furby craze, i implore you to look it up. however, if you do remember, i hope this gives you a happy dose of nostalgia. gingerbread dividers by @saradika-graphics

tags/warnings:

pre-outbreak, no use of y/n, holiday/christmas fic, the last toy trope, no smut, age gap - not explicitly specified but joel is 31 and reader is mid-20s, the great miller gingerbread construction competition, operation get sarah miller a furby, some kissing.

“Dad! Wake up!” Sarah shouts, bursting into Joel’s room. She leaps onto the bed, bouncing on her knees and jostling him around on the mattress as he groans.

“Sarah, baby, it’s too damn early,” he says, pulling the quilt over his head. “Go back to sleep.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve!” The bouncing stops as she lays beside him, tugging the quilt down. “It’s time to make cinnamon rolls. And we gotta make cookies for Santa.”

Joel blinks, his daughter’s face coming into focus, bright brown eyes and a gap toothed smile filling his vision. Her hair is a wild mess from sleep and her unicorn pajama shirt is stained with toothpaste. At eight years old, she’s starting to lean out, her cheeks no longer as round and her limbs at that stage of awkward adolescent lankiness. He wants to sleep, wants a few more hours of rest after a jam packed holiday season of repairs and deadlines and supply issues, but looking at her smiling face and remembering that she’s getting older…

Well, that gets him moving.

“Alright. Let’s get downstairs and make Santa the best cookies he’s ever had.”

She squeals, scrambling off the bed and racing out of the room, light footsteps descending the stairs as he rubs the sleep from his eyes and gets up to find a t-shirt in the pile of laundry he’s neglected to put away, opting to dig through its wrinkled contents for what he needs each day instead.

He makes his way downstairs and to find his daughter rummaging through the fridge and pulling out eggs and milk for their customary Christmas Eve cinnamon rolls and the jangle of keys in the doorknob lets him know that Tommy has arrived.

“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas, Millers!” His younger brother announces. “Sarah! It don’t smell like cinnamon in here!”

“Dad woke up late,” she shouts back. Tommy grins at Joel as he passes, slapping a hand on his shoulder.

“‘Course he did,” he says with a wink. Joel rolls his eyes as he gets the electric mixer from the top cabinet for Sarah and preheats the oven for her.

“Y’know, Santa can take all those presents he’s got ready for you and leave them at other houses for nicer kids,” he says. Sarah’s eyes go wide.

“He wouldn’t!” She yelps. “I’ve been good all year!”

“Don’t listen to your daddy, sweetheart. He’s just bein’ a sensitive Sally,” Tommy says. She breathes a sigh of relief, her attention returning to her task of cracking eggs.

“I just really hope Santa brings me a Furby,” she says wistfully. “I want one of ‘em so bad. Chrissy got one when they came out in October and they’re so cool!”

“I’m sure Santa will come through,” Joel says, catching Tommy’s eye and winking. Tommy’s brows pinch together as he mouths, “What?”

Joel widens his eyes at him, a look that screams, “What do you mean, what?!”

Tommy continues to look confused and Joel squeezes his eyes shut, turning back to his daughter to help her with rolling out the dough she’s mixed up. She continues to chat about her excitement for tomorrow, especially because her big sister has agreed to stop by in the morning.

“You didn’t forget that she’s coming, right?” Sarah asks.

“‘Course not, sweetie,” Joel replies distractedly. The hours Joel works aren’t always conducive to a prompt after school pick up, so most days Sarah spends time with a volunteer from the Empowered Girls program that she calls her “big sister”. He always forgets her name, but he knows she’s a student working on her master’s degree in elementary education at University of Texas. Did he forget she was coming? Yeah, maybe, but he’s got bigger problems right now.

Like the fact that Tommy is acting like he has no clue he was supposed to get Sarah that damn Furby for Christmas.

Once the cinnamon rolls are in the oven and Sarah returns to her room to get dressed for the day, Joel smacks Tommy on the back of the head.

“Ow! The fuck?” He asks, rubbing the sore spot. “What was that for?”

“Tell me you didn’t forget that perfect little girl’s goddamn talkin’ demon toy or I’ll do it again,” Joel warns, already raising his hand. Tommy scrambles from his seat, hands held up defensively as he backs himself up against the counter to get away from his brother’s assault.

“You didn’t tell me to get one!” He insists. Joel stares at him incredulously.

“I sure as hell did! I gave you fifty bucks three weeks ago and asked you to get one because I’d be workin’ OT until Christmas Eve and it would be too late by then!”

“I thought the fifty was for me. Like an early gift or somethin’.”

Joel closes his eyes and attempts to take a deep breath. When he opens his eyes, he feels no more calm as he looks at his brother.

“Great. Now I’m gonna have to go to the goddamn toy store on Christmas Eve to find one of these things.”

“I’ll go for you,” Tommy offers. Joel hits him with a look.

“No. I ain’t makin’ that mistake again. You’re stayin’ here with Sarah and I’ll go get the Furball.”

“It’s Furby,” Tommy corrects. Joel reaches out and smacks his head again before he can protect himself.

Sarah returns to the kitchen, dressed in her Rudolph t-shirt and jeans and smiling brightly as she says, “I’m ready to make cookies!”

Joel smiles apologetically. “Bad news, sweetheart. I gotta run down to a job site and check in on somethin’. Looks like a plumbin’ emergency.”

“On Christmas Eve?” She asks, smile dropping from her face. “But we have to make the cookies!”

“I know, I know, but Uncle Tommy will stay and help you. Ain’t that right, Tommy?”

“Yep. And we’ll make cookies better than any your daddy has ever made, too.”

Joel’s teeth grind together at the dig but he keeps smiling at his daughter. “Right. See? I shouldn’t be gone too long.”

“I guess,” she says forlornly. Her arms wrap around Joel’s legs and squeeze tightly. Joel smooths a hand over her wild hair, glaring at Tommy.

“Sorry, sweetie. But the sooner I head out, the sooner I can get back, okay?”

“Okay,” she mumbles against his thigh. “I’ll make sure Uncle Tommy doesn’t eat all the dough before we bake it.

“That’s my girl,” Joel says.

________

You knew you shouldn’t have waited this long to go shopping for your little sister’s Christmas gift, but you’d picked up extra shifts at your part time job since you weren’t flying home for the holiday break and time just slipped away from you. Now you’re entering your fourth store on a desperate hunt for the one toy she hasn’t stopped talking about since it came out in October.

“It’s called a Furby and the more you talk to it, the more it learns,” she told you, showing you the fluffy toy in a catalog one day. “Isn’t it so cute?!”

“It’s…something,” you replied, staring at its dead eyes. “And that’s what you want for Christmas?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if Santa will bring it for me. I told dad about it, but he’s been really busy with work and I don’t know if he remembered to tell Santa.”

You wander around the store, looking for the garish pink and blue sign that lorded over the toy display. You finally spot it, crossing your fingers as you quickly approach what looks like a mostly barren shelf. There’s something on the bottom row, but your experience in other stores has showed you that often people abandon their unwanted items in the Furby display, leading to false hope.

“Please, please, please,” You mumble, moving quickly now. You’re trying not to break into a run in the middle of the store but after so many disappointments, you can’t be blamed for your steps turning into a light jog.

A pair of unseeing mechanical blue eyes stare back at you from the bottom shelf as you get closer. Pristine white fur, pointed ears, and a little yellow beak encased in plastic.

The last Furby.

You’re so close to success you can taste it.

You reach for the toy, ready to scoop it into your arms and take a victory march to the lone cashier left working, when a tan hand emerges from your left, landing on the box just as you touch it.

“‘Scuse me,” a deep voice says, southern drawl blanketing the words. You look up, gaze meeting the warm brown eyes of a handsome man, tall and broad with messy dark curls. He smiles, all smooth charm as he says, “I’m goin’ to need this toy.”

You stand firm. “I think I was here first, sir.”

The charming smile drops. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Look, I need this toy for my daughter. I’ve been lookin’ for one all over town.”

You place your free hand on your hip. “I need it for my little sister and I’ve also been all over town today. If you needed it so bad, why didn’t you get it sooner?”

“Pot, meet kettle,” he replies. You roll your eyes. “Come on, please? Ain’t there somethin’ else your little sister is dyin’ to have?”

“She’s talked about this toy for months,” you tell him. “And she’s worried Santa isn’t going to bring it, so I wanted to make sure I got her one.”

He smiles softly. “Sounds like my daughter. She handed me no less than five letters to Santa to mail off askin’ for one.”

“So why didn’t you get one before tonight?” You ask curiously.

“My dumbass brother,” he says. “I‘ve been workin’ overtime for the last few months, so I told him to go out and get one. He didn’t listen.”

“That sucks.”

“What about you? What made you wait so long?”

It should probably feel weird, having a full conversation with a stranger while you’re in a stand off over a Furby, but the man’s smile has your stomach twisting, wanting to know more about him and oddly thrilled that he wants to know more about you, too.

“I picked up a lot of extra shifts since I’m on break. I go to UT,” you tell him. “Time just got away from me.”

“Yeah, I’m familiar with the feelin’.”

A crackle sounds over the store speakers, a bored voice announcing, “Attention Toys R’ Us shoppers. The store will be closing in five minutes. Please make your way to the front of the store to complete your purchases.”

The man’s expression grows panicked. You sigh, taking your hand from the box.

“Get it for your daughter,” you tell him. “Keep that Santa magic going for a bit longer.”

“Are you sure?” He asks. “What’ll you get for your sister?”

You look around the store, spotting a sporting gear display. You take off in its direction.

“I’ll figure something out!”

________

“It’s a Furby!” Sarah shouts, shaking the box in her excitement. “Look, dad! Santa got me a Furby!”

“Is that so?” Joel says, sipping from his mug of coffee with a splash of Bailey’s, his own personal Christmas tradition. “See? I told ya I sent out all those letters you wrote.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She chants, running around the family room in her red plaid pajamas. Tommy, still barely awake, nods as Sarah shows him the list of features on the back.

It’s close to 9 a.m. but the Miller brothers had a late night of wrapping presents and drinking whiskey in order to have the tidy pile of brightly colored boxes ready beneath the tree for Sarah in the morning. Joel had also gotten her a new journal and a pack of Jelly pens, a few bottles of nail polish, and two new Beanie Babies for her collection. Tommy had sprung for a set of shin guards for when she starts soccer in March, something she was excited for ever since the girl she’d been paired with in her big sister after school program had played with her a few times.

It’s not much, but it’s what he could manage. Sarah is happy, her eyes lighting up with each gift she unwraps, and that’s all that matters to Joel.

A knock sounds at the door and Sarah races down the hall, Joel trailing after her trying to remind her not to open the door to strangers. The young girl doesn’t listen, instead throwing open the door and launching herself into the arms of someone surprisingly familiar.

You look up, eyes going wide in surprise he’s sure mirrors his own. Sarah drags you in by the hand, excitedly introducing you, giving Joel a name for the pretty face he’d been thinking about all last night.

“Hi, I’m Joel,” he says, holding a hand out to you. You slip your palm against his, warm and smooth, shaking his hand. The smile on your face is mischievous, the secret the two of you share dancing in your eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Joel,” you tell him. “Hope I’m not too early, Sarah said you open presents around eight and to come after that.”

“No, no, ‘course it ain’t too early,” he assures you. He realizes he’s still holding your hand, even as silence settles between you. With a laugh, he draws back, running his hand through his hair nervously. “You want coffee?”

“Sure.”

Joel leads you to the kitchen where Tommy is pulling a fresh tray of cinnamon rolls from the oven under Sarah’s careful supervision. He whacks her hand with a dish towel when she tries to reach for the steaming hot dessert and she pouts pitifully. She spots the gift bag in your hand and her eyes light up.

“Is that a present for me?” She asks.

“Sarah Elizabeth Miller,” Joel chastises. You laugh, handing the bag over to her. She rips the tissue paper from the top, reaching in for her gift with a wide smile.

“A soccer ball!” She exclaims. “Dad, you can help me practice in the backyard now!”

You share a look with Joel, one where his gaze is filled with gratitude and yours reflects understanding. The moment is made brief by Sarah trying to bounce the ball on her knee, knocking it onto a counter and subsequently being told to go put it away for now.

You introduce yourself to Tommy while Joel pulls you a mug of coffee. Sarah brings her now unboxed Furby into the kitchen, setting it in a place of honor on the dining table.

“Dad, can you put batteries in Snowball?” Sarah asks. She turns to you. “That’s his name.”

“Oh. Hello, Snowball,” you say, voice serious as you regard the toy. Joel laughs while he digs around the junk drawer for the rogue batteries that hide beneath bills and takeout menus.

As breakfast is served and toys are turned on, conversation flows between everyone easily. It’s a wonder, Joel thinks. You fit right in with his little family, like you were meant to be there all along. Maybe it’s the Bailey’s in his coffee, or maybe it’s the spirit of Christmas, but he can’t help the warmth in his chest as he watches you help Sarah with the Furby that started it all.

________

You’ve been at the Miller house since early that morning, through all three meals of the day, many rounds of coffee, a screening of Home Alone and A Christmas Story, and painting your nails with Sarah. Not once does anyone make you feel like you’ve overstayed your welcome. In fact, as the day wears on, you can’t help but think that Joel, like you, doesn’t want the day to end. You keep catching his eye and the crooked smile he gives you leaves you feeling giddy.

After dinner, Joel and Tommy start gathering what looks like cookie decorating supplies. Sarah sighs and you turn to her with concern.

“It’s time for the gingerbread competition,” she says, more solemn than an eight year old ought to be. Joel leaves the room and returns with a caulking gun.

“Why does he have that?” You ask, watching as he loads a saran wrapped bag of icing into the chamber.

“They take this…very seriously.”

Tommy and Joel set up decorating stations on either end of the dining table, shooing you out of your seat. Sarah grabs a cookie from a platter on the counter and settles onto a barstool while you stand by, confused and maybe a little scared.

“Are you ready?” Sarah asks. Both men nod. “Start your construction!”

Joel and Tommy rip into the cardboard gingerbread house kits, determination in every move. Joel uses the caulking gun to lay a foundation for the floor of his house, followed by the sides and the roof in quick succession. While Joel is going for a well built structure, Tommy takes a more avant garde approach, using a combination of licorice and frosting to hold his house together.

“Are they always like this?” You ask, fascinated as you watch them.

“Sometimes they’re worse.”

Tommy chucks a peppermint at Joel’s head, the candy bouncing off his forehead and landing on his gingerbread shingles. He counters with a gumdrop that manages to hit Tommy square in the eye, angry curses falling from the younger Miller brother’s lips as he tries to recover and continue the construction of his mid-century cookie home.

“Quit fightin’ dirty,” Joel says when Tommy whines about him being unfair. “I‘ll only fight dirtier.”

You know that the words aren’t meant to be suggestive but you can feel your cheeks go warm nonetheless. The Furby in Sarah’s arms coos, a string of indecipherable words coming from its little yellow beak.

“What did it say?” You ask.

“I’m not sure. It’s still speaking Furbish,” she says.

“It said,” Joel chimes in, setting down his frosting gun, “that I’m the gingerbread construction champ.”

Joel’s little gingerbread house looks like it’s straight from a magazine. Perfectly built, structurally sound, and classically decorated with candy and sugar. You and Sarah both applaud as Tommy groans. His little house lists to the side and a glob of icing drips to the table.

“Don’t worry, Uncle Tommy,” Sarah says to her dejected uncle, patting him on the shoulder. “There’s always next year.”

“Alright, it’s time to start closin’ up shop. To bed with you,” Joel announces, steering Sarah for the stairs.

“Can’t I stay up later?” She complains. The Furby echoes her tone convincingly.

“I already fell for that last night. You’re not gettin’ away with it twice. Bed, and brush your teeth,” he replies, kissing her on the head. “Tell everyone goodnight.”

She hugs you and Tommy before heading upstairs, the Furby chirping as she goes. Tommy punches Joel lightly on the shoulder.

“You know I let you win, right?” He asks. Joel scoffs.

“The proof is in the cookie,” he says.

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man. I’m headin’ home,” he says, hugging his brother. To your surprise, his arms wrap around you in a quick squeeze as well. “It was nice to meet you. Don’t be a stranger,” he tells you with a wink.

When the front door clicks shut, it’s just you and Joel in the kitchen. You’re inexplicably nervous now, despite spending the whole day with the man, and you busy yourself by loading the dishwasher with mugs stained by hot chocolate and coffee.

“You don’t have to do that,” Joel says, gently grasping your wrist. He removes the mug from your hand and sets it on the counter. He pulls you close, your chest brushing his as you take in a surprised breath. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmur. Up close, you can see the stubble that’s grown along his jaw, the slight creases in the corners of his eyes, and that his nose is just the slightest bit crooked. A heavy palm rests on your lower back, the heat of him palpable even through your t-shirt.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, voice dropped low in the quiet room.

You nod, unable to form words, but that’s okay. His hand cups your cheek and his lips press to yours and your eyes flutter shut, a sigh escaping you as you lean into him. It’s soft at first, experimental. A tentative exploration of a broken boundary.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding tight as he parts your lips and his tongue tangles with yours. He tastes like sugar - peppermints and hot chocolate and cookies that he’s eaten throughout the day sweetening his kiss. When he pulls back for a breath, he dips his forehead against yours, smoothing his thumb across your cheek.

“Been wantin’ to do that all day,” he tells you. He kisses you once, twice, and is about to go in for a third when a voice from upstairs interrupts him.

“Dad?” Sarah calls. Joel steps back from you, leaning past the kitchen doorway to yell back a, “Yeah?”

“Snowball won’t stop talking,” she replies. Footsteps sound on the stairs and Joel breaks away from you as Sarah enters the kitchen, Furby in hand.

“Take the batteries out,” Joel suggests.

“I did.”

She turns the toy over, showing the empty battery compartment. Joel rubs the back of his neck as he thinks.

“Tell you what,” he says, holding his hands out for the toy, “Why don’t we stick it in the hall closet for the night?”

“Won’t he be scared?”

“It’s…it’s a toy, baby.” You stifle a laugh as he shoves the talking Furby beneath some towels in the linen closet and shuts the door. “There, now you can both get some sleep. You can play with Snowball again in the mornin’.”

Sarah yawns, nodding. Joel kisses her head before urging her back to bed. When he returns, his shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“What a weird toy,” you tell him, eyeing the closet suspiciously.

“Yeah, but it’s what got us here,” he says, pulling you into his arms once more.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #no smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel fic #joel the last of us #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character

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hiraethhh-h · 11 months

Text

to a new beginning

note: literally writing this because the boyband leaks got me so excited i started fucking squealing and stomping my feet. enjoy <3

pairing(s): sett x gn!reader, aphelios x gn!reader, sett x aphelios

wc: 753

“are you sure he’ll like this phel?”

aphelios gently placed his hand atop yours with a reassuring squeeze. “of course he will.” came aphelios’ soft voice. his dark gray eyes shone with warmth. a small smile began to form on your lips at the sight. with a firm nod, you looked to the hat you held in your hands.

it was a dark maroon beanie you had hastily knit, as the debut for aphelios and the others’ band was quickly approaching. it felt right to give such a gift of encouragement to sett. alune had already gifted aphelios a new headset so he could properly edit the mixtapes he and the others made. there was a matching dark pin on the front of the beanie. carefully, you moved one of the floppy ears out of the way. there were three main symbols on the pin; a sun, a moon, and a star all interwoven in some way. you had thought it fitting for your guys’ relationship.

the sound of jangling keys caused both you and aphelios to look over to the front door. it swung open, sett quick to emerge with a tired sigh. aphelios gave your hand one final squeeze before going to greet sett. the taller male pressed a quick kiss against aphelios’ dark teal hair, his other hand going to give aphelios’ hips a small squeeze. “hey mooncake.” sett greeted gruffly. he unceremoniously dumped his dark duffle bag onto the floor next to the door. with the dark gray tank top and light gray sweats sett wore, it was easy to tell he had just come from the gym.

sett was quick to call your name out. his golden eyes scanned your figure, a brow raised in silent question. “you look worried. did something happen?” aphelios took sett’s larger hand in his own, guiding his boyfriend to where you were seated on the couch. your eyes darted to aphelios, full of uncertainty and hesitation. your lover only gave you a small nod, the faintest of smiles on his lips.

“everything’s… fine, i just…” you exhaled shakily. “here, come sit.” you scooted further onto one side of the couch, gently patting the spot next to you. the cushions shifted under sett’s weight as he got comfortable. with a shaky breath, you cleared your throat shortly after. slowly, you lifted the beanie into sett’s view.

“i, uh… made this for you. since you guys are having your debut soon, i wanted to give you something.” you reached upwards to carefully place the beanie atop sett’s head. you gently brushed out any of his damp crimson locks out of the way. afterwards, you sat across from your boyfriend with your hands folded in your lap, unable to stop yourself from fidgeting with your fingers. you had slanted the beanie a bit in the end, as sett’s hair wouldn’t allow you to properly straighten the edges. the pointed ears of the beanie now stood attentively, which looked quite cute on sett’s built figure.

sett’s gaze softed, a lax smile finding its way to his face. he was quick to wrap his arms around you and pull you into his embrace. the smell of old spice flooded your senses and it was anything but overwhelming. “it looks fuckin’ cute.” he told you. sett gave you a small squeeze, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. you giggled upon feeling the faint stubble on his chin graze your skin. “thank you. and you ain’t gotta be nervous when giftin’ me stuff. if it’s from you or phel, i don’t give a damn what it is. i’m just grateful you thought of me.”

you could feel your heart melting in your chest at sett’s words. you wrapped your arms around his torso in return, resting your head on sett’s chest with a growing smile. behind you, the couch dipped yet again. you looked over at aphelios, a warm look in his eyes at the two of you being so close. but there was another look in his eyes as well.

“nuh-uh, don’t you say it phel. i can see it in your eyes.” you huffed with a chuckle. aphelios gave a chuckle of his own, soon to wrap his arms around you with his hands resting atop sett’s. he rested his chin on your shoulder, pecking your cheek with a smile.

together, the three of you remained in a group hug until sett proposed properly cuddling inside his bedroom to which you and aphelios happily agreed.

#bee's writing #league of legends x reader #league of legends #aphelios #sett #aphelios x reader #sett x reader #sett x aphelios #aphelios and alune #alune

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stardancerluv · 5 months

Text

When the Predator Becomes the Prey

Part Two of ?

Summary: We find out more about Adam & meet Terrance.

Notes/Warning 18+, Domineering behavior, Sexist behavior, Not a healthy relationship, squint breeding!kink

❤️, reblogs, comments & feedback welcome!

He debated how long he should wait and contacting Terrance. He knew he’d fall in line. He’d change his clothes. Better fit the at bar, Terrance dwells at.

******

His keys clinked and jangled as he took them from his pocket. Barely had he closed and locked the door, he heard you calling for him.

“It’s me.”

He came down the hall to the living room. The sight of you curled up on the sofa, with a copy of What to Expect When Expecting, actually warmed him somewhat.

“So you’re actually reading it?”

You nodded. “I want to be a good mother.”

He came around and plopped down on the sofa, a sigh came from his lips. Taking off his glasses, he squeezed his eyes shut.

“You had better be.” He mumbled.

“You took the job.” You stated. There was no question lingering in your tone.”

“Yup.” Swallowing, he exhaled through his nose.

“You’ve done many jobs. You’re a pro.”

He slid you a look.

Your open, earnest face made him feel something. It made his stomach lurch.

“You move through these men like a shark, they are all the prey. You are the alpha hunter, alpha predator.” You corrected yourself.

He chuckled. “Thanks for the pep talk sweet cheeks.”

“No, you listen its true.” You pressed your lips together. “I’ll never forget the night, I thought I was just a passing fancy for you.”

He crossed his arms. “I’m interested. What night was that.”

If he was honest with himself, your candid honesty almost made him sever his ties with you. You always cut through his bullshit, but you are soft and cute so he stuck around.

“It wasn’t our best moment. It was when I found out about your name.”

“That night.”

He took his glasses off, squinting as he looked through them before putting them back on.

“Was a lifetime ago now.”

*******

He leaned against the counter and slowly sipped at his whiskey.

“Nick!” A shrill voice called his name, his real fucking name. Anger began to coil and knot in his stomach. Inwardly, he groaned as he turned his back to the bar.

“Nick! Didn’t you see me?” A hand tugged on his arm.

He gave a sidelong glance. “Yes.”

“No warm welcome? We could have some fun.”

“Not interested. Go and find some other warm bed.”

“You’re really an asshole Nick. You know that?”

“Yup.” He chuckled and took another sip of his whiskey.

He smirked as he drained the last of it.

“Phew! I am finally here, damn uber.” Your light voice, shifted his mood.

He turned, a smile splashed across his face.

“Should have flashed him, might have driven faster.” He chuckled as you smacked his arm. “Ok, stop this squawking and let me get a feel of you. You are looking good tonight.”

A few steps later and soon you were against him. He held you close. Something, he never imagined enjoying on a regular basis.

“Can I ask you something?” You whispered close to his ear.

He pulled back and shrugged. “Sure.”

“Why did she call you Nick?”

He made a face, eyeing the crowd. Reaching out, he pulled you to him loving the squeak that came from you.

“Long story, don’t feel like sharing but its my name. My real name.”

You pulled pack just enough to give him a playful look. “Oh, so you are a Nick or a Nicky. I…”

His anger beat hard in his stomach. Women always caused problems.

“You call me that in the fucking club or the bar;” His words sliced through yours. “You will regret it.”

Your playfulness dropped, your bottom lip began to tremble. “I, I won’t.”

“That’s my good girl.”

He pulled you to him again, now he was gentle. He even pressed a soft kissed your temple. “Cheer up sweet cheeks.” He added in an equally soft tone, though an edge still remained. “This is serious.”

“Ok, I understand.” You said softly, he felt you tremble.

He patted the back of your head. “Good. I just don’t want you or I ending up with bullets in our heads over it.”

“Ok, ok. I promise.” You whispered.

Pulling back, he gave you his most winning smile. “Come on, cutes let’s get you one of those fancy pink drinks and put a smile back on your pretty face.”

*******

He pulled on a sweater.

“So you get to pick someone on the crew?”

He nodded. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. And the sooner I ask him, the greater the chance he says yes.”

“You said he liked you.”

“Yeah. It’s like having your guard dog behave.” Hr paused. “One day he could just snap at you.”

“Oh.” You pressed your lips together.

“Or he continues to be a ‘good boy’ and he does his tricks on command.”

“So you can trust him?”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

You rose your eyebrows.

He pulled you close, he rubbed your side. “You’re different. I knocked you up. You’re mine.”

“I had better be.”

He gave you an easy smile. “Now, why don’t you order some take out.” Your eyes lit up. “Save some for me. And I’ll be back, one step closer to this job giving us the new start we deserve.”

You nodded. “Are you leaning one way or to another for what I order.”

“Nah, I trust my pretty girl.” He kissed the top of your head.

He headed toward the door. Donning his jacket, he wrapped his fingers around his keys.

*******

He left his leather jacket in car, before he hit the sidewalk and made his way into the pub. He may be a proud French Canadian but Terrance loved Irish pubs. And O’Mallory’s was the best in town.

Sliding in, he smiled. He knew it. He already spotted him in a corner, cue stick in one hand and a lopsided smile splashed on his face. A perky little blonde was looking all doe-eyed up at him. He knew how to charm them. He did it with the massive expanse of his body and that lopsided smile. They always fell for it. He strode over through the wafts of Irish whiskey.

Terrance looked over as he approached, the smile dropped.

“Hey chief, did you wanna like play a game of pool and meet Erin here?” He glanced down at the girl and winked.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “We gotta talk.” He gave a curt, forced smile to Erin. “Go and keep your cute little head occupied while the men talk.”

She looked confused.

“It’s ok, doll. We can play after. Wait for me by the bar.”

“Ok.” She was all smiles again and bounced away.

Seeing one of the booths. “There.” He pointed to one.

Taking, his glasses off for a moment he rubbed the bridge of his nose. He hoped Terrance wasn’t too far into the drinks.

Terrance almost couldn’t squeeze into the booth, he watched with a raised eyebrow. But then Terrance fit and slid to be directly in front of him.

He giggled. “Did you like that Adam? I called you Chief.” Another giggle came from him.

“It was fine. Now focus, we have to talk.”

“Oh! Ok. I am serious.” His face became more composed.

“I got a job for the two of us. If you’re game.”

A huge smile splashed on Terrance’s face. “You.” He pointed at him. “You want me to join you for a job.” The table shook as he made a kind of happy movement, he assumed.

“I do. But its a rough job. Not nice.”

“They never are.” His brows knit together.

He had to give the giant of a man credit, he was right there.

“True.”

“But with you, it will make it better.” He smiled again.

“This is gonna be a group effort. We can’t let the others know that we know each other.”

“Why?” Confusion washed over the man’s face.

He shrugged. “It’s just that kind of job.”

“Oh, ok. Since it will be a rough job. Will it be a good pay day?”

He nodded. “Very good. Even more reason for them to not know that we know each other.”

“Ok, chief I can do that.”

“I’m serious.”

“I am too. I don’t know you.” He almost looked sad, as he leaned in close. “So what’s the job?”

“Babysitting some twelve year old. Will last twenty - four hours tops, and we get roughly eight million a piece.” He told him in a low tone.

His face completely dropped. “Babysit, chief?”

“Kidnap.” He whispered.

“I thought so.”

He could literally see a light bulb above the man’s head.

“Then why do you need me?”

“To carry her from point a to point b.”

“I won’t have to get mean will I?”

He shook his head. “Nah, this will be a super easy job. That’s why I want you.”

A smiled dispelled the sadness. “Thank you, chief.”

“So?”

“Sure. I need the money. But I won’t hurt the girl.”

“You won’t have to.”

“Good.” He looked pleased. “When?”

“Two weeks. The crew has to be put together and get the materials I will let you know when its all ready.”

“Ok, good. Because I want to get to know Erin a little better.” He looked over his shoulder with a smile.

“Focus. This is serious. Are you really game?”

Terrance looked back at him and nodded. “Yes, chief.”

“Good. I’ll be in touch.”

Inwardly, it annoyed him that he needed him. But it was better then having some psycho who happens to have muscle that could lose his shit and make the job go sour.

“You can go back to Erin now.”

“Thanks chief.” He smiled, and once the table shook as he excitedly left the booth.

*******

He snuck back into the apartment. He couldn’t stop from smiling as he saw that you lit candles and placed the take out in a nice matter. But he wondered where you were.

Taking a walk to the bedroom, his ears perked up when he heard soft singing. He stopped at the door way and peered into the bedroom. There you were, in a damn sexy dress. It still looked great on you.

It made your small bump prominent, that was his. He did that you. He smirked broadly. That was fucking why he needed that fucking eight million.

@the1redrose

#dan stevens #frank abigail #abigail 2024 #abigail fanfiction #abigail fanfic #when the predator becomes the prey #part two #frank abigail x y/n #frank abigail x you #frank abigail x reader #frank abigail fanfiction #frank abigail fanfic #adam barrett #abigail movie

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smashing-teacups · 10 months

Text

Thankless: Of Ruined Holidays and Changing Hearts

Canon-compliant, showverse, missing scene(s). Oneshot.

Thanksgiving 1960 and 1772 - Frank's POV, then Jamie's.

Two very different husbands, two very different family dynamics, the same unexpected wrench in the holiday plans.

1960 - Boston, Massachusetts

The phone rang just as Brianna was setting the table.

I shot Claire a warning look that went completely unheeded as she shouldered past me in a swish of silk and clacking heels. The instinct to call after her still rose to my lips after all these years; the knowledge that the breath would be wasted kept it there.

“Hello, this is Doctor Randall…”

Our daughter froze instantly, the last salad fork hovering inches over the placemat.

“How many? Nancy, slow down. How many wounded?”

Just like that, I watched the light drain from my twelve year old’s face. She masked it well, brave girl; unlike her mother, she had a talented poker face. Quietly and without fanfare, Brianna took the cutlery, plate and wine glass from the third place setting and returned them to the china cabinet.

I crossed the room slowly and laid a hand on her shoulder, heavy with unspoken understanding. It wasn’t the first holiday her mother had ruined with her selfishness, her pigheaded insistence upon putting career over family. Bree flashed me a wan smile and reached up to squeeze my fingers appreciatively.

“More mashed potatoes for us, huh?” She tried for levity, and would have pulled it off had she been trying to fool anyone but me.

“We won’t leave a single bite,” I promised sotto vocce.

Drawing in a breath through her nose and releasing it in a sharp sigh, Bree clasped her hands together as she turned back to the table. “Shall we? Or do we wait for her to come back in and—”

“Darling, I’m so sorry…” Right on cue, Claire appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, already slinging her purse over one shoulder, the car keys jangling in her opposite hand. “There’s been a terrible accident on the Longfellow Bridge—”

“Yeah, I’m sure there was. It’s always something, right?” Even I was surprised by the venom in Bree’s voice; day by day, the little girl eager to defend her mother’s choices was yielding to the dark cynicism of an adolescent. Normally, I would have chided her for taking a tone — it was unbecoming of a young lady — but I couldn’t deny that a part of me had been anticipating the day when Brianna finally learned to stand up for herself. It had been far too long that she’d dutifully shouldered the burden of her mother’s negligence.

Wounded, wide, golden eyes blinked twice before Claire took a half-step forward. “I understand,” she said with a physician’s practiced calm, “that it’s disappointing when I’m called away on the holidays. Trust me, this isn’t how I wanted to spend my Thanksgiving either.”

“So why are you?!” our daughter demanded, throwing her hands up and letting them flop back at her sides. “Why does it always have to be you? Why can’t the other surgeons take the call this time?”

Keep reading...

#Thankless #Outlander fanfic #Thanksgiving fic #jamie x claire #family feels #writing Frank's POV nearly killed me just fyi #smashingteacups

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pink-sparkly-witch · 1 year

Text

The Widow - Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Summary: Sam and Y/N are happily married, but everything changes after a fatal car accident leaves her a widow. The Winchester motto: "Family Don't End with Blood," takes on a whole new meaning for Y/N as she navigates her new normal with the help of her brother-in-law, Dean. But what no one can tell her, is what happens when she falls in love again?

Pairing: Sam Winchester x F!Reader (past) | Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, fluff

Words: 2,416

You can catch up here!

My Masterlist AO3 Ko-Fi

Dean’s POV

Dean doesn’t feel better for the amount of whiskey he drank last night. He feels worse. Much worse. The guilt hasn’t been washed away like he’d hoped it would be; not just guilt that he’d fucked his brother’s widow, but also that he’d left her alone in his bed afterwards. That was not one of his finer moments, and if he could take it back, he’d have stayed there with her wrapped in his arms all night long.

Last night with Y/N was everything he could’ve imagined and more, but he knows not to hope for anything more than that. She’s far too good for him. Too kind. Too caring. Too beautiful. He doesn’t deserve her. Especially after he tricked her into kissing him and then took her to bed. And the hatred he had for himself just kept on coming. How could he do that?

He really fucked things up. He always does. Another reason he doesn’t deserve her – or rather, she doesn’t deserve him. He can feel tears prick at his eyes again, but sniffs them back as he hears movement from upstairs. Y/N will be down soon, and he’ll be damned if she sees him cry like a baby when he knows she’s hurting way more than he is right now.

As soon as she walks through the door, he looks down, feeling far too cowardly to look at her. “Morning, sweetheart. How’d you sleep?” He asks, trying to make himself look busy.

“Fine. Though it looks like you’ve had a rough night,” Y/N replies, and Dean can hear the tremor in her voice. He swears if he could punch himself in the face he’d knock himself out cold for what he’s done to her.

“Couldn’t sleep. You want coffee?” He glances up at her for the first time, but only because he hears her keys jangling.

“I have to go.” Y/N’s voice is monotone, and he squeezes his eyes shut, knowing that all her pain and anger is because of him.

“Sweetheart, I thought we were gonna talk about this? You promised me, good or bad,” he begs. Yes, she did promise him that, but he’s well aware that he shifted the goalposts on that promise when he took her into his bed.

“And we will,” her voice is trembling and her eyes are watering, and Dean would rather face the hounds of hell than see this much pain on her beautiful face. “But I can’t right now, okay?” She avoids eye contact with him as she turns to walk away.

“Y/N, please! Don’t walk away from me on this! It’s too important. You’re too important.” Dean knows he’s losing her, and desperately tries to stop her from walking out that door, because he fears that if she does, he’ll never see her again.

“And I said I can’t right now, Dean!” Her tears fall thick and fast and her words leave her in a sob. “I need some time with all of this, okay? It’s too much. And I’m meeting Jody soon. I’ll call you later, so why don’t you get some sleep now that I’m not in your bed,” she finishes with pure venom in her voice and wipes the tears from her eyes as she turns to walk out the door.

“Y/N! It’s not like that, I swear! You’ve got it all wrong!” Dean shouts, but is met with nothing but the sound of his door slamming.

Running after her and trying to get to her before she drives off, he swings the door open and sprints down the front steps, but he isn’t quick enough. Y/N is already in the car and is driving down the street.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean yells, not caring for his neighbours or the early hour, and goes back inside and slams the door shut. Picking up his cell phone, he calls the only person he trusts with something this big.

“Dad? I messed up with Y/N and I don’t know if I can fix it.”

“You gonna tell me what happened, son, or are you just gonna sit there and hope it goes away?” John asks, but Dean keeps his eyes fixed on the floor.

With a loud sigh, John sits next to him and also remains silent. Dean had always had a deep, sensitive side – just like his mother, John always told him – and Dean knew his father would sit right there next to him until he was ready to talk about it.

“I slept with Y/N,” Dean eventually murmurs, glancing up only when John lets out a low whistle.

“Didn’t she have a date last night?” he frowns, and Dean can see the cogs turning behind his concerned gaze.

“Yeah. It was the perfect date with the perfect guy,” Dean sighs, and drags his hand over his face.

“I’m not following here,” John chuckles. “If it was the perfect date with the perfect guy, why did she end up in your bed?”

“She came to me upset after the date because Jacob,” Dean scoffs his name, “apparently, was the perfect gentleman and took her on the perfect date and kissed her goodnight. But Y/N didn’t feel anything. She said she felt numb and then got even more upset asking me if Sammy was the only person she was supposed to be with, and if she was broken for not feeling anything with date dude.

“I tried to convince her she was wrong, that he just wasn’t the guy for her, but she was too far inside her head, you know how she gets. She was gonna go home, but I didn’t think she should be alone. I kissed her as a kinda experiment to see if she felt anything with me. I was expecting disgust, honestly, but she started to kiss back and it just…” Dean doesn’t finish his thought. Doesn’t need to, so he lets it hang in the air.

“And it led to you two having sex,” John nods in understanding of his son’s panicked babbling. “What makes you think you’ve fucked things up with her?”

“After, when she was asleep, the guilt I felt that I’d slept with Sammy’s wife and that I took advantage of her… it was killing me and I went downstairs and drank. And I cried,” Dean’s voice was cracking as he tried to keep his emotions in check. “And I begged him to forgive me for falling in love with his girl, and I prayed that she wouldn’t hate me in the morning.”

“You left her alone after sleeping with her? Dean, tell me you went back to bed?” John asks and curses loudly. “How could you do that? Do you know what she must’ve been feeling?”

“Dad–”

“No, you will listen to me!” John barks, and Dean is quick to shut his mouth and slump down in the chair. “You are the first person she’s been with since her husband and you left her alone? You say you felt guilty about it, how do you think she felt, Dean? Do you think she doesn’t feel guilty? Doesn’t feel like she has betrayed her husband by sleeping with his brother? Do you think maybe she woke up in the morning, alone, in a cold, empty bed and thought ‘oh, I’m just another notch on Dean’s bedpost,’ on top of the guilt and the betrayal and the shame, huh? Did you even stop to think about that?”

“I didn’t,” Dean admits sadly. “I got so caught up in thinking about Sammy and that I’d taken advantage of her that I never stopped to consider how she was feeling.”

“Y/N is not one to be taken advantage of, son. If she slept with you, it’s because she wanted to,” John states firmly before the two men share a moment of silence. Dean, at least, is thankful for a break in the interrogation and hopes a break in tension happens soon too.

“Listen, Dean,” John speaks, much calmer than he’d been before. “She’d chop off your balls if you tried something she didn’t want!” he smirks and, with a sad smile Dean nods in agreement with him.

“If you want my opinion, Dean, you need to sit down with her and talk about this and what comes next. And you need to accept how she feels and what she says.” John claps Dean’s shoulder and stands, making his way to the fridge and pulling out two bottles of beer.

“Nah,” Dean shakes his head, refusing the beer. “I think I’ll go to the garage for a few hours. Seems like a good time to bash the frame of that Mustang back into shape. Give me time to think a bit before I call her.”

“Don’t leave it too long, Dean. She needs to know she wasn’t a mistake,” John’s voice is firm and leaves no room for argument.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replies as he stands and puts his jacket on.

“And Dean? If you need it, you have my blessing to be with her. And I’m sure you have Sammy’s too. If you’re in love and will be happy together, then I support you. Sam would want her to be happy and to be with a good man. You’re a good man, Dean, but you need to fix this. I’m not losing both of them,” John warns and Dean nods.

“You won’t,” he promises. “I’ll fix it.”

Working out all the dents and scratches, and doing the welding work on the body of the beat up old Mustang was somewhat therapeutic to Dean, and he felt like he’d managed to work out most of his frustrations at himself within a few hours. Y/N had mentioned that morning that she was meeting Jody and he didn’t think she’d lie to him about something like that, so he’d give her a little more time before he went over.

The thought that if he called her, she wouldn’t pick up has been at the forefront of his mind, so he decided showing up at her house, knowing she’ll let him in even if it was reluctantly, is the better option. She’s too polite to turn him away, and he knows she wouldn’t make a scene at her doorstep with her nosy neighbours always watching from their windows.

As Dean cleans up the shop and puts away the tools he’s been using, his phone starts to ring. With a heavy dread settling in his stomach, he sees that it’s Jody calling, and he knows she’s going to tear him a new one.

“Hey, Jody,” he answers the call, trying to hide his nerves.

“How are you, Dean?” she asks, concern lacing her voice, and it takes him off guard.

“I’ve been better,” he chuckles sadly.

“I bet,” Jody responds.

“How’s Y/N?” Dean asks before holding his breath for the answer.

“I’d say about as good as you,” Jody laughs softly. “Look, Dean, I’m not calling to burst your balls, but I do need to know one thing.”

“Anything,” Dean agrees quickly.

“Do you regret what happened last night?” Jody asks and Dean’s heart shatters.

“What? No! Of course not,” he insists sincerely.

“She thinks you do, Dean.”

“Shit! She does? Is that why she couldn’t get away from me quick enough this morning?” Dean feels a small bloom of hope in his chest that this won’t end as badly as he thinks it will.

“Alright, I don’t have a lot of time here, Y/N’s in the restroom and will be back any minute, so I’m just gonna say this. You slept with her then left her alone in bed all night while you were drowning your sorrows in a bottle of whiskey. She wakes up to an empty bed, feeling guilty for betraying her husband, and when she comes downstairs she finds an empty liquor bottle and the first man she’s fucked since her husband avoiding eye contact with her. How would you interpret that, Dean?”

“Fuck!” Dean yells, feeling even worse than he did this morning if that was possible.

“You need to talk this out with her,” Jody advises sternly.

“You’re right, I do. And I’m planning on going to the house later. I wanted to make sure she was home from seeing you first,” Dean replies. “Can you do me a favour and text me when she’s on her way?”

“I’ll convince her to order dessert at The Bunker. It shouldn’t be hard, her favourite is on the specials,” Jody says, and Dean can hear the smile in her voice. “I can stall her for about an hour if you want to come by and drive her home.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll be waiting outside. Thanks, Jody,” Dean smiles.

“No problem, kiddo. Good luck!”

And with that, Jody ends the call. Smiling for the first time all day, Dean quickly finishes tidying up before hurrying home to shower and change into clean clothes before going to see Y/N. The last thing he needs is to be having a serious conversation and pouring his heart out while covered in grease and sweat.

Dean gets to The Bunker with time to spare, but he wouldn’t have had it any other way. He wants to be waiting for her. He wants her to know that she’s important to him and that he wants to fix things between them.

He parks Baby outside the restaurant and gets out of the car, leaning against her hood and waiting patiently for Y/N. When he sees her walking towards him, his heart skips a beat, and he can’t remember a time when he’d felt more nervous, and it reaffirms just how much she’s come to mean to him these past few months.

Dean watches as she laughs with Jody, but his heart sinks when he sees her stop suddenly, her smile fading as their eyes meet. He keeps his eyes on her and sees Jody lean in and say something to her.

After the brief conversation, the women hug and part ways, and Jody sends a wink and a thumbs up his way. Y/N lowers her gaze and slowly walks towards him. When he opens the passenger door for her, she finally glances up.

“Hey,” she says as she gets in the car.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he smiles, but he isn’t confident it reaches his eyes, because he’s so damn nervous about what comes next.

Next Chapter>>

@deans-spinster-witch @muchamusedaboutnothing @kazsrm67 @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @leigh70 @waynes-multiverse @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @chriszgirl92 @stoneyggirl2 @marilynnlew @ilovedean-spn2 @deans-baby-momma @acitygrownwillow @xxsovereignsarayaxx @frozenhuntress67 @lacilou @rach5ive @iprobablyshipit91

#the widow #dean winchester x reader #au dean winchester x reader #angst #tw: grief #tw: grieving

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ontheshroom · 2 years

Note

request: reader and jack get into an argument before heading to his family’s house for the holidays. when they get there, they try to make it seem like everything is all good, but his family notices that it isn’t. Maggie, jack’s mom, saves the day.

I'm so sorry

Jack Harlow x reader

Angst

Tw:none

A/n: my heart :( I had to use this pic 😭

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

The past week has been tough between you and Jack. It seemed as if every day there was something new to argue about. Today Jack decided it’d be about how the both of you were going to celebrate the holidays.

“I don’t see what your issue is, Jack. I really don’t.” You sigh, rubbing your temples.

“Your plan makes no sense! You’re going to fly to Y/h/s, Alone! To visit your family a week before Christmas and then fly back to visit my family with me together?” He asks, annoyed.

“Yes, Jack. You’re going to be busy and my family doesn’t mind celebrating a week earlier. I’d rather see them for the holidays than not at all, but I’m also building my own family with you so I’d also like to celebrate the holidays with you!” You yell back.

“You’re just making this all harder than it needs to be!” Jack groans.

“Then what would be better, Jackman? What do you want me to do? How can I make this easier on you?” You ask him placing your hand on your hip.

“I don’t know!” He yells, throwing his hands up, and rubbing them down his face.

“Whatever, Christmas isn’t for another month. Let’s go we’re going to be late for Thanksgiving with your family.” You sigh, grabbing his keys and tossing them to him.

Jack follows you out of the house and unlocks the car doors. You get into the car and lean your body towards the car door. Jack pulls out of the driveway and starts driving to his mom’s house. The tension between the both of you is high and you just hope you’ll be able to drop it before you get to Maggies.

“Jack-“

“No, y/n I don’t want to argue anymore.” Jack sighs.

“I wasn’t trying to! I was going to ask if we could figure it out.” You mumble.

“Great, so now I look like an asshole.” Jack scoffs.

“Are you serious, Jack? Why are you acting like this?” You huff.

“Just leave it alone.” He sighs, pulling into Maggie’s driveway.

“Just celebrate Thanksgiving with my family, and just seem normal.” Jack orders.

You suck your teeth with a nod.

The two of you step out and you nearly rush to the door to get away from Jack’s bad mood. Over the last few years, you’ve been with Jack you’ve gotten incredibly close with his family.

“Hi, love!” Maggie exclaims as you walk through the door greeting you with a hug.

“Hi, Mags.” You squeeze her tightly, absorbing the good energy she’s giving you.

Jack walks in the door after you and you pull away from Maggie so he can hug her.

“Hi, my baby boy.” She greets Jack

“Hi, mom.” He hugs her back.

You go to settle in the living room with everyone else while Jack continues to talk to his mom.

You greet Brian and the two of you quickly get started on your routine game of Jangled.

Jack watches you during his conversation with his mom and he frowns at the sound of hearing you laugh not remembering the last time he’s even heard the sound.

“Everything okay?” Maggie pouts.

“I think I fucked up, mom.” Jack sighs, leaning his back against a wall.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve just been so stressed lately, and y/n’s around constantly and I’ve been taking it out on her.” He explains.

“She’s just been trying her best, but I find a problem with everything,” Jack says, looking up at his mom with tearful eyes.

“I don’t wanna lose her, mom.” He says, his voice cracking as a tear falls from his eye.

Maggie quickly pulls Jack into a hug as he quietly cries.

“Just talk to her, baby. You know her and how much she loves you.” Maggie assures Jack.

“Hey, mag-” Your heart shatters as you see Jack look up at you with his eyes full of tears.

“Is everything okay?” You ask softly.

“I think you both should talk.” Maggie gives you a tight-lipped smile and rubs your shoulder as she walks away.

“Jack?” You ask him, looking up at him with those eyes he swears could solve every problem he’d ever experience.

“I’m so sorry, princess.” He apologizes.

“I- I know I’ve been hard on you. I’ve just been stressed.” He explains.

“Baby, it’s okay. It’s so okay. I get it.” You pout, pulling him into a hug.

“It’s not. I’ll work on getting my stress out in a way that won’t hurt you like this. I’m so sorry, y/n.” Jack squeezes you tightly.

You lean back and wipe away his tears.

“I love you so much.” You smile, you stand on the tip of your toes, and kiss him.

The two of you wait a bit for Jack to calm down before you walk into the dining room to join dinner with his family. For the first time in a couple of weeks, you and Jack eat dinner and laugh together like when you first got together.

“Everything okay between the two of you?” Maggie asks the two of you on your way out.

“Yes, thank you for helping me out, mom.” Jack hugs Maggie.

“I’m always here, Jack. Just remember to be thoughtful and kind.” Maggie says, pointing her finger at him.

“And you, thank you for putting up with him through everything.” She says to you, pulling you in a hug.

“I always will. Dinner was amazing, Maggie. Happy Thanksgiving.” You tell her.

You and Jack walk to his car and Jack opens the door for you. He kisses you before walking over to his side and getting in. He pulls out of the driveway and gets started on the drive home.

#jack harlow #jack harlow angst #jack harlow fic #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow smut #jack harlow fluff

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robynlilyblack · 2 years

Note

Congrats on your milestone sweets!!!!!!!💚💚💚💚💚💚

Could I request one with james potter x pregnant reader, please?

Maybe how she tells him that she is expecting his baby and how james would react.

Thank you so much Robyn! 🤍

I didn't hear a single word you said - Send me a situation along with a character and I’ll write a lil blurb (eg. remus lupin x shy! fem! reader first kiss)

Two minutes

James Potter x fem! pregnant! Reader

Summary: Y/n has something very special to tell James

Warnings: swearing, pregnancy and pregnancy test, one mention of morning sickness, reading peeing on the stick, quick proofread

A/n: 1.3k words, kinda modern au because of the pregnancy stick x thank you so much, of course you can, hope you like it and the direction I went xx

Navigation | James Potter Masterlist | Celebration

You were nervous, fingers tapping on the counter as you waited on James coming home from work. Your nerves were of a mildly excited kind, more prospect than fear. Your eyes fall down to the pregnancy test, you hadn’t taken it yet, but with a missed period, tender boobs and your mid-morning throwing up, you were sure you already had your answer.

Your head snaps to the door, hearing the distinct jangle and jiggle of keys in the older lock that certainly needed replacing. A smile escapes you, excitement flooding your stomach. James had mentioned on passing how cute kids were, and how he couldn’t wait to have his own one day, so you could only imagine how he’ll feel that it may be a reality

“Bloody hell” James laughs as he finally gets the door open “Who needs magical locks when you’ve got that” he jokes causing a giggle to escape you

You can’t see the door from here, the cabinets block it, but you know he’s smiling, he adored being the reason you laughed. Its confirmed as he rounds the corner, pulling off his all too adorable bobble hat and sliding off his scarf with the sweetest smile you can’t help but mirror

“It’s freezing out there” he notes, hanging up the scarf and hat before shrugging off his coat “Mere weeks ago we were laying on the bathroom tiles in attempts not to melt” he shakes his head, finally turning to you “Hey love” he finally greets, shoulders relaxing in relief at the sight of you

“Hi” you stand up, huge smile on your face

He hithers at you to come yet still takes paces to meet you in the middle and the moment he’s close enough his arms engulf you, the smell and feeling of the outside and cold clinging to him. Your cheek wants to recoil but you welcome it instead, nuzzling yourself deeper into his chest

“I needed this” he sighs into you, head tucking into your hair as his arms hold you a little tighter, prolonging the hug

“Bad day?” you wonder, it was always hard to tell, sure he would tell you and you could the agitation when he recounted the day at dinner, but when he got in he was always happy, tired, but happy, and made sure to never take any of those things out on you…merlin he was going to make the best dad wasn’t he?

“Just long” he kisses your temple before tucking his head right back in “Half way through I started to miss you so much, more than normal. All I wanted was to come home like something was…calling…me” his words slow, trailing off as his grip loosens

“Jamie?” you pull back, looking at his expression that was near certainly awestruck before following his eye line and realising

“Are you?” his hand slides from the small of your back to your stomach, eyes searching yours, so full of hope and supressed excitement, trying not to give them up

“Maybe” you confess, hand cupping his “I think I am but I wanted to wait and take the test with you” you tell him and if James’ love could increase, it did in that moment

“Thank you” he says earnest before a cheeky smile takes over his face and his hand moves down a little, squeezing your bladder gently

“Hey” you swat it away, legs crossing

“What?” he chuckles “Just helping your need to pee” he defends earning playful nudge

“No need. I already drank two glasses of water so I was ready well before you got here” you giggle, walking over to grab the test before the bathroom, realising James was following along like a little puppy behind you as you got to the door “Are you?” you ask pointing into the bathroom

He nods with no hesitation “Yup” he pops the ‘p’, gesturing for you to continue in and you do, hearing him close the door behind you as you lift the lid

“Can you hold this?” you hold the test out to him which he takes while you unbutton your trousers and get seated, not needing to ask as he hands it back

James then moves to perch himself on the edge of bathtub, still supressing his smile as he gives you the warmest look “You want me to look away?” he asks with a slight chuckle

You nod giggling “Sorry Jamie. I can’t pee with you watching” you admit, earning another chuckle before he turns his head away

"No worries my love"

After that you took the test, it wasn’t as awkward as you thought it be, and once you were done you covered the now wet end with the plastic lid

“Done?” James asks and when you hum he turns back, taking the test from you while you clean up, wash your hands before placing the lip back down to sit once more “How long does it take?” he wonders, moving to kneel in front of you, test placed on the bathroom mat beside him while his hands find your knees, rubbing gently

“Two minutes” you inform him “Not long but still feels…” you start, hands sliding over his

“Endless” he chuckles, head falling to press a lingering kiss to one of your hands

“You think it’s too soon?” you ask after a small silence, tugging your lip between your teeth as you let the one insecurity slip out, something about the anxiety of the wait, seems to cause it to do so

James’ head lifts, hands turning around to hold yours, thumbs rubbing over your knuckles in a soothing motion “For some yeah” he admits “But for us” he lifts one and up and kisses it “Nah” he shakes his head

Your cheeks hurt from the smile, eyes watering “And you think we’re ready?” you have to confirm

He nods “Financially we’re more than fine. Space wise we have that big office we set up for me that I never use and would make a kick ass room for our kid. I mean it has a window seat along with stained glass flowers and everything” he gifts you the brightest smile, shifting closer so much his chest grazes your knees

“But are we…you and me I mean? It’s a really big change” you tell him, hand removing itself from his hand cupping the bump

His hand chases yours, engulfing it “Honestly?” he asks smiling warmly and you nod “I don’t know if anyone ever is, but I do know I will love you and that little baby with all of my heart” the hand still on your knee leaves it to cover his chest before reaching up to wipe the tear that falls from your cheek

“I love you” you sniffle, bending down to lean your forehead on his “So much”

He cups your cheek, bring you back so he can look at you “I know you might not be…but…”

“Me too” you admit and he lets out a thankful smile

He then leans in, capturing your lips in a long chaste kiss. When you pull back your eyes never leave the others

“You think” he cocks his head to the side ever so slightly

You bite your lip “Together?”

“Together”

He grants you one more kiss, and when you part you both look down, eyes honing in on the two lines

“Two means…” he’s already smiling, the overwhelming happiness more than apparent in his voice

“You’re gonna be a daddy” you turn back to him, smiling so wide, happy tears forming as yours and his hand on your stomach grows a little tighter but not too tight

“I’m gonna be a dad” he says a little in shock before grinning “I’m gonna be a dad!” He exclaims, welcoming you as you half jump from the toilet seat into his lap, straddling his lap as you hug him “I love you so much” he murmurs kissing your hair as his hand moves to hold the back of your head

“Love you more” you say back

He pulls back then, pinching your cheek sweetly as he scolds “Not possible love” his hand slides round to your stomach

Thank you for reading ♡

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