#and I finally manned up and did it scared

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXVIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Danny has another hashtag breakdown! Man, we've got a lot of these, huh? It's YJ's fault this time; whoopsie doodles! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

“Danny,” Diana says from the door.

Danny looks up from his place in the book. It’s definitely aimed at younger kids, but it’s a pretty wordy picture book; there are a couple paragraphs he can’t quite parse, but he’s making pretty good progress on the words he can’t recognize.

It’s a story about a cat who misses its mother. Danny tries not to relate to it too much.

“Hm?” he asks, flipping the front flap of the dust cover over his current pages to mark his place. The book goes back onto the nightstand, beside his space shuttle; Danny uses the railing beside his bed to support himself stepping up and out of his wheelchair, leaning on the railing until he can figure out…wait, where’d he leave his old people walker?

“This walk is long. You will want your chair.”

Well, then. Couldn’t she have said that before Danny did all that pulling? Danny falls back into his chair, kinda peeved. “Fine.”

Diana smiles. She doesn’t have to wear the mask around him anymore— Danny’s pretty sure that his injuries have been declared as clotted, or sealed, or whatever at this rate. They for sure swabbed his ectoplasm and came to some kind of conclusion, anyway, which means he only looks gross, but isn’t, like…actively leaking fluids.

On the one hand, gross! But, well, you know. Nothing for it but bandaids and time.

And her face looks nice. Danny hadn’t known what she’d looked like, before. She smiles when she sees him. Her light eyes crinkle, and her lips turn up… She’s nice. Danny’s sure that she’s only there to be in charge of him in case he gets scary, but she’s in charge of him and she’s nice. She doesn’t have to be nice; lots of people have been in charge of him and been mean about it. There was that one guy who kept holding him—with the taser—

(Time slips away from him, a little. When he gets back to the world in front of him, Diana is carefully looking at his face, the back of her hand stroking the back of his.)

Danny’s in his chair. He’s not…there. He’s in his chair, on a big space station (????) with a bunch of really colorful fighters on it, and Diana is touching his hand (that’s so much weaker and slower than it used to be) and he’s not hungry and he’s only scared because of memories. He’s safe. He’s not being pinned down by the neck so that they can strap down his wrists and hips to the table—they’re not shocking him—he can move his fingers, he’s not stuck in his core—

His core throbs. Danny bites into his bisected lip, and tries not to cry.

“Are you alright?” Diana asks, voice gentled. The soft touch of her hand doesn’t stop. “We can wait. There is no—“

Danny shakes his head, and takes his hand away so he could wipe at his eyes. It’s fine. Bad memories are everywhere: in the walls, in the floor, in the ceiling, in the hands of people taking care of him. That’s not… There’s nothing Danny can do about that. That just. Takes time.

…He think he might have that time. Now. He thought he would die for good in that five by five box, waiting for something that would finally end him instead of just keeping him in a cycle of injuries he never fully healed from.

But now he’s not. He’s here.

He wants to keep going.

“Alright,” Diana says, slow and careful. “Hold on.”

Danny doesn’t hold on—or, well, you know, he engages his core muscles and all that, but he doesn’t cling to his arm rests or to the frame of his chair because he knows that Diana is really, really strong, but she also really, really doesn’t want to hurt him.

She rolls him out of the medical wing and into the space station proper. Danny feels like he’s been here before, but he doesn’t remember it super well. Maybe it was when he was sick or something? Either way, a lot of different people wave at him as they go by—or just straight up stare, if they’re rude—and Danny generally just watches people rush by, carrying all kinds of equipment, and a potted plant, and a…starfish in a jar…?

Oh, the starfish waves at him???? Danny waves back because?? What??

Danny rolls to a stop at a smooth, cylindrical elevator. It looks like a giant test tube.

…Oh boy. Danny takes a deep breath, and holds it. Reflexively. Sure, this elevator probably isn’t like being dunked into water to see if his body absorbs ambient oxygen from the atmosphere or if his biology is truly not oxygen-based, but the memory is. Bad.

They go upwards. Nothing happens but Diana’s pushed button.

Danny exhales.

They get off at a section of the base Danny’s never been to, and it's essentially just a long, somewhat narrow hallway. The walls are actually painted a creamy off-white here, and there’s…like…decorative panels towards the base of his wheels trailing down the hallway? An orange ceiling, too?

Huh??

The rooms are numbered, but they’re not plain steel like in other areas downstairs; some of them have stickers, or drawings, or marker written straight onto the door itself. They look...cozy...? Danny thinks so, anyway, compared to the rest of the ultra high tech space base.

They roll to a stop in front of a door. It’s got a number on it, same as all the others, but there’s a box cutout taped to the front of it. The—

—The print is of the same style of space shuttle Danny keeps next to his bed, inked onto glorious cardboard medium.

Danny stares.

“Gegrapa,” Diana urges, so gentle. Too bad that, uh, Danny doesn’t know that one. He looks at her. She mimes touching the door— Oh. Got it.

Danny leans forward just enough to touch the door with his fingertips.

The door says something in a robotic voice, but the synthesizer is too mangled for Danny to make out the words. The door slides open horizontally into the wall, instead of the way the other doors open like portals or from below, and it’s kind of cool?

Inside is a bedroom. Danny stares.

…No, it’s actually a bedroom. Not a medical wing, not a cot, not a repurposed conference room or—it’s actually got a bed in it. Like. A real one. There’s a wooden headboard and it’s got a mattress on it that’s thicker than a VCR.

There’s constellation sheets on a bed big enough to curl up on.

There’s a nightstand, a small desk on the far wall—there’s a little lip where the bedroom dips into a tiny sitting room, a small television on a table and a small table and chair. It’s kind of…it’s kind of like a little hotel suite.

Danny’s mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t move, and Diana doesn’t wheel him in. “It’s okay,” Diana says, and—Danny almost flinches when she touches his hair, but it’s only Diana, who’s never hit him, and they’re fine. He’s…safe. It’s safe. He’s safe here. “Do you want to go in?”

Danny doesn’t move. His hands don’t touch the wheels. They’re shaking; he puts his hands in his lap and he tries to breathe. “…What?” he asks hoarsely.

“A rum for my Danny,” Diana murmurs, quietly. Danny’s heart throbs at the possessive. “You are healthier now. You do not need doctors every hour, but only sum hours. You cuðe spenda more time here, all ana.”

Words go by so fast even at Diana's smooth, unhurried pace— and Danny licks dry, split lips. He looks around the room—and the room is small, sure, but they're in space. Space will always be a premium. Even in this small room, though, the furniture is sparse and placed distant from each other…distant enough that Danny can wheel around freely in his chair.

There’s a Moon clock display hung on the wall over the doorway, and Danny can faintly see the outline of what he assumes is the current lunar phase as seen from Earth.

Having the lamp isn’t exactly the same as glow-in-the-dark-stars, and thank goodness for that. If it had been, Danny might have cried.

(Or, he realizes, something burning in his eyes that isn’t ectoplasm, maybe he is crying.)

“...Me?” Danny asks, terrified to know the answer. Is this room for him?? Is he getting a room here? Is he supposed to stay here? On the moon?! Is he supposed to stay with everyone here, in a tiny room, where there’s nowhere to go and nowhere to escape?

…It’s a bedroom. It’s already so much more than the stupid guys in white ever gave him.

“Yes,” Diana says, and lets go of his hair. “Use it, or do not. Sitta here, or sitta in the medical bay, but now you have two choices.”

Okay. So Danny has choices. He swallows his feelings—they taste a lot like snot—and rolls himself inside to inspect the room.

There’s another little fridge inside the sitting area. It’s not right next to the bed like it is beside Danny’s cot, but it is the same style of fridge. When Danny pops the door open, it has the same styles of snacks. Fig Einsteins. Peanut butter squeezies and applesauce squeezies and yogurt squeezies. Protein shakes in bottles. Pedialight. Hummus packs.

Danny might still need someone to open the snack packs for him. That’s kind of a high dexterity food, if he thinks about it.

“If you wish to sitta here, we will visit you all you like. There is a belle at your bed,” Diana says, and walks in with all her purple scrubs and tied-up hair to point to a little button on his nightstand. It’s red. It’s got a little smiley face sticker next to it, and Danny thinks he recognizes the style from one of his nurse’s bestickered name tags. Belle is probably a direct cognate for bell. He’ll be able to get everyone to come up here if he needs help.

…Okay, that’s kind of nice. To have personal space. He hasn’t had that since… Danny’s eyes squint as he thinks; he rubs an eye. Wait, when had he been squatting under a conference table? Was that a real memory??

Diana is very tall, even in the little space, but when she ducks her head, the gesture makes her a little smaller, a little more manageable for Danny’s lower-than-usual-gaze. Now that he can see her expression, she looks soft, and even uncertain, even though she looks stone and strong on the television when she goes out to fight. “Do you like it?” she asks.

Danny fidgets.

He—does. He likes it a lot. The room doesn’t have any windows, but if Danny moved all his things in here, got used to being able to come and go, and people coming in and out…this space could be just another space. It’s quieter than the medical ward. More peaceful.

…The room is utterly devoid of other people.

(Danny thinks of The Box. Danny thinks of being in The Box.)

(Danny doesn’t like remembering The Box.)

“I am scared,” Danny admits to his twitching thumbs, his fingers itching for a fidget toy or one of his physical therapy tools. Diana’s face immediately drops.

“Why are you scared?”

I’ll be alone Danny wants to say, but he doesn’t know the word for alone and he struggled with phrasing. “No…people here.”

“That is triewe. You would have more dīegolnes here,” Diana agrees, and straightens out of her crouch. “Is that good, or bad?”

It isn’t good and it isn’t bad…? Danny isn’t sure how to phrase it. It’s neither. Being alone is just scary.

“You not hurt me,” Danny tries, knowing he’s missing some connecting word in the middle. He ignores how Diana comes back to kneel beside him, because if he looks at her, he won’t say anything. “Do not.”

“No,” Diana says, from beside and below him, gentle, careful. “We do not.”

No. They don’t. Danny swallows. “Bad…hurt me.” He doesn’t know the word for Earth or planet or even downstairs, so he just meekly points downwards.

Diana stills. It’s like watching Vlad’s Maddie cat spot a bird to hunt down. Danny tries not to feel pinned. “On eorþegearde?” she asks, still light, still gentle. Danny can hear a shadow of steel, though, and he counts himself lucky that she’s never treated him like an enemy. Danny quickly nods. His eyes squeeze shut.

“Who?” Diana asks feather-light.

Danny doesn’t want to tell them what he is. Admitting the name of the agency hunting him itself would be given in.

…But maybe if he doesn’t say the name…and they...and they promised they'd help hide him...

He wants to be right. Danny wants to be right that they're nice, and that they want to help him. Danny wants to be right that they want to protect him. As long as he never, nevernotevernever tells them he's a ghost...

Maybe someone will help him. This time.

“Bad,” Danny repeats, because he genuinely has no idea how to translate?? “Wants…hurts me? For…” WHAT WORDS DOES HE KNOW? Danny gives up and just draws a y-shaped autopsy incision on his chest. It goes down from his collarbones to his belly button.

Diana watches. Her eyes are sharp.

“Do you feel safe with the staff dunstæger in medical?” Diana is quick on the ball with the question and Danny nods quickly—he’s never alone there, and no one’s ever hurt him, and people whose job it is to help people are always coming in and out, and Medical helps them too.

“Good,” Danny whispers. “Talk…talks to me.”

“Ealne weg,” Diana affirms firmly. Whatever that means. “We will cepa you safe.”

You safe and we is all Danny needs to hear. He could probably cry by himself, but Danny wants the comfort anyway; Diana lets Danny take her hands into his, and he lets tears fall into someone else’s grip instead of his own.

*

Bruce is halfway to the monitor room before he feels himself be picked up from underneath the armpits.

Usually finding himself at inappropriate heights involves horseplay from Clark. No one else would be so bold as to actually put their hands on him within the professional setting of the Watchtower—and Bruce has worked very, very hard on maintaining a reputation that keeps the handsier of his fellows at bay.

The culprit is not Clark this time. Bruce finds himself looking downward at Diana’s tearstained face, fury and resignation warring in her expression.

Bruce is careful not to sigh. “Wonder Woman. What is the matter?”

“Someone,” Diana grits out, voice carefully modulated to cut out her own pain, “Hurt my charge.”

On the one hand, the situation with their patient is exactly as Bruce had expected. The circumstance is tragic. The circumstance was predictable.

On the other, Diana's new upset means that Bruce now has more information to work with than ever before.

Bruce can work with this.

“Tell me everything.” Bruce’s voice is just as firm—even held midair like a cat. “I will help you in every way I can.”

[mmogurl]

Dragonseed

18+ | 6.4k | Daemon Targaryen X Female Reader | dangerous, sex starved, raunchy Daemon | virgin reader, first time sex, first night / prima noctae, big breast reader, daemon is a boob man in this, non con, non consensual, P in V, much groping, lots of typical Daemon cussing, starts out rough but reader enjoys it in the end, I just woke up with this in my head and needed to get it out.

Daemon has not been satisfied with his wife Rhaenyra lately. Frustrated and sexually deprived, he goes searching in the village at the base of the Dragonmont for a woman that might catch his eye. That's when he comes upon you, a beautiful, young dragonseed, ripe for the taking, whether you like it or not. I came up with the idea for this after reading page 914 in Fire and Blood. In the show, they recruit Valyrian blooded bastards to ride the unclaimed dragons from King’s Landing, but in the book there is actually a fishing village at the base of the island where Dragonstone is located. The men of House Targaryen were known to seek pleasure among the commonfolk there quite often, claiming their ‘first night’ rights and sowing ‘dragonseeds.’ Leave a comment if you're interested in seeing me expand upon this story, because I could definitely see writing more.

Tags: @coffeebooksrain18 On AO3

Rhaenyra has been an insufferable cunt as of late. First she had wallowed in the death of her son, Lucerys, which he understood to an extent. They were at war though and Daemon could not excuse her absence at council. There simply was no time for mourning when the Iron Throne was at stake.

When Rhaenyra finally returned to the painted table, she was in shambles, a scared, frail shadow of the strong Targaryen woman he’d known and cared for. It had taken all he had to hold back the grimace that fought its way out at the sight of her tear stained cheeks. They were of royal blood, Valyrian blood, and she should be ashamed to show such weakness openly, especially as the future queen.

She spoke of retribution for her fallen boy, demanding the life of the Hightower bitch’s second mongrel son, Aemond. Daemon had offered to fly to King’s Landing right away to avenge his wife, but none would take any part in his plan. So he did as he often did, connived in the shadows, plotting murder so that a one-eyed Targaryen princeling might die to replace the son Rhaenyra had lost.

But, it seemed nothing was ever good enough for the so-called Realm’s Delight. No act of loyalty, nor obeisance, nor love, nor retribution would ever amount to anything in his wife’s eyes. She did not seem to trust a word he said lately, viewing him always with thinly veiled scrutiny and scorning him from her bed every night. Perhaps she had only been interested in using him to solidify her claim as queen after all. The irony was not lost on him considering how badly he’d wanted the throne in the past. It all left Daemon feeling restless, his blood running hot with the need to satisfy his carnal urges. Admittedly, there were not many women within the confines of the castle, save for the servants, who were not especially comely. So, he ventured forth to the village below the Dragonmont, where farmers and fishermen lived around the now thriving port. There he walked the streets, drank in the tavern among the commonfolk, hoping to chance upon a suitable woman. Any fair of face with a willing cunt would satisfy his needs, but he was hoping to find someone of note, a beauty worth his seed.

So far, he has found nothing but mediocrity and it does nothing to stiffen his cock.

As he exits the tavern already deep in his cups, given the position of the sun it’s sometime past mid-day, and there is a celebration underway. A flutist is playing a lively tune as men and women alike dance together in the square. His eyes dart around, taking the scene in slowly considering his relatively inebriated state, until he catches a flash of blue.

And that is when he sees you. You are ravishing in light blue silk, a crown of yellow wildflowers upon your silvery-gold head of hair. Daemon finds himself completely enamored as he takes in your fetching features; the big blue eyes, your proud nose, those luscious lips, and the full swell of your breast has him reeling.

Daemon finds you a sight for sore eyes, a vision of purity and class coupled most gladly with the bosom of a well coveted whore. From the look of it, you are the bride, clutching arms with some young pup who is likely to be your new husband.

It was well known to Daemon that the towns below the mount were seeded with Valyrian blood. Going back two hundred years when Aenar Targaryen first arrived with his dragons, when the house began to practice the tradition of ‘First Night.’ Whereas a lord or king has the privilege over the smallfolk, to bed any bride first on their wedding night. As a result, it was not uncommon to see pale hair mixed in among the common, many having been bred within the Targaryen line for generations.

Daemon has never claimed such a right before, but he is inclined to command it at the sight of you. A wicked smirk begins to work it’s way up his lips as he approaches. He can’t believe his good fortune, that such a shining flower of a maiden was waiting for him, so close by, and that he just happened to stumble upon you at just the right moment to claim you.

As the King-Consort to be closes the distance, many begin to notice his presence with a look of awe and excitement on their faces. For on Dragonstone, the Targaryens were considered closer to the gods than other folk, and were esteemed as such. Brides that were chosen were considered blessed and envied by all. Many of these women were taken care of well by their benefactors, being endowed with luxurious gifts of jewelry, fine silks, and even bequeathed titles for land.

The children born of dragonseed were celebrated on Dragonstone and it is clear to Daemon by the fine silk of your wedding gown that you have been attended well by your Valyrian patron, whoever it may be.

He walks purposefully towards your merry, dancing form and takes hold of your arm to still your movement. When you look up at him, he cannot help but feel disappointed when your face drops, a look of despair crossing your face as you intrinsically know what he desires of you. Daemon had hoped you’d be pleased to attract his attention, that you’d consider it a godsend as most would. It is merely a minor blow to his ego that won’t stop him from taking your maidenhead.

Silence hangs in the air and before words can even be exchanged, an older woman with dark gray hair advances forth to him. She claims to be your mother and apologizes for your insolence.

‘The blood runs too strong in her, m’lord,’ she grovels with deference, bowing her head with every word.

Good he thinks to himself I like them feisty. Daemon grins, glaring sideways at the young man next to you. He would be considered handsome by most standards, but he is green, just a silly boy without disposition to even protect his alluring little wife. He intends to ruin you for any other fellow tonight, so not even your juvenile husband will ever be able to satisfy you again.

He snickers with satisfaction as your mother offers to escort the pair of you to a suitable location where he might take up his rights. Daemon can’t help but soak up every curve of your face and body like a predator eying up his next meal as she speaks, but you look on the verge of tears, ready to break at the thought of being torn away from your silly little wedding festivities.

“Might I freshen up first, My Prince,” you say, your civility barely held in tact through grit teeth.

“King,” he reminds you, furling his brow. This girl will be nothing but trouble. It will be best to break her swiftly. He then shakes his head non-nonchalantly. “And there is no need. You are already quite pristine and lovely in your wedding gown. I will take my claim now.”

You fluster, your cheeks growing impossibly red with embarrassment at not just the mention of his intent, but your own indignity as well. “My King,” you acknowledge his correction. “Allow us to ready the chambers for a man of your caliber. My marital bed is far too simple…” you continue prattling on. He isn’t really listening anymore though, instead focusing on the plump of your lower lip and how it might feel wrapped around his cock.

He also can’t help but notice how you sound much more proper than your mother, than most commonfolk really, and wonders if your Valyrian contributor has paid for your tutelage as well. You strike him as someone who has been overindulged in your life, treated as a lady of distinction. It would certainly explain your bratty attitude.

“I am not against the amenities of the commonfolk,” he offers indifferently. “As long as there is a clean surface, it will do.” It’s not like he hadn’t fucked in some of the filthiest brothels on the Street of Silk back in King’s Landing. At least there weren’t many rats in Dragonstone.

‘Oi, aell take ye to me own dwelling, m’lord,’ your mother is spouting now. ‘It aes clean, Ae wash the linens m’self.’

“Nonsense.” A man with well-kept clothes is now stepping forward and Daemon believes he recognizes him as the innkeep. He offers his finest suite for the union of Daemon and his freshly wed dragonseed maiden.

Gods, it’s good to be king.

Daemon can’t help but chuckle smugly at the look of absolute dread on your face. You think you’re so special, too important to be fucked by a king apparently. He was going to enjoy showing you otherwise.

His grip has not left your upper arm and it now tightens as he nods to the innkeep, accepting the proposition for a room. The man leads the way and Daemon follows, dragging you along with him and reveling in the way you peer back with sad lamb eyes at your newly minted husband. There is something so deliciously satisfying in tearing you away from that whelp of a lad, in taking what belongs to another simply because he can. It spoke to the primal side of him, the dragon within that would snatch up whatever it pleased without concern for morality.

He desires you now and he would soon have you whether you liked it or not. Rhaenyra had cowed him for far too long and now he’s going to reclaim his manhood, his brutal nature, by taking your bloody virtue on the head of his cock. For the bedroom was just as fierce as any battlefield and Daemon was a seasoned veteran of both arts.

Daemon’s stride is long and resolved as he jerks you closer to his side. You’re reluctant to be close to him, but finally heed the warning and match his pace as you both enter the tavern which also serves as the inn. Upstairs, the balding innkeeper opens the door and ushers Daemon into his freely provided chambers, with his unwilling maiden shuffling in beside him.

The room is quite nice for what it is. Accommodations for peasant folk were typically a mix of ramshackle furniture and blankets with patched holes in them, if the mattress had linens at all. This chamber is simple, but the furniture looks as though it were hand-crafted in town. The bed is very obviously carved by a skilled carpenter and topped with a red blanket as though it were actually a fine establishment.

“This will do nicely,” he nods to the innkeep. Even though Daemon knows he is not expected to offer compensation as an esteemed guest, he let’s you go from his grasp momentarily to fish a coin from his purse, and places it in the man’s hand. “My thanks,” Daemon offers plainly with a dismissive nod, declaring his desire to be left alone with his prize.

“My pleasure, My King,” the innkeeper says with an overzealous bow as he closes the door behind him, finally leaving Daemon alone with you.

You stand there looking like a stunned baby bird who has just fallen from the nest. Your hands are clasped together in front of your stomach as though that might defend you from his designs.

He smirks at you with a pointed laugh as he draws close. Daemon apprises you thoroughly, circling you like a beast as he takes in every sign of weakness, every swallow, every carefully withheld whimper.

“You know what will happen, girl?” he finally breaks the silence as he comes to a stop right behind you.

“Y-yes,” you answer unenthusiastically. The tremulous tone of your voice both excites and amuses him.

Daemon’s hands reach out to your waist then, finding the laces that hold your bodice tightly in place and he begins to untie them. You turn rapidly on your heels to face him, trying in vain to halt his advances. He can’t help but growl at your defiance as he tugs you against him, his grip like a biting jaw on your pliant body.

Grinning wickedly, he glares into your eyes, leaning in so closely that his forehead is against yours and his hot breath is in your face.

“I’m going to take you, little one,” his voice is filled with violence, his tone rough and dangerous. “You will give yourself readily or we can take the difficult path. But, I promise you would not like how brutish I can be. Especially considering how sore you will be once I take your maidenhood.”

Your expression contorts with hatred and insubordination as resignation tries to take root, but ultimately you refuse to budge. He has not broken your spirit yet, but he knows he soon will. Daemon hopes to avoid being truly cruel to you, that is unless you remind him of his fucking wife by being so gods damned obstinate. Then he might just be forced to take his impotence out on you.

“Or maybe…” he continues with a sardonic twitch of his brow. “Maybe since you’re behaving like such an ungrateful bitch, I’ll just fuck you hard and deep until I spill seed in your unspoiled little cunt. I might even keep you here all day, perhaps all night. I have not wet my cock for at least a moon’s length and I am wont to gorge myself in you.”

Your breath hitches at his menacing coercion and tears begin to well in your eyes. It doesn’t bother him, in fact he thinks you might look even more attractive when you’re crying. Most importantly, you nod subtly as you finally understand the truth of your situation, that he has conquered your rebuffs and brought you low before him. You should be much more compliant now.

Daemon presses a kiss against your cheek, relishing the taste of your fear and the way your body tenses in his arms. “Good girl,” he states in a calmer voice.

He swiftly turns you around again, his fingers moving deftly to work the laces of your corset free. You are sobbing quietly and even though he relishes the idea of making you submit, of seeing your eyes red and swollen as you take him to the hilt, it’s becoming tiresome to hear as he undresses you.

“Would you cease with all that incessant blubbering?” he chides you with palpable irritation. He pulls at your laces, then the fabric of the bodice, going back and forth to loosen it enough so he remove it from your body.

“I’m scared,” you peep. “That you will hurt me.” You’re reminding him of a bird once more, perhaps a little chick with no wings to fly, sniffling and pathetic as you accept your fate.

Daemon lets out an exasperated sigh. He would almost rather you be angry and spiteful than sniveling like this. He should have known to use a different tact, but he’s been out of practice for quite some time. He now sees with clarity that you’d be far more susceptible to seduction rather than brute force, but his anger with Rhaenyra had him on edge.

He places his hands on each of your shoulders and cranes his neck forward until his lips meet the spot below your right ear. You jump as he presses a gentle kiss against your skin, his fingers reaching over and caressing along your collarbone. He can feel you relax considerably with his shift in behavior and takes the opportunity to slide the sleeves of your dress down your arms.

“You need not be scared, little bird,” he whispers into your flesh as he leaves another kiss wet against the base of your neck. “I have bedded many a maiden in my time, and I assure you that I am a far more experienced and skillful lover than that untried boy you call husband.”

You swallow with difficulty and then your whole chest heaves upward as you let out a shaky breath. He is not sure if you’re still apprehensive about the pain involved in the act itself or if you dislike hearing him speak ill of your new spouse. It matters not, for Daemon knows he is best suited to tend to your needs on this day, and he will deliver you swiftly from your pain if you serve him well. He could also make it much worse than it has to be if you don’t.

But for the moment, you’re obliging him, not even resisting as he slips the sleeves of your dress off of your hands and they fall to your side. He groans at the pale skin bared to him, feverish at the thought of groping those large tits of yours without the restraint of any bindings.

“I know how best to alleviate your discomfort, my dear,” he continues, his breath tickling your skin. “I know how to hasten you to pleasure.” Daemon sucks teasingly at the lobe of your ear and delights as you shiver and goosebumps break out across the exposed flesh peering out from your low neckline. He is getting so eager now, craving the way you’ll squirm beneath him as he touches you, as he claims you.

He rocks the slackened bodice down over your waist, wiggling it from side to side until it clears your hips and the entire gown finally falls to the floor in a heap. You still don a sleeveless cloth chemise underneath that goes down past your knees, but the fabric is so thin that he can see the outline of your figure right through it.

Daemon feels the hairs on the back of his neck bristle as his cock bulges painfully against his breeches. He’d been so caught up in taming you, so fervent at the thought of plundering your shores, that he hadn’t even realized how much he was aching for you.

With a surge of fist and cord, his trousers are on the ground and he practically tears his braies off so he can press his throbbing length against you sooner. Being liberated from his smallclothes leaves his member free to prod the valley of your arse, and he yanks you back tightly against his chest with a grunt that makes you chirp. You are his sweet, helpless baby bird, ready to be devoured by the fox.

As though pulled by an invisible force, his hands are already snaking around to your front catching your breasts, one in each hand as he kneads them forcefully. You let out a strangled cry of distress as he tweaks your nipples firmly and Daemon’s eyes roll up at the supple, yet dense give of your breasts.

“By the old gods,” he rasps out, looking over her shoulder at the beautiful sight below of cleavage and ample bosom turning in his grip. “These are surely sacred treasures befitting a king.”

He has to feel you without the interference of meddling fabric, needs to see your breasts in all their splendor, to touch-taste-suck them until you cry out. A growl erupts through his nasal cavity and he abruptly yanks your shift down your shoulders, ripping the straps in the process of revealing your remarkable tits.

Seeing your exposed bosom, Daemon grinds his cock into your arse with arousal, his restraint faltering with the promise of you. He spins you towards him, walking backwards to the bed and drawing you by the hands with him. He glances up to see the uneasy expression on your face, the blush in your cheeks as you allow him to lead you. His cheekbones rise and his brow furrows slightly, regarding you with discernment and maybe a sense of pride as you walk bravely forward.

Daemon decides after brief consideration, that he likes you this way: vulnerable, yet courageous. The thought is fleeting as he hits the edge of the bed and sits down without hesitation, tugging you close until you are standing in the space between his parted thighs. Your tits are right in his face now, just where he wants them.

With an aggressive pull, he wrenches the shift from your body, laying you completely bare to him. He doesn’t even know where to begin, so much pale and youthful skin to take in that it makes him absolutely ravenous. Daemon’s hand reaches behind your back, holding you in place as he practically inhales your breast into his mouth. You writhe in his embrace, trying to back away from the intensity of his hungry maw to no avail as his strong arms keep you effortlessly in place.

He nips at the stiff peak, relishing the way you jump in response. Daemon’s hand slides downwards, cupping your round, tight ass with a squeeze. He leans back, taking in the view for a moment as he licks with the point of his tongue around your pale pink areola. He switches to the other beautifully pliant tit, tracing a line with his tongue across the valley of your breasts.

Daemon sucks hungrily at your nipple, palming the other with fanatical tenacity. He can feel your body wanting to withdraw, the way it pushes for more and pulls back at the same time, yet your feet remain firmly planted. He’d praise you for being so mannerly if his mouth weren’t full with your delicious tit at the moment.

He can feel his pulse pounding throughout his cock, standing erect between his legs and starving for any attention it can get from you. He relinquishes his grip on your breast, daring an attempt at getting you to relieve his torment as he clutches your hand and brings it down. Your hand retreats backwards, not wishing to participate, but Daemon is firm with you, guiding you to wrap your little bird wings around his engorged member.

Tepid, featherlight fingers graze against the sensitive skin of his too-fat-with-blood cockhead, and he lets loose a growl against the slope of your chest. “Fuck,” he hisses, sucking air through his teeth as you reluctantly touch him. At this point, his sexual deprivation paired with the immense lust he feels for you makes even your untrained pawing feel flawless in execution.

He’s quickly reaching the point of no return, his carnal urges so great that he knows he must have you soon. Daemon’s fingers lower to your tight little cunt, checking to see how ready you are for his impending intrusion. A knowing grin spreads across his cheeks as he feels the silken wet state of your folds.

“Mmm,” he pulls off of your nipple, peering up at you with violet eyes full of mischief. “Are you holding back how much you desire me, little bird? You naughty thing. What will your husband think?”

You flush red and while he was hoping to see indignation, he’s not displeased with the look of yearning present instead. Had he actually managed to ensnare you with the capable way he handled your body? Had he charmed you into his grasp when it seemed impossible you might actually enjoy yourself? Your silence is complicity as far as he is concerned.

Daemon smirks up at you deviously before switching back to your left breast, his tongue dancing across the tender nub as his fingers test and prod at your entrance. He doesn’t feel a solid membrane, but one that has already been teased on multiple occasions, likely coaxed from the efforts of the wanton little dragonseed herself. He could take her virtue with very little pain and she might even find pleasure in the act.

Dragging creamy nectar up from your heat, he holds your hood back, pressing his middle finger to your swollen pearl with a light, circular motion. You jolt into him, leaning forward as though your knees might buckle with even the slightest of coaxing from his touch.

He does not relent, continuing his attentions to both of your breathtaking breasts as he caresses the peak of your sex with practiced grace. You begin to whine, flinching your shoulders with every nip and suck of your tender nipples, your body becoming overly sensitive with his continued ministrations.

Daemon can feel the tension in your body rising and knows that you are ready for him. And not a moment too soon, he muses to himself, lest he lose his fucking mind with desperate need of you.

He stands up suddenly, gently walking you back a couple steps. He then picks you up into his arms with one fluid motion before depositing you with careful precision onto the bed. You look up at him with big eyes, dilated black with arousal as he climbs on top of you.

“You are a sight to behold, dear girl,” he says hoarsely, his voice heavy with desire. “I will not regret this joining and nor should you.” You look bewildered, a flurry of emotions all rolled into one, acutely aware and fuzzy at the same time.

For the first time, Daemon kisses you, and the feeling is like molten lava blazing through his heart and pooling in his gut. His cock is hard and threatening against your thighs, seeking entry with every jerk and twitch. His tongue sinks through your parted lips, dipping into the heat of your mouth, wanting to consume you whole.

He parts from your lips with an intake of breath, declaring gruffly, “You know that you belong to me now?”

With your quiet acceptance, Daemon positions his head at your core, pressing in just enough to fit snugly against your entrance. Leaning down once more, he cradles your back in his arms and presses another kiss to your lips. He needs to keep you distracted, his tongue dancing with yours, keeping you from dwelling too long on unavoidable pain. Gods knew, the feel of your passionate kiss was enough to divert his attention away from all meaningful thought besides the easing of your hurt.

Without warning, Daemon thrusts into you, breaking through your virtue as he holds you tightly. You cry out in startled agony as his length enters you, tears welling in the corners of your eyes at the sudden flash of pain. He holds position within you, soothing you with hushed whispers and gentle kisses through the worst of it.

As he thought, you are not upset for long, within moments already wiggling your hips around his swollen cock and hungry for more. He can’t help but grin with smug satisfaction at the way your body begs for more without speaking any words. Daemon will give you exactly what you crave. In fact, he loves how quickly you’ve become his little bird, his sweet harlot, forsaking your new husband for him in no more than a hand’s width of daylight.

He winces as he begins to move again; the way your cunt clings to his intruding cock for dear life is almost too much to bear. Daemon pulls back slightly to take you in and is not disappointed by the way your pretty lips are spread and panting out quick breaths of ecstasy. He had not lied to you, he’d certainly been with his fair share of maidens. None have come close to matching the beauty of your deliverance from chastity. You take to his girth with aplomb, to the act of love-making with a passionate, melodious abandon.

Daemon would watch your blissfully lurid expression, listen to your dulcet of sinful delectation, all day if he could. But, it’s not long before he can tell that your little cunny is going to give him trouble. If it hadn’t been so long since the last time he knew a pleasure better than his fucking hand, he might be able to deal with you. But, you are so fucking tight and he’s so wound up, that he opts to go out with a clash of smacking flesh. If he cannot make you peak this time, then he most certainly will on the next try, and he will most certainly take you again.

Your lilting moans drive him closer to the edge, pushing him faster than he’d like. Rearing up onto his knees, he clutches your hips tightly and spreads you across his lap. Daemon desperately tries to push you along to your climax, knowing it will be a race that he is likely to lose. He’s not expecting the intense response you give him or the way your hips buck as he coaxes your pearl to completion.

His eyes widen in disbelief, wincing as your pelvis seizes and you clamp down on him with a force so powerful it undoes him. “Fuccccking Hells!” he growls out sounding like a gruff animal as your walls milk his seed forth. Daemon’s member pulses violently, your muscles finally letting up only to begin rolling in waves across his length. “Gods fucking damn, girl!” he steadies himself against the bed, almost falling on top of you in the process.

His release lurches through his body, demanding and powerful as he erupts into you. He is faintly aware of the way your chanting with delight, muttering something incoherent while your small hands remain fastened to his back, holding onto him. The overwhelming rush finally passes and he is left feeling weak, breathless, but oh so fucking good.

Daemon wilts onto you, pressing a contented kiss against your lips. He’s not entirely surprised, but is still pleased when your hands find the back of his neck, deepening the kiss with vehemence. He feels the musculature of your inner lining contract upon his cock again and shakes his head as he parts from your lips.

“No. No more of that,” he gripes, still too sensitive to take that kind of abuse.

He recoils as he withdraws from you, unable to believe how big his cock looks, not fully hard, but still excessively fat considering. Daemon lies down beside you, wrapping his arm behind you and pulling you close.

You come willingly, cuddling into the crook of his arm as your hungry fingers roam about his jerkin.

And then it dawns on him, that in his impatience, he never even bothered to fully disrobe. He dutifully unfastens the clasps on his leather vest, displacing you for a moment as he tosses it aside and tears off his doublet.

“There,” he says with confidence. “Now you can have the full show.”

You laugh, a mirthful sound that makes his heart ache in a good way. Gods, he had really needed to get in a good plowing. He can feel all of his anger and tension melting away as he takes you back into his arms.

“So? Was it all bad?” he asks, fishing for compliments because he loves to hear them. He’d especially welcome them from a stubborn creature such as yourself.

Quietly, you shake your head, seeming at a loss for words. He could understand. A lot had happened in such a short amount of time. He’d essentially stolen you from the path you’d been traveling, plucked you up for himself without your say so. Daemon wouldn’t prod you to talk about it now that his appetites were sated, wouldn’t tease you about your husband now that he had claimed you fully.

He raises a brow as you speak unexpectedly, listening intently for your first real words since he’d imposed himself upon you.

“It was enjoyable,” you answer respectfully, your lusting eyes betraying your true feelings as your hands rove over his now bare chest, eager for more.

“Only enjoyable, little bird?” he decides to tease you a little bit, just for fun.

That mellifluous laugh returns, making him smile genuinely as he gazes upon you. Daemon strokes your back, relishing in the warm plushness of your skin as he settles into bed.

“Why do you keep calling me little bird?” she asks instead of padding his ego. “I am a dragon just as you… Am I not?”

His whole face lights up with a self-satisfied smirk. “Oh, are you a dragon now? I thought you were just a little bird.”

“I am a seed,” you contend with him, far more seriously than he expects you should. “I am of your line too.” You run your fingers into your disheveled hair, twirling cornsilk strands as evidence.

“Well, yes, but you are not quite a dragon. It’s true you have wings and the means to fly, but that does not make a dragon, my delicate little bird,” he cannot help but say it with a mocking tone, enjoying your reactions too much to let it go.

You dare a fearless smack at his chest, indignant and pouting. He would normally kill someone for laying hands on him in any manner of disrespect, but Daemon does not mind it from you in this moment.

“Perhaps, you do have some fire in you yet,” he taunts you with amusement. You look at him wide eyed as though he’s about to admit that you are a dragon just as he is. You make this too easy. He chuckles as he continues to rib you, “I’ll call you my firebird then. I think that suits you nicely.”

Daemon’s brow winks with humor as you take another swing at him. He holds your arms down to your sides as he pulls you on top of him. He let’s you go as your annoyance settles, regarding you fondly as he tucks loose tresses of silvery hair behind your ears.

“I hope you know that I’m going to come back for you again and again, my little firebird,” he utters in a lower tone, his voice taking on a more serious quality now.

You give him a twisted look of both gladness and remorse, your mind unable to decide whether this is a good or a bad thing.

“Do you care for your husband?” he asks earnestly, not pleased with the idea of another man laying hands on you. “I can conscript him to the queen’s army if you wish to free yourself from him. You need only ask.”

You look torn, but he can tell you’re considering his words carefully. “He is not a bad man as far as I know. The marriage was selected by my mother, my husband earns a living well enough to pay my way.”

It bothers Daemon to hear you call the man your husband, even if it’s true. He considers killing the man masquerading as your groom for you should undoubtedly belong entirely to him and no other.

“Paying your way will no longer be an issue. I will ensure that you are financially supported from this day forth, but I will not give you up,” he hears the words spilling from his mouth and feels like an old fool. He’d celebrated too many namedays to be spewing this lovesick shit? He couldn’t help it though. You stoked a fire inside of him that made him feel alive and vibrant, he needed to keep burning with you.

“I appreciate that,” you offer with a small, but hesitant smile. “I’m sure my mother will be thrilled. She has always tried to make sure I’m well looked after. It’s unfortunate you could not find me a day sooner. I’m not sure how to face him now,” she says with a trembling lip. “He will expect to bed me. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to. It would make me nothing but a whore.”

“Hush,” Daemon says disagreeably. “Don’t say such things.” He finds himself cradling your sweet head against his chest, hating how true your words are and that he is the one responsible for your situation. He must make it his own responsibility to free you from it then.

“I’ll pull you to castle staff then,” he offers, grasping at possible solutions. It would not be wise to tempt Rhaenyra’s wrath under her own roof, but it would be a means to separate you from your husband at least temporarily, until something more lasting could be devised. There were many positions that would keep you far from his wife’s vicinity as well, if she would even notice that he had taken a lover to begin with.

He might also simply murder the bastard and be done with it, but it might be nice to have you close by in Dragonstone too for opportunistic dalliances.

You begin to protest the idea of going to work at the castle, but he won’t hear any of it and interrupts you. “I will give you a choice then, in recompense for what I’ve taken from you. Will you stay with me, little firebird, or with your husband?” He peers at you with thoughtful bluish-red irises, waiting to hear your answer. He has already decided that he will abide by whatever ruling you make, at least for a time. If you wish to bed your husband as well as him, then that will be your prerogative.

“I do not wish to stay with my husband,” you say quicker than he anticipated.

“Well,” he practically gloats with a mischievous grin. “You’ll be coming home with me then.” Daemon presses a happy kiss against your lips, the sight of your bosom sinfully crushed against his chest sends a pang of desire to his cock, signaling it for action. “But, we might as well make good use of the room first. It was graciously afforded to us after all.”

Daemon reaches down to grip your hips, letting forth a hiss of air as he positions you on his already rigid length. You, his little firebird, would be keeping his flame kindled all this day and perhaps all night as well, with many more to follow. You were his now, born from a threat and remade into a promise that he intended to keep.

[yourstarstruckbeloved]

how far can we go? — one | next

“what’s a lassie like yourself doing all the way out here?”

your pace quickens and you try your best to ignore the constant pestering from the man who has been following you for the past ten minutes.

“all alone...”

you don’t have the time for this.

“surely i can help you with whatever it is?”

you take a deep breath and turn around to finally face your pursuer - a man clad in blue, clearly from meztli. he stops in his tracks, and so do you. you reach for the dagger behind you, strapped to your waist, as you slowly back away from him. “i’m not sure it is anything you can help with, i’m sorry.”

“come on, you’re not going to give me a chance?”

you survey your surroundings, and then yourself. there was nothing you could have done, you’re not a fast enough runner — but you are also not in a place that a lot of people go to. all you wanted was to get the embercore flowers that grow next to the phlogiston rivers underground, and right now it looks like it’s either the man or the phlogiston river that would end it all for you. you really should have listened to chief wayna when he told you not to go alone.

the grip on the hilt of your dagger tightens as you pull it out in front of you, and your heart quickens. “whoa, isn’t threatening me with violence a bit too much? all i wanted was your name, you know.”

“you don’t need to know my name.” you click your tongue.

“too bad then, i’ll just have to get it out of mualani.” he smirks, and inches closer towards you; closer and closer until you’re backed up against the walls of an old ruin behind you. he’s seen you with mualani before. your legs turn to jelly as you imagine what this man might try to pull with mualani. although you probably don’t have to worry about her as much as you need to worry about yourself, because she is strong enough. you? your combat prowess is average at best.

“d-don’t come any closer, i will stab you!” you warn, and his face visibly turns into one of frustration. “why don’t you just give up?” he says, teeth gritted in an awkward smile.

and then you say the magic words.

“i already have a boyfriend.”

the magic did not work.

“come on, pretty, your boyfriend doesn’t have to know,”

you click your tongue in annoyance. “i am very much in love with him, you know,” you don’t drop your defensive stance, and contemplate just making a run for it. and then you see familiar amber green eyes and the tension in your body dissipates, ever so slightly. “he is right behind you, by the way.”

“oh, stop trying to make a fool out of me— OW!” the man groans as kinich throws a dart at him and walks over to your side. a little too close. but you allow it. “are you alright, _____?”

“kinich!” you throw your arms around him and bury your face in his chest and shaking ever so slightly, ignoring the man who’s fallen to his knees in front of you two. “i was- i was so scared!” kinich slightly stiffens but only momentarily; and then he pats your back in an attempt to calm you down.

“there is no way this guy is your boyfriend? what have you done to me?!”

you want to reply but kinich shakes his head. he breaks away from you and pulls out another dart. “want another shot? this is a toxin that paralyses your skeletal muscles, so you’re not going to be moving for at least two hours.”

“i— no thank you, but are you really going to leave me all alone here?”

“surely you can hold out for two hours. let’s get going, _____.”

taglist !

@yuriisclumsy

[please send me an ask or DM if you would like to be added ♡]

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Forgive Me | John Price x Reader

Summary: After a rough day, Price gets home and accidentally raises his voice at you, leading to plenty of apologies, and making up for his mistake.

Word Count: ~ 1.2k

Warnings: price yelling at reader :( angst to fluff to a lil bit of smut, fingering, cuddling, cute snuggly kisses, nothing too bad

Minors, do not interact!

A/N: this was such a cute request from anon, I love price so much…like he’s such a cutiepie y’all don’t even get it, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

You and your husband didn’t have many arguments.

Sure, the occasional little squabble where you’d only last maybe an hour before breaking and both apologizing to each other, acknowledging your wrongs.

The emotional maturity that both of you shared was something John Price appreciated most about your relationship.

But tonight was different.

He couldn’t even remember what had started the argument.

He’d already been wound up, having driven hours from the base to home after a long day of dealing with annoying recruits while his patience ran thin with their antics and horseplay. It had been a bit entertaining the first few times, but by the 40th time, it was plain annoying.

But they didn’t seem to understand that.

So he’d spent his day yelling at them till his voice was hoarse, some refusing to stop and just continuing what they’d been doing if they were ballsy enough.

And he supposed that instead of reverting into the normal John Price, the Price that was softer and gentler with you, he hadn’t seen the difference between you and those recruits in the moment.

One sarcastic remark, and you were both in the living room, Price pacing around leaving a trail on the floor while ranting in a loud, brusque voice all too similar to a yell. He got so caught up in himself, in his angry tirade of frustration with his day and the current situation, that he hadn’t noticed how he was asking until you muttered a meek little,

“John, you’re scaring me.”

It had floored him completely. Nearly all thoughts shut down at that one little sentence as he stopped pacing, standing stiller than a statue, eyes now observing your red-rimmed eyes brimmed with tears, or the quiet sniffles you were making, trying to hide them as well. He could tell.

Guilt punched him in the gut harder than any enemy had ever done.

He’d never grown up in a bad family, per se. It was just traditional. His father ranted while his mother kept her mouth shut, listening patiently and serving his every need. He could still remember how angry his father had been at his older sister when she’d snuck out with a boy. How his father had screamed at her in the kitchen while she’d sobbed, his mother doing nothing but sitting silently at the table, like a ghost.

He’d been terrified at the time. Promised himself and his future spouse that he would never treat a woman, his woman, that way.

And here he was. Doing the same thing.

“Love,”

He cooed apologetically, eyes crinkling in the corners from worry, brows furrowing as he held both his hands out towards you, watching as your bottom lip wobbled a bit when you took a little step back.

You were afraid.

Of him.

He’d be an idiot to think you wouldn’t have a bit of fear after what he’d done, screaming at you, a small woman, being the large man he was. Of course, you’d be afraid.

“I’m sorry, bird, please.”

He tried again, tone taking on a hint more desperation as he offered you at least a hand. Tears fell freely in streams down your face now, clumping in your lashes and catching in the corners of your lips.

Only when the first sob tore through your body, did you finally relent and fold into his warm, strong arms. His familiar musk, a mix of whiskey, barbecue, and a campfire, enveloped your senses as you buried your head in his shoulder. His hand stroked up and down your back soothingly, large palm gently massaging the tension out unknowingly, while his other hand ran through your hair.

“I know, I was being a right ass, wasn’ I?”

He murmured, the hand in your hair moving to your knees as he gently bent them while picking you up bridal style, your weight barely even noticeable to him as his feet padded against the floor, the door to your bedroom creaking open and promptly shutting behind him before he sat on the edge of the bed with you. The sobs shaking your already-trembling body slowly subsided, leaving you feeling emptier than before.

Now sniffling, tears hardly dried, you replied.

“Yeah, you were.”

His calloused thumb wiped whatever wetness remained on your face away. Your lips were still in a pout, one he tried to erase by gently pressing his chapped lips against yours, pulling away, his eyes gazing deep into yours.

“Really, I’m sorry. Didn’t intend to get carried away.”

He murmured, and you sniffled again before replying.

“It’s fine, I guess.”

He let out a dissatisfied hum, pulling the blankets out from underneath both of your bodies to gently cover you. He was already practically a human furnace, not needing much to warm him.

“It’s not fine, shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

His hands curled around your waist once again, holding you just a bit closer, as if wanting to keep you close. To keep you safe.

You raised a brow, relaxing into the cuddles nicely as you melted into his body, hardly noticing the way his thumbs were rubbing little circles into your hips.

“Yeah? What’re you gonna do to make it up to me, then?”

You teased, voice a bit drowsy already. He let out a small hum of thought, one warm hand slipping down your thigh, slowly making its way in between and rubbing those little circles onto your inner thigh, now.

“I’ve got an idea.”

He mumbled, his hand temporarily returning to him as he licked the pad of his thumb, leaving a bit of spit on it before returning to your inner thigh, the same hand pushing both your shorts and underwear to the side as his thumb slowly grazed through your folds, that bit of spit acting as a lubricant.

A low purr of delight from you, one that only grew more vocal as his thumb began lazy circles around your clit, not teasing or holding back, just slowly working you up until your legs were trembling, hips jerking slightly and little gasps escaping your lips.

“There you go, almost there,”

He cooed as you let a little whimper slip from between your lips, that tight coil in your stomach building and building before your orgasm washed over you like a cool breeze in the summer heat.

“Good girl…”

He murmured softly as his hand slipped out of your pants, adjusting them back into place before going back to holding your body against his, helping you back to reality from whatever clouds your sleepy mind was floating in.

“Mm…John?”

You mumbled against his shoulder, and one hand went back to stroking your hair.

“Yes, pretty?”

He questioned, ignoring the breathy little incoherent noises you kept letting out amidst words.

“I forgive you, really this time.”

An airy chuckle from your drowsy husband as he held you a little bit closer, tucking the blanket in over you as he smiled against your skin, giving your forehead a little peck before he closed his eyes, mumbling one last thing, mainly to himself, before sleep claimed him.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you, love.”

[suhkusa]

It’s dark outside when you wake up from your nap. You feel uncomfortable and weird in your day time clothes, so you slide out of your bed and quickly change. The time spent on your bed is short when you finally check your phone. 

Your eyes widen when you read Osamu’s texts. You quickly type out a response on the lines of “sure,” before you’re sliding on your slippers and heading outside. As you close your door, you can hear the neighbor’s door swing open. 

You can see his figure in the darkness, and you know he can see you as well. The two of you meet on the sidewalk that connects the walkways of your guys’ house.

“Hey, Y/N,” he sounds a bit tense, but it’s the same old Osamu if you had to guess.

“Hey,” you follow him in taking a seat on the curb. A good amount of distance between the two of you, but just enough where you could still make out his facial features in the dead of the night.

“How have you been?” Osamu starts the conversation. He’s staring off into the distance.

“I’ve been good, just finished up finals. You?” 

“Same here, I suppose. And your friends?” 

Your head tilts in thought, “They’re good as well,”

There’s a moment of silence before a question that has been poking at your mind finally works its way out. 

“How come you’re back home? Isn’t there practice for the new season?” 

You can see his eyebrows raise from your peripheral vision. Did you say something wrong?

“Oh, well,” his legs bend so he can hold his knees a bit closer, “I quit the team a while ago,” 

Your eyes finally widen, “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Nono, it’s all good. A lot of people are shocked when I tell them, too,”

“How did Atsumu react?”

The man beside you laughs a bit to himself, “As bad as you’d expect. It was around the time that… you know, happened so he had a lot of emotions pent up already,”

“I see,” is all you’re able to manage. 

You know. None of you ever seem to know what to call that situation. A few moments pass by as the two of you bask in quietness. 

“Do you hate me?” his question catches you extremely off guard. 

“What? No- I could never, ‘Samu,” your eyes are full of worry when you finally look his way. “I’m sorry if I ever made it seem like that. I care so much for you, even ‘Tsumu. I know I used to scold and fight with you a lot, but it’s because I really cared. You were my bestest friend at one point and it hurt to see you sabotaging your heart like that,”

“I-” Osamu runs a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry, too. For everything. I was childish and I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings for you. Atsumu came up with the idea. The truce, I mean. I just went with it, because on the off chance that you chose him, it meant he wouldn’t be able to have you,” but it happened anyways, you know he wants to say.

“I guess since it’s already out in the open, I can just say it. But I’ve liked you. I still like you. I’m sorry it’s stupid-”

You swiftly cut him off before he can continue, “It’s not stupid, like, at all. I liked you in our third year. I.. I was going to tell you but then you suddenly became distant, so the timing felt bad,”

Osamu sighs before tucking his face into his hands. “Fuck,” you hear him mutter under his breath.

“Is it really too late?” 

If you were caught off guard earlier, you didn’t know what to call this gut-wrenching feeling now. You already know the answer, but you’re scared. You feel like you’ve already screwed up so much, that any little thing you do next will just end in pieces.

“It’s not,”

You see him peek up at you from where he was looking down, urging you to continue. 

“I just… Just give me time, alright?”

All he does is nod in response.

And for once in your life, it feels the universe is finally reassuring you that it’ll be okay. 

BOTH AIN’T SH!T ( OSAMU VER.) — TIME

PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

NOTES.

osamu was falling asleep when y/n texted back but he jumped up when he heard the notif

his phone’s volume button is broken from throwing it after he texted

atsumu cried when he was fighting with osamu because too much was happening at the time (part of him felt guilty too)

© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.

[ninuwrites]

the show|LH+WW

summary: wade just can’t leave you alone with one request so you come up with an idea

warnings: smut, voyeurism, p in v, m and f masturbation

a/n: i had this idea for a really long time and finally i did it!!! hope you enjoy, english is not my first language btw so sorry for any mistakes!! love you all💋

———————————————————————————

logan would do anything for you.

he won’t show it much, but you both know you have him wrapped around your finger.

there were only few things he wouldn’t allow.

one of them being that he’s the only one that could touch you.

he can’t stand seeing guys even looking your way. every time he just wants to claw their eyes out.

so when wade was asking AGAIN to join your bedroom activities, logans first reaction was to beat him up and stab his face over and over again.

let’s say you weren’t really against of wade joining you, you just loved logan too much and you knew all about his possessive situation.

that’s when you came up with idea where both of the men would end up somehow happy.

“he can watch us.” you blurted out when wade wouldn’t stop talking about logans “fuckingly beautiful hawaian rolls” and how he compered you to a greek goddess.

both men were just blankly starting at you. to be honest they did not expect you to respond like that, but you wanted to satisfy both of them. (and for wade to shut up)

wade just smirked and starting babbling something about that he’ll make you fall for him and you should stop pretending and be with him (he always knew how to get on logans nerves).

logan just looked at you, looking a bit shocked and pissed at the same time. you smiled at him, “it won’t be that bad baby, will just give him a show.” you said and kissed his temple.

“come ooon kitty cat, what scared i’ll steal your girl?” wade grinned and oh boy how hard it was for logan to not stab his fucking face all over again.

but how could he say no to a woman like you?

so that’s how you found yourself on your back with a skirt and a bra ( cause logan would not let wade see all of you) with logan between you legs and his tongue lapping at your slopping hole.

“oh she sounds like a heaven.” wade moaned out, spreading his legs and touching his dick through his jeans.

“eyes on me sweetheart.” logan growled, his hands gripping your hips harder than before, making you look back between your legs, his grip definitely leaving some marks.

one of his hands carefully came up your cunt while one of his fingers slowly entered your heat. after few pumps he immediately joined another finger.

you jolted from the sudden movement and pulled his hair , getting a moan from the man which got him feasting on you more aggressively.

“wolvie come on make the girl finish.” wade spoke up.

as logan was about to scream at him to shut his fucking mouth but you managed to take his face into your hands and whispered “don’t let him get you” and “you make me feel so good”

logan gave you a kiss and continued to suck on your clit and pumping his fingers in and out of you adding a third one.

“lo- yes please i’m so close.” you moaned out and looked at the place wade was sitting.

his jeans were unbuttoned, shirt was off and his hand was carefully stroking his rock hard cock in the same rhythm as logan was getting you off. you looked into his eyes and moaned again.

“go on honey, let go f’ me will ya?” logan said with his movements speeding up, his thick fingers hitting the sweetest spot in your hot needing cunt.

in the same time, wades hand and breath was speeding up as your moans got louder and the feeling in your tummy got bigger.

“oh yes lo i’m c- i’m cumming!” you screamed, your eyes never leaving wade.

wade threw his head back and spilled all over his jeans and stomach.

“enjoying the show wade?” you asked still out of breath and logan licking you cunt clean.

“you’re unreal sweetie pie.” his legs twitched.

“oh that was just foreplay, here comes the best part.” you smirked and pulled logan by his shirt to face you.

between kisses, you pulled his shirt down and made him sit on the bed so you were on top of him.

you trailed wet kisses down his neck, to his chest and down to his lower tummy. logan meanwhile played with the meat of your ass and tights.

you pulled his boxers down, his cock springing out and hitting his stomach.

“you’re so beautiful lo, always make me feel so good.” you said your eyes never leaving gis as you gave his res tip kitten licks and small kisses.

logan growled and took your hair into is hands , urging you down to his cock.

“don’t tease baby.” he breathed out and you finally relaxed your jaw and took his girth inside your mouth.

“so good to me honey, love your mouth so much.” he growled and pulled your head closer, your nose almost touching his happy trail.

“you can do it baby, so pretty.” he was looking down at you, your eyes were glossy, mouth full and red lips. he could cum just by looking at you.

as he feels your nose touching his abdomen he was a goner. his legs tensed and the grip on your hair tightened.

“okay off, wanna- wanna cum in you.” he patted your head. you gave his shaft one last lick and a kiss on the tip.

“oh man, honey badger you’re one lucky motherfucker.” wade stated.

you looked at him and smirked, sending him a air-kiss. logan just grabbed your face and kissed you, “ride me sweetheart, want to feel you so bad.” logan winced.

oh how you loved seeing logan like this so needy even if he doesn’t show it. the man is down bad for you.

you kissed his jaw, his hand gripped your hips as he helped you sink down his veiny and thick girth.

“so- so big lo- fill me so good- can feel you so deep.” you mumbled out, not sure your words had some sense.

after a few moments you started moving your hips slowly, occasionally grinding on logans thick cock.

“yes baby so tight, sucking me in like a little slut.” logan said making you moan, you loved when he talked to you while his dick was buried inside you.

“my girl, my pretty pretty girl.” logan whispered his hips slamming back to yours.

you looked to the side, checking on wade that was absolutely astonished by you. his eyes couldn’t leave yours, you tried saying something but you felt too good to even form a sentence.

you tried to speed up you movements, but your legs were wearing out which logan took advantage of and slammed you on your back.

his lips never left yours as he reentered you again. your eyes rolled back and your nails dug into his back which made logan moaned.

“squeezing me like a vice bub, let go for me love. give it to me baby.” he urged, his hips slamming into yours, “look at me when you cum.” he growled.

out of nowhere, your orgasm washed over you, your legs trembling, digging the heels of your legs into logan and moaning out logans name.

you looked so beautiful that it was hard for logan to keep it together. he fucked you over your orgasm ti near overstimulation.

“almost there baby.” he spoke up, reminding that he won’t hold for long.

“yeah want my cum sweetheart? gonna fill you up so good baby, fuck a baby into you.” he groaned, his hips stuttering as he shot his load into your overstimulated cunt.

logan fell on top of you, holding up by his hands. as you both calmed down, you kissed, slow and loving after sex make out. (as always)

“oh god, it should be illegal for you to be together. like fuck it’s not fair that both of you are so hot..” wade started speaking again.

you looked over to face logan again,

“at least now we know how to shut him up.”

[loui3e]

Guilty Pleasure

It’s been awhile since you’ve turned up the dial’

Worst!Logan x Reader

Summary: After a first date gone wrong Logan finally confesses the truth.

A/n: I might make a smutty part 2 if you all enjoy this. Has been proofread.

Warnings: A sprinkle of angst, miscommunication (I know), all is solved in the end. Kinda suggestive.

Words: 795

First dates are odd things.

Scary even, especially with a man who you think doesn’t want a bit to do with you.

You’re convinced Wade put him up to this because there’s a scowl permanently etched into his facial features.

You won’t let this get you down though, I mean you’re still on a date with a man that you’ve had a massive crush on since he’s moved in next door. Better than nothing you suppose.

You sip your milkshake, your hands awkwardly tapping the table in an attempt to fill the uncomfortable silence.

“What do you do?”

Your head shoots up, eyes wide. That’s the first time he’s spoken since you’ve arrived to this diner besides telling the waiter what he wanted. His words are gruff, almost reluctant but its words nonetheless.

“Uh, what do I do? Um, art.” You stumble over your words, not use to the sound of your voice after all this quiet. Logan raises a brow from across you.

“Art?”

“Yeah, like I paint.”

“Traditionalist then?”

You chuckle and shake your head, “I guess so.” There’s a new bout of silence, a little more comfortable.

“What do you do?” You reflect the words back, a little happier than his. Shifting your plate out of the way and setting your head on your hand so your full attention is on him.

Logan wouldn’t consider himself a particular interesting person, sure he’s got some stories to tell but those are all circumstantial. But your eyes are on him; bright and curious.

You’re just a naturally curious person, but also partly crushing on him. He’s certainly handsome. You’ve seen him on the halls of your apartment complex, tall and broad. You could fantasise about him all day.

“Not much.”

Your daydream is cut short.

“Surely something?”

Logan’s fully realised he really doesn’t do a lot, now that he thinks about. He expects you to retreat back into disinterest but you don’t, you pry instead.

“Everyone has something, what’s your calling?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. That scowl sneaks back onto his face as he sits back against his seat arms crossed.

You think you’ve might’ve said something wrong, but not for long before the waiter comes over with the bill.

It’s not until you see him at a bar do you speak next, you haven’t really seen him since the date. “Logan,” you call as you take a seat beside him, smiling timidly.

He gives you a nod of acknowledgment. Logan feels a little bad for avoiding you after that date, but after your conversation he doesn’t quite think he’s worth your time.

“We hadn’t spoken after that date, I don’t wanna pry but did I say something wrong? I mean I know Wade put you up to this so you probably didn’t even want to go.”

“What? Wade didn’t put me up to this,” Logan speaks with hard honesty, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But I thought- you looked so disinterested.” You lean in closer to him, head cocked to the side. His eyes met yours and he feels a pang of guilt.

God, he’s an idiot, it didn’t even occur to him it he looked like that. “No, not at all,” he takes a swig of whiskey before continuing. “I just, haven’t been on a date in awhile. I don’t think you’d like me much once you got to know me.”

Your jaw falls open as you look at him before you start laughing. Relief washing over your features, and partly at the thought that you wouldn’t like Logan once you got to know him.

“Logan I’ve been crushing on you since you moved in, you can’t scare me off.”

“You’d be surprised, sweetheart.” Logan places a bill down onto the table for his drink before getting up to leave. He’s trying to put up a wall between you and him.

“Logan I’m serious,” you shout after him following him out of the bar. Logan turns on his heel to face you a before you can think you’re pulling him in by the lapels of his jacket and crashing your lips against his. You pull back, stunned.

“Oh my god, I didn’t even think-“ now it’s his turn to take you by surprise because his kissing you back. Your arms wrap around his neck, his walls crumble under your touch.

He tastes like cheap whiskey and smoke. An addictive taste that you’re sure you’ll be coming back for; like a cigarette.

“I guess you were serious,” Logan chuckles, breathing heavily.

“I can show you how even more serious I am, if you come back to mine,” you grin up at him, still wrapped up in his arms and the electricity of the moment.

“I’d like that.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just One Reason: When We Met

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn't end how you expect.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

As you approach the sandwich shop, another pedestrian comes up from the other side. You open the door and hold it for them, waiting patiently for them to go first. The place isn’t very busy, you can wait an extra turn to get your food. 

The man barely acknowledges you as he enters. You’re used to that. In the city, manners run down the gutters with the rain and litter.  

You follow him inside. As he stomps to the counter, poking his ear in agitation, you stand back in a single-person queue. You check the chalkboard menu for the soups of the day. Oh, cabbage. They make the best cabbage soup you’ve ever had. 

You bounce on your heels as your gaze wanders over the monochrome wall art over the handcrafted wood tables. You open and close the flap of your crossbody purse. Your father always said you flutter like a hummingbird. Never quiet still and a little skittish. 

Behind the glaze of your distraction, the man’s deep snarl breaks through. You blink and lean to see around him. The cashier bats her lashes and puffs out her cheeks, “sorry sir, we discontinued the Mexican wrap, but the chipotle is similar--” 

“I don’t want the fucking chipotle,” he cups his ear and growls as he pushes his head into his hand.  

“They don’t send us the cilantro lime sauce anymore, sir,” the employee explains. “But I could add some peppers--” 

“Can’t you understand me?” He snips. 

“Erm, if you... if you put a bit of cilantro on, it would be close, wouldn’t it?” You ask, cringing as your thoughts spill out without intention. 

The man glares over his shoulder as his cheek pits derisively. He squints and shakes his head. He throws his arms out and faces the cashier again. “Whatever. Give me the damn chipotle with cilantro. I’m starving.” He reaches back for his wallet, “some fucking week...” he mutters. 

He slides the leather wallet above his pocket but it catches and falls from his grasp. He growls and bends to retrieve it. “Another fucking thing...” 

You watch him pick up his wallet and finger his ear again. It seems to cause him pain. The cashier watches helplessly. You feel bad for both of them. It just seems like a miscommunication. 

“Um, excuse me,” you wave two fingers at the cashier. “Can you add a cabbage soup and I’ll for both?” 

The employee blinks and the man snaps up with a scowl. They both stand in silent surprise. He finally shakes his head. “Why would you do that?” His tone makes it sound like an accusation. 

“I don’t know. Seems like you’re having a bad day and I can?” You shrug and cautiously step forward, “can I also get an iced raspberry tea?” 

“Uhhhh, sure,” the employee keys in the items. 

“Sir, did you want a drink?” You twist back to the man as he stands aside with a leery squint. He just shakes his head. 

“Alright, that’s everything. No cookie today,” you dig in your purse. “Debit, please.” 

She hits total and you pay. The receipt juts out of the machine and you step to the side to wait with one last thanks to the cashier. You tuck your card away and slip your phone out as your hands long to fidget. You know the man is staring, you can feel it, but you don’t want to piss him off even more than he already is. 

The lull that follow is torturous. The man’s wrap is up first and you wait for him to take it. He hesitates and you hand it to him. 

“I hope it’s still good,” you say with a smile at his throat. You’re too scared to look him in the eye. 

“You know I have money,” he grits. 

“Oh, no, that’s not... it isn’t... just a nice thing. Like, maybe one day you can pay it forward. I don’t know,” you rock sheepishly and look behind the counter. 

He nods and backs up. The cashier puts your soup up and your iced tea. You thank her and take your food.  

“Have a good one, sir.” 

You shuffle away to the table in the corner. You sit, self-conscious as the man lingers. Is he mad? You don’t think you were rude. 

The man sighs and goes up to the counter, “hey, look, I’m... sorry,” his words are stiff as if he could choke on them. “Thanks for the wrap.” 

“Oh, uh, okay, sir,” the cashier sounds shocked. “Um, enjoy.” 

You stir the soup and blow away the steam. As you scoop up a spoonful, the man approaches. You look at the velvet toes of his loafers then follow them up. He sits without invitation. 

You stare at him and lower your spoon. 

“Thanks for the wrap,” he says. “I was being a—jerk.” The last word is stunted as if he meant to say something else. “Mind if I eat with you?” 

You look around. The place is empty. You shrug. 

“Sure,” you grab the iced tea and swirl the ice. “Be nice to have company, I guess.” 

He hums and shifts in the chair. He peels away the wrapper and you sip from the straw. You put the cup down and stare into your soup. Your eyes flick up again and you find him staring. 

“Lloyd,” he offers his hand across the table, “but you can just call me that jackass who yells at people.” 

You give your name in return, his change in tone soothing your nerves. 

“You been here before?” He asks. 

“Once in a while,” you say. “When I can afford it. It’s a special treat. They have good soup.” 

He nods and looks down at the wrap, “yeah, food is pretty decent.” He lifts the wrap but doesn’t bite into it. He hovers it before him. “You know, you didn’t have to be nice to me.” 

“You never know what other people are going through. Sometimes, they just need some kindness,” you say. “And if they’re just a butthole, well, you’re not going to change that by matching their energy.” 

His brows arch, and he tilt his head. He sucks in his cheeks thoughtfully, “well, I think I’m just a butthole, as you put it. Thanks for giving me a chance.” 

You don’t know what to say. It’s awkward. You usually eat alone. You don’t have anyone to eat with, not since dad passed. Still, not all change is bad, is it? You’ve already faced the worst kind of change. 

You lean forward and take a bite of your soup. Sometimes making someone’s day easier makes your own a little brighter. As of late, none of them have been more than gloomy. 

[adhd-fandom-hyperfocus]

✧₊⁺ This Was Not In The Codex ✧₊⁺

Pairing: demetrian titus x reader(f)

Summary: Titus is on a much-needed leave on Macragge. While there he runs into you, or rather you run into him escaping terrible punishment for being unable to tell a lord no.

Part 1/?

Arthur's Note: I am terrible at keeping POV when writing in the third person and try to do omniscient, but again I am no real writer.

Warnings: Pregnancy (reader is pregnant), mentions of SA, and general gimdarkness.

18+ Minors DNI

★。------ ＼｜／------。★

There were several reasons Titus was planet side, from a wound he sustained that required more rest than normal, and Calgar seemed all too aware that with everything that had happened, there was still lingering broken trust among his brothers. Moving Leandros to Chaplin was a means of stopping the boy from doing more harm, but it wasn't a move Calgar hadn't been overly pleased with.

But Titus seemed to understand the will of their Gene-sire better than most, and his humanity despite it all remained intact. Something Guilliman wanted to make sure was nurtured.

Titus lumbered through the streets, drawing eyes as he did. Even within the great Macragge people were still awe-struck to see an Astartes. It was odd the monotonous sounds of everyday life felt more overwhelming than the loud cacophony of war. Though the smells were much more desirable. Scents of smoked meat were pulling the large man along when his ears picked up commotion and then something small bumped into him.

Oh the pitiful creature that had run into him. You looked worn beyond your years, weak from malnourishment and shaking like a leaf in the wind looking up and seeing what you ran into. Your lips busted and scabbed over from dry blood. Your feet are torn and broken apart from no proper footwear.

The thin rag you call a dress barely hides your bump. Your hands instinctively wrapped around it, as if you could protect your unborn child from such a giant. A smell rose into his nose as he heart the faint trickling of liquid. You were so terrified you were urinating yourself. Titus had seen this fear in warzones. What in the Throne had you so scared. His size aside.

Titus could see law enforcement coming up, chasing her. But they weren't local militia, these were private. His mind reeled all the practicals and theoreticals there could be to this situation.

"Can you get behind me, please? Are you able to move?" he asked quietly, as gently as he could, though with some urgency.

You nodded weakly and moved behind him, his massive body hiding you.

The guards stop short of Titus gazing upon the Asartes. His aura gave them great pause, mostly seeing how you were hugging one of his large legs.

"I see you are one of the Emperor's angels. Lord, she is a wanted criminal, and have been tasked to bring her back to our lord's estate." one guard finally spoke, but there was a shakiness to his voice.

"Wanted? On what charges, and why back there and not turned over to proper authorities?" Titus pressed. The rough timber of his voice becoming more pressing against the guards.

The guard looked uneasy and agitated, going between the two emotions rapidly, "This matter is hardly of note for one such of you My Lord, please, let us take her."

Titus shook his head, "No. You have not answered my questions. What is her crime and why is she to be taken to your lord?”

“Is not enough that she is a serf who has abandoned her duties?” the main guard responded, “She is to be taken home and punished. On top of that she is to be questioned by the Inquisition for heresy for seducing our lord with foul magic.”

Titus choked down a snarl at the mention of the Inquisition. Of course, a group of religious zealots could be tricked into seeing a poor serf as a heretic, so a piss poor excuse of a lord could get rid of his dirty laundry.

Perhaps his primarch was right and this Imperium was a rotting corpse.

“Then this is cause for my concern. I will take her into custody and our librarian will see to her.”

You start to plead and move away, as vain as you know it to be, but a large hand stops you. Holds you in place. It is firm, but not harsh.

The guard tried once again to argue but Titus cut him off, this time not holding back so much on his voice's power, “Are you challenging a member of the Astartes guard? I am not beholden to you, and she is in my charge now, so she is no longer either. Tell your lord if he so wishes to continue this nonsense he can do so with me. Now leave unless you wish a more physical understanding of my words.”

The warning was understood and the men scattered, and after a moment the crowd that had gathered went about their daily lives. Sounds of a busy community returned.

Titus turned to you, his hand still upon you. He knelled so he might be close to your eyes, “Hello, Little One. I am Lieutenant Titus, of the Ultra Marines. Would you allow me to carry you back to our fortress? You are safe. I give you my word.”

What choice did you have? None really. He could crush you with no effort, and you were dead anyhow. You just hoped when he decided to end you, it would be quick, and he would spare your baby.

You nodded, but sob quietly, “My Lord...I...” you were ashamed, “I soiled myself, I would not want that on you.”

Titus smiled, “Hush now,” he spoke cradling you in one arm and standing, “Far worse has been on me. There is no shame. I will see you get some clean clothes, food in your belly, and a Medicae Mortus to see to you.”

A soft chuckled rose from him, it was unnerving, yet comforting. This angel, was being so kind to an undeserving serf like you.

“Our Apothecaries are not specialized in baseline human needs. I am not even sure they know how babies are made, or how they grow inside you. But ask them about how to deal with a wound from a spawn of the warp? Collect gene-seed? Well then they don't shut up.”

You looked up at him with some confusion, “you do not know where babies come from?”

Titus felt warm suddenly, and adverted his gaze, “I mean. Well. It was not something they deemed important for us to know.”

You could only hum a response. Resting in his powerful harm. Held so delicately and carefully. It was dangerous. You knew this, but it was still the safest you felt in months and your worn body, gave out and forced you into a sleep that was deeply needed.

[asteraddicted]

Small interaction idea I got for the Supersons (pre-Jon age up; I HATE THAT PART) soooo sorry if this is bad its my first official drabble post (did i use that term correctly???)

Based on this (one part blacked out bc idk how tumblr would take it)

[—-—-—-—-—-—-—-🫧🪼-—-—-—-—-—-—-—]

"Hey, Damian?" Jon spoke up, he and Damian lounging in Damian's room because— no offense to Clark, but Wayne Manor was cooler for sleepovers.

"Yes, Kent?" Damian huffed, focused on sharpening one of his many daggers. Despite the dynamic, the two were undeniable best friends. It was surprising at first, with Damian's blunt, down-to-earth personality with snap backs and insults that would make a grown man cry. Damian Wayne, best friends with a sunny, optimistic, 'blinding everyone with his smile' Jon Kent. But of course, the two didn't start out that way.

"Remember when you practically- no, you DID kidnap me after I accidentally.. killed a cat and a hawk?" Jon mumbled the last part, clearly still ashamed of it. He hadn't told Damian the whole story yet, despite how long it had been. Damian's eyebrows furrowed, and he got a little closer. He remembered those times, back before they were friends.

"Yes, I remember," he replied, his voice still firm as he inquired. "Why are you bringing that up again, Kent?" Damian — despite his almost inhuman abilities, talents, and feats — was still human, and still had the ability to forget things.

"..Nothing! It's just.. the cat. Goldie was her name. It's her deathday today." Jon frowned, having always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Jon couldn't help but mistake the sting building up in his eyes as the burning feeling of letting his heat vision go off and MURDER cremate the two innocent creatures on accident. It was only for a second, but Damian could see how Jon panicked in that little moment.

"And? Your point?" He said, his tone a surprisingly a tad bit softer than usual. He didn't really know what Jon was talking about. Really, he did remember kidnapping Jon because he didn't trust him. But to Damian? That was like another regular Tuesday for him.

"..I didn't mean to kill Goldie, or the hawk. I know you know that. But Goldie had escaped her house, and I was chasing her to get her back." Jon began to explain, and he wasn't as cheerful as he usually was. Not as he finally told Damian the full story. Jon couldn't help it. It had been at the very least a few years ago, but the horror Jon had felt that day was something Jon himself never forgot.

"..their bodies were charred and burning. Couldn't tell hawk from cat.. only Goldie's collar remained! I.." Jon had to go quiet to compose himself. His hands were actually shaking. Damian listened to the story. He knew something was wrong with Jon. He was not his usual cheerful, confident self.

Damian looked at Jon, his expression hard to read. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to comfort him. Damian was never good at comfort. He just sat back in silence for a while, processing what Jon had told him. Being from the League of Assassins, death was nothing new to him. Hell, he's killed animals on purpose for mission and training before he was taken to Wayne Manor. Whales and tigers and lions and eagles, on and on. It was a little hard to see from Jon's perspective, but Damian tried.

"..Y'know.. I don't think you remember what you said to me when I woke up after you kidnapped me. Hehe.." Jon let out a chuckle, smiling with his teeth to try and lighten his sadness with humor. "You told me.. 'You are a threat to every living thing on and off this planet.' And Damian, I know this is stupid, but.." Jon curled his knees to his chest, eyes on the blank screen as a movie they were watching played it's end credits.

"..I believed you. In a way.. I still do. I'm scared of myself, Dami." Jon admitted quietly before grinning and wiping his tears.

"But I guess that's pretty dumb, right?" Jon grinned widely. He was half-Kryptonian and his dad was Superman! He shouldn't cry, and he didn't have any reason to! He was growing up, and he should be more in control of his emotions.

Yet Jon had let his mind wander multiple times, whenever he passed by where it happened. It was ironic, but Jon couldn't help but be scared of himself. Yes, himself. He had the powers of Superman — the Man of Steel himself. And he was also a young boy who could be easily tricked and manipulated. Jon was strong and carefree, but he wasn't stupid. At least not all the time. Jon has witnessed some extremely traumatic events in his life. The possibility that he had the power to massacre entire cities — maybe states, countries, or eventually the world? That was something that made Jon want to lock himself up in a kryptonite cage and hide away.

Jon was afraid of his powers and the destruction they could bring. He was immune to fire, but still couldn't stop himself from imagining the burning, mangled, charred bodies of a hawk and a cat each time there was a fire that was large enough.

Damian clenched his jaw. He remembered that day. He remembered telling Jon that he was a threat. Listening to Jon talk about his fear of himself and his own powers made something inside of Damian ache. He didn't like it. Not one bit.

"It's not dumb," he said, his voice softer than usual. Damian didn't know why he was being so soft (he knew exactly why, but he didn't want to admit it. Not yet.). "And you're not a threat, Kent. You're not. You never were. You're the last person who's a threat to anything."

"That's EXACTLY why I'm a threat, Dames! I'm part Kryptonian!.. I'm invincible to most on Earth." Jon exclaimed, sighing. "I can still go rogue! Dad has gone rogue before. I don't.." Jon trailed off.

"Kent. If you think for a second I'd let you go rogue, just know my Father has plenty of Kryptonite stocked away that I would not hesitate to use." Damian narrowed his eyes, but not in an angry way. It was affectionate, though it would be hard to tell from an outsider's perspective. Jon, oddly enough, felt reassured. Reassured that if something goes wrong, that Damian would be there to stop him. He'd always be there to stop him.

"You promise, Dames?" Jon couldn't help but whisper.

"Yes, I promise. Now come on. Didn't you want to show me this movie called 'Legally Blonde' or something?" Damian rolled his eyes, but they still held that tinge of care. That hint of affection that was only reserved for Jon, and wasn't the type that Damian held for his family. No, Damian had a part of his heart specifically reserved for Jon Kent.

"Okay, good. Now come on, let's watch a pretty girl kick legal butt!" Jon grinned, ultimately feeling much better. He was so lucky to have Damian.

[—-—-—-—-—-—-—-🫧🪼-—-—-—-—-—-—-—]

AN: First post, not beta read and written in the dead of night lol. I do not write much. Romantic or platonic? Idk you choose :P

[holylulusworld]

Compensation (3)

Summary: No one messes with Walter Marshall.

Pairing: Mobster!Walter Marshall x fem!Reader

Warning: angst, a lil plot twist, scared reader, fluff, possessive Walter, language

Compensation (2)

“I know it’s not your apartment, but please, make yourself home, princess,” Walter murmurs as he follows you inside the guest room. It’s not far away from the master bedroom, the one Walter inhabits.

The luxurious bedroom looks bigger than your former apartment. It’s part of his well-designed home. Everything in the room looks brand new and expensive. From the vanity table to the chaise lounge. There is a velvety, high-end carpet placed under the luxurious four-poster bed.

“I know you must be tired, but let me give you a tour,” he says and wraps one arm around your shoulders. Walter guides you toward a door on the other side of the huge room. His warmth is almost unbearable. You want to bask in it and feel safe, but you can’t.

Walter drops his arm from around your shoulders to point at the door.

“Walk-in wardrobe. Through the other door is a bathroom, with a shower, a bathtub, and everything you’ll need.”

You can't find your voice, so you nod. Everything is just too much. Your boss killed a man for you. Your home got destroyed. And now he wants you to live with him.

Why? You have no clue.

“How about you take a warm bath and get settled in? I’ll be right next door, Y/N. If you need anything, the door to the left is mine.” He smirks when you look up at him with big, wide eyes. “You’re safe here. Nothing will happen to you on my watch.”

He finally steps away, letting you breathe. Walter looks you all over again, humming as you look adorable in his sweater. It’s too big for you and reaches your knees.

“Thank you,” you murmur; it’s all you can do. “For everything.”

Walter hesitates for a moment. He stares at you for what feels like hours before he cups your face with his right hand. “Don’t worry. You’ll have everything you need. Get some sleep now.”

And then he turns around to leave you even more stunned. You can still feel the warmth of his hand on your skin when the door shuts behind him.

You stare at the door for a little longer before you turn toward the walk-in wardrobe. Opening the door, you gasp. You expected it to be empty, not filled with clothes.

You slowly walk inside, glancing at the pretty clothes. Dresses from designers you only ever saw in fashion magazines, soft sweaters, and shoes in every form. Nightgowns, pajamas, even socks. Everything is your size.

“That’s impossible,” you grab one of the sweaters, frowning because it’s brand new. “How can he know my size?” Even if Walter knew your size, how did he manage to get so many clothes in such a short amount of time?

You’re overwhelmed once again. Stumbling out of the wardrobe, you make your way toward the bathroom door. Maybe if you splash cold water on your face, you’ll wake from this dream.

“I said no!” Walter barks on the phone. “I don’t want to meet up tonight or any other night.” He makes a face as one of his regular sex dates purrs filthy things. “Stop that, or I’ll make you stop. Never call me again. I have someone now."

He hangs up the phone, immediately blocking her number.

“You have someone now?” Rachel cocks a brow. “I didn’t know you’re dating. When did that happen?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Walter waves her off, not in the mood to explain his love life to her. “I’m not into Chanel any longer. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No.” She shakes her head. Rachel tries to stay professional, never getting involved in her boss’s private life. “I was just wondering if you need us to protect the new woman in your life.”

“She’s not for you to worry about.” He dips his head to glance at Rachel. “I need you to check on the whereabouts of Y/N’s ex-boyfriend. Find me some dirt I can use against him. That fucker has to stay away from her.”

“Why not find a final solution?” Rachel questions. “I can send someone to get rid of him.”

“The cops would connect the dots, Rachel. Y/N works for me. She lives at my place. Suddenly her ex disappears?” He huffs. “We cannot risk drawing too much attention toward us and our business.”

“Got it, boss. I’ll find all the dirt you want.

Opening the cabinet in the bathroom, you frown. There’s lots of makeup, creams, lotions, and everything you could wish for. Everything is unopened.

The expensive shampoo and conditioner are the ones you always wanted to try. You shake your head. How could Walter possibly know about all that?

No. He can’t. Maybe one of his girlfriends liked the brand, and he had some left to give to you. This must be it. Everything else doesn’t make sense...

You decide to forget about what happened and do what Walter told you to do. You’re going to take a warm bath and try to get some sleep.

“No!” You wake up screaming. The soft blanket clutched to your chest, you stare at the door when it bursts open. Walter storms into the room, a gun in his hands.

“Princess?” He steps inside your room, looking for an intruder. “What happened? Are you hurt? Did someone try to hurt you?”

You’re panting heavily, close to panicking. “I-I…he…” You shake your head, and Walter sighs. He had hope you’re going to heal knowing the man attacking you is dead. How foolish of him. Of course, you won’t get over what happened so easily.

“It was a nightmare,” he concludes and steps even closer to your bed. Walter looks at you, clinging to the blanket. “Do you want me to stay?”

He presses his hands to his sides to not scare you even more. You look at him, wrinkling your forehead. “I can sleep on the floor or on the chaise lounge.”

Dipping your head, you look at the small chaise lounge. A huge man like Walter could never sleep comfortably on the furniture.

“I don’t know,” you tug at the blanket, eyes darting from Walter’s face to the gun in his hand. “Would you?”

“Sure, princess,” Walter murmurs your name as he secures his gun. He puts it on the nightstand before he turns to close the door. You’re nervously chewing on your lower lip. Your boss is crawling under the covers to lie next to you. His big hands reach out for you to bring you into his arms.

You go stiff when he nuzzles his face in your neck. “I’m here, Y/N. He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe with me, princess. Always.”

“Okay, Walter wants the dirt. Get it!” Rachel barks orders at the tech nerd they hired some months ago. “Oh, and do me a favor.” She runs her hand over Jensen’s back. “Check on Y/N Y/L/N and her father too.”

“Why?” Jensen frowns. “The boss wanted me to do the same months ago. I thought he was satisfied with the information I gave to him.”

Rachel frowns deeply. “Months ago?”

“Yup. Boss wants me to check on every employee, but damn, he even wanted to know about her favorite ice cream.” Jensen grins before typing away on his keyboard. “Does he want me to print him everything again? I bet he accidentally threw it away.”

“Can you send me everything to my account?” Rachel asks. “And not a word to Walter. I want to check on her background again. I need to be sure he didn’t overlook an important detail.”

“Not much to find out about her,” Jensen shrugs. “Her parents died in an accident. Nothing interesting or fishy about it. She’s a single child. Do you want me to continue?”

“Her parents are dead.” She frowns deeply. "Compensation, my ass!” Rachel exclaims before glaring at Jensen. “I want everything you got on her, her parents, and everyone she ever talked to. If you tell Walter about this, I’ll cut your tongue out!”

You fell asleep faster than Walter expected. His warmth and two strong arms wrapped around you made you feel safe.

“I’ve got you, princess.” He murmurs in your neck. “I knew when I saw you that first day after you came to my town that you’re going to be mine.”

Walter closes his eyes to allow himself to get some sleep too. He regrets nothing. Having you finally in his arms was worth all the effort.

The only thing he regrets is that he couldn’t stop the bastard from attacking you. Walter should’ve made a move on you sooner. Your attacker would’ve stayed away from you knowing you’re Walter Marshall’s girlfriend...

Part 4

Tags in reblog.

[0x-cinder]

Zoro and fem!reader are having a drinking contest and a barely sober reader ends up dancing with an arrogant stranger.

Trigger Warnings: Alcohol consumption, mild references to sex, non-detailed descriptions of vomiting.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦. 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

"I wasn't Jealous!"

"Give up, swordsman, you'll never beat me!" you exclaimed.

"No shot, Princess!" The swordsman barked, downing his third beer of the night, "There's no way I'm letting a woman out-drink me!"

With a determined look in your eye, you waved down the bartender and ordered your third drink, "Watch me."

Zoro laughed in response and followed your lead, requesting another beer.

The rules were simple—a drinking contest where the loser had to help Sanji with the dishes for a week. You didn't plan on losing, so you made sure to choose a punishment that Zoro would despise.

However, after watching you down your sixth drink of the night, Zoro began to think that accepting your challenge may have been a bad decision, especially because you started swaying just after the fourth round.

"Alright Princess," he said sternly, leaning in so that you could hear him over all the noise inside the busy tavern, "maybe you should call it quits for the night."

"I will do no such thing!" you exclaimed, shaking your head profusely, "not until you surrender!"

Zoro paused, weighed his competitive spirit against the thought of carrying you, blacked out, back to the Sunny…

It was a short walk to the docks. You'd be fine.

Taking his silence as a refusal to yield, you waved down the tired-looking bartender and ordered another round.

A few minutes later, you felt the sudden urge to use the restroom as seven rounds of drinks finally reached your bladder. You stood, steadying yourself against the bar.

"Be right back," you slurred to the swordsman before making your way across the tavern towards the lady's room, putting a great deal of effort into appearing as sober as possible.

Zoro chuckled as he watched you stumble away.

You joined the Strawhats three months ago when the crew docked in your hometown for supplies. Zoro and Luffy stopped for a drink at your father's bar after being chased by an angry shopkeeper for "scaring away paying customers." Luffy caught you scribbling a story on a napkin behind the bar and, after sneaking a peak at what you'd written, decided you'd be the crew's chronicler, responsible for documenting the Strawhat's "glorious adventures."

The swordsman didn't talk to you much at first, but he soon got used to your presence as his crow's nest became your favorite writing spot. He'd noticed that you'd stop writing to watch him train sometimes and found himself pushing harder to impress you. Then, after a close run-in with the Blackbeard Pirates, he convinced you to let him teach you how to wield a sword. His chances of losing you were significantly lower if you were armed.

The bartender slid a glass of water across the bar, snapping the green-haired man out of his thoughts.

"For your friend," he winked, "You'd better give up soon, the poor lass is going to drink herself sick."

The green-haired man figured the barkeep was probably right anddecided to "give up" for your sake once you returned. You'd probably be too hungover to remember it in the morning, anyway.

Yet, 5 more minutes passed. You still hadn't returned. Zoro let out an exasperated sigh, no way she got herself stuck in the bathroom he thought.

Zoro crossed the tavern floor and lifted his hand to knock on the bathroom door.

Before his knuckles hit the wood, however, the door swung open to reveal a woman who looked nothing like you. "Wrong one, handsome, the men's is over there," she said, gesturing towards a door down the hall.

Zoro didn't respond, too focused on soothing the mild panic rising in his chest. The woman gave him an odd look before maneuvering around him and disappearing into the crowd on the dance floor.

Where the fuck did she go? He thought, How on earth did I lose track of her?

The swordsman circled the tavern's main room, his anxiety growing with every face he spied that wasn't yours.

Just as he started to get the horrible feeling that you'd somehow left the bar without him noticing, he caught a glimpse of you near the center of the crowd of dancing bodies.

Eyes locked on your position, Zoro pushed through the crowd to find you dancing in the center of it all. His panic eased, relieved to have found you, but anger quickly took his place as he noticed the hands of an unfamiliar man wrapped around your waist, guiding your hips with his to the music, holding you too close for the swordsman's comfort.

The stranger spun you around, and your eyes met his. Your smile widened. "Zoro! There you are,∼" you shouted, pushing away from your dance partner and stumbling towards the swordsman, "I wondered where you'd gone!"

"Hey, you disappeared on me, Woman." Zoro argued, pushing his index finger against your forehead.

You took his hand and spun around, "Whatever. Come dance with me∼"

"I don't dance"

"C'mon∼" you snaked your arms around his neck, pushing yourself against him.

Zoro felt every inch of his body grow warmer at your touch; his mind ran blank for a moment before he reminded himself that he should probably get you home. He gently pushed you off of him, "You've had a lot to drink, maybe we should-"

"Don't waste your time with this killjoy, sweetheart," A voice sounded over your shoulder. Your dance partner appeared behind you, reaching for your left arm, which now hung loosely by your side. "Come hang out with the fun people∼"

Zoro couldn't stop the glare that spread across his features as the stranger gave your arm a slight tug, which, in your unstable state, was enough to make you stumble right into him. The man caught you, arms pressed tight around your waist to provide as much stability as he could without falling to the ground with you.

You gave him a sheepish smile. "oops, sorry."

"You're welcome to fall for me any time, darling." He winked.

Zoro felt rage start to seep back through his veins.

"Alright, princess, time to go. You're gonna hurt yourself and I promised Nami I'd return you in one piece," the swordsman said sternly, reaching for you.

The stranger leaned closer to Zoro, still holding you firm against him, "C'mon man, don't be a cockblock." He said with a smirk.

Zoro's blood reached its boiling point. Before he could stop himself, he swung his already clenched fist straight into the bastard's face, propelling him backward. You would have gone flying with him if Zoro hadn't caught your wrist and pulled you back.

Your stomach heaved at the sudden commotion, and the room spun as you hunched over and vomited, barely missing Zoro's right foot.

The swordsman didn't give you a chance to recover as your former dance partner stood back up, red in the face with anger and humiliation. Not to mention the bartender, who was making his way around the bar to catch whoever was disturbing the peace.

Zoro scooped you up and dashed out of the tavern. Of course, he would have loved to stay for the fight, but he didn't want to risk getting you caught in the middle of it, especially in your heavily intoxicated state.

Once he was certain no one was tailing you both, Zoro turned into an alleyway and set you down, where you proceeded to hurl the contents of your stomach onto the pavement. The green-haired man sighed and pulled your hair away from your face as he waited for you to finish.

Once your stomach was empty, you stood. Still a little dizzy, but at least the nausea had subsided.

"Better?" Zoro asked, removing his hand from your hair.

"Much better."

"You shouldn't dance with strange men." He chided.

"And you shouldn't punch people just because you're jealous."

Zoro felt his face flush. "I wasn't jealous, woman."

"Yeah you were." you teased, pointing a finger into his chest, "I was just having fun and you punched him because you were jealous." you smiled, drawing out the syllables in the word "jealous" just to tease him.

"Remind me never to let you have more than three drinks ever again."

"And remind me never to make you jealous again." you giggled.

"I was not!"

"Were too∼"

"Why would I care who you dance with!?"

"I don't know, you tell me∼"

"I can't because I don't!"

"Then why'd you punch him?"

"Because he just wanted to fuck you!"

You both went silent. You'd been so focused on the argument that you hadn't realized you'd been moving closer to Zoro with every retort.

You held his gaze and a devious grin spread across your lips, "And why does that bother you so much?"

Checkmate.

Zoro remained silent, but he didn't pull away from you. "I-" his eyes flickered down to your lips. For a second, you were sure he was going to kiss you.

"Forget it." He sighed, smelling the alcohol on your breath; kissing you while you were like this would make him no better than that bastard in the tavern. He started to back away, "You're drunk, you don't know what you're-"

"I'm sober enough to know you want to kiss me."

The swordsman froze, heat rushing to his face, "I-" he stuttered, looking away. Your eyes were tempting him, and he was desperately trying to keep his composure.

"Am I wrong?"

"You're drunk." He was so close you could feel his breath catch in his throat.

"But am. I. wrong?"

Unable to hold back any longer, the swordsman closed the gap between you, pushing his lips firmly against yours. Sparks of heat rushed through your body as you kissed him back, placing your hands on his chest as his came to rest on your hips.

The kiss started slow and sweet, almost cautious. You'd never seen Zoro treat anything as gently as he was treating you; it made your stomach flutter. You slid your hands up his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck. He responded by snaking his hands around your waist and pulling you closer. His movements became more desperate as he pushed your body against the wall of the alleyway. You moved your hands into his mossy hair, and he groaned, pulling you tight against him as if you were going to disappear the moment he let go. You smiled against him and bit his bottom lip playfully. He went rigid for a moment before breaking the kiss.

"Slow down there, princess. I don't want-" he stumbled to find the right words. "I didn't mean to-"

You looked up at him expectantly.

He stepped back. "Fuck. I'm sorry." He took a deep breath and another step back, "I'm sorry."

"You're missing a crucial difference, swordsman." You hummed, ruffling his hair.

"What do you mean?"

"I actually want you."

He stood for a moment, stunned by your words, letting them sink in.

"You…want me?"

[naranja-301]

Stan can feel his vision going blurry, he was crying, figures out a while ago but how can't he? He felt like it was to much, to much for him but at the same time felt so good.

There betwen his legs laying down in the bed was Fiddleford, his hands holding with a gentle hold both his thighs and his mouth trailing with soft Kisses his skin. His touch was so gentle and so hot at the same time, the lips of Fiddleford going all the way up from his knees to his inner thighs.

After a few minutes of kissing the touch turned into nibbling, the teeths of Fiddleford leaving light marks in Stan.

Oh, but that wasn't the thing that was making Stan go crazy, it was the things that Fiddleford said to him in any touch his lips Made, in any nibbling his teeth Made on the skin of his thighs.

"I love You so much, Stanley...You are so good...so inteligent"

Another soft bite meets the skin of Stan, that with those Words, the way Fiddleford said them Made him unable to hold back another cried moan from his throat

"I'm-...i'm not-"

"sshhh...My love...My everything...yes You are"

Fiddleford moves his lips more up, almost metting with that spot on the body of Stan that sure would made the man go more overwhealmed that he already was.

"please...Fidds...I...I can't-"

"yes You can, love...please...let me love You..."

Fiddleford moves slighty from betwen the legs of Stan, sitting betwen them and his hands make their way to the face of Stan that had some tears in it. He gives Stan a warm smile, his eyes showing only love for the man under him, sweaping his tears with his thumbs.

He leans foward, Stan has to hold tight the sheets of the bed to supress another moan that wanted to leave his lips but at this point his body didn't made the actions his brain was telling to. He felt scared, even a bit frustrated with himself. Weak, the first thing his brain was screaming at him when he leaves another moan when Fiddleford breaks the Kiss and returns to those soft, gentle touches Fiddleford around his body, and just like if Fiddleford could read his mind he stopped, it was so sudden that made Stan freeze in place.

Stan looks up at Fiddleford Who had a somekind sad expression in his face and Stan hates himself for feeling like being the reason of that expression. Before he can Say anything he feels how Fiddleford holds his hand with his, guiding it to his face, massaging the back of his hand with both of his hands. He could feel the warm of the skin of Fiddleford, his thumb in an unconsious action caresing his cheek.

"Stan..."

"...i'm sorry... i'm-...I-"

God, why did he felt like this? Why does his heart have to hurt so much when looking up at the eyes of the other? Those eyes that Saw in him something he doesn't even know what, but sure enought to make the other stay and don't leave him, don't push him away. He felt his visión going blurry again, no no no he can't, he can't show weakness, not now, not with Fiddleford.

He is about to Say sorry again when the sensation of those warm and soft lips meet his jawline, then the corner of his lips, his nose and finally, the corner on his left eye. His hand no longer on the cheek of Fiddleford but holded with his in a soft grip.

"Stanley...You don't have to Say sorry for anything..."

"..."

"It's ok...it's ok, Stanley..."

Stan keeps looking up in silence at Fiddleford for some minutes, just Staring at the other with a shaky breath. His eyes traveling for all the face of Fiddleford, his eyes, his large nose, those lips, the lips that Made him felt like crazy just Moments before.

And then, he can feel how his ear gets a bit wet, his vision going more blurry. Stan leaves a shaky breath while more and more tears falls from the sides of his face.

He can't help himself this time, his body craving for letting all out, feeling still scared but now more secure, secure that the other wouldn't call him weak, or even a dissater. He cries, he even can feel how Fiddleford hugs him tight with his arms, cooed to him as if he were a little kid.

"it's on Stan...I got You...I got You..."

Stan wraps his arms back around Fiddleford, it was tigh, like he was scared the other would run away from him. He cries now more lauder, hiding his face on the crock of the neck of Fiddleford.

They both keeps like that for around 30 minutes, Fiddleford not stopping wispering those sweet and warm Words to Stan, brushing his hand on his back.

Stan sniffes his nose, sweaping the tears out from his eyes. He doesn't dare to look up at Fiddleford, not yet, he just stays there and wispers lowly at him.

"...thank You...for everything..."

Fiddleford hugs more tight at Stan, leaving a soft Kiss in his ear.

"anytime..."

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.171 Happy birthday to ya

When it got closer to party time, Sophia and I moved the couch to the backyard for more seating options. Our parties always end up fragmented with some sims eating in the house and others on the patio. My goal is to keep everyone together, so hopefully this will help. We also moved the picnic blanket and put the portable crib outside to accommodate the little ones. Because we're friendly again, I invited Yasmine and her girls, but she declined. She doesn't know the other guests and didn't want anyone asking questions about Stacey. I completely understood but feel bad for her. This spellcaster business has really trapped her and the girls in their home.

Apart from my baby aging up, I'm most excited about having Dub and his family in our home for the first time. Between the deaths and parenthood, it's been super hard for us to connect lately. I guess I was naïve enough to believe it would be easier being in the same city, but life keeps proving it doesn't matter where we are. Life is going to life, and that's that. I suppose I'll have to be more intentional about hanging with him too.

"You got it smelling good out here, bro," a voice says from behind me.

That Henford accent is unmistakable, and I was so glad to hear it. I turned around and embraced him.

"Wassup, man! Did you find us okay? Welcome! Finally!"

"Right? Took you long enough!"

"Don't even play, man. You know how life is sometimes."

"Sure do. This house is nice! And the view!"

"Thanks. If you're able to stick around later, I'll give you the tour. Hey, where's Maia? Is she coming?"

"Yeah, she's running a little late. She's just finishing up a project for a client."

"Ahhh. See? San Sequoia has been good to you already. I'm glad her business is picking up."

There's no way Dub showed up alone, so I looked around for Tambara, knowing she couldn't be too far behind. I spotted her toddling across the yard, trying her best to catch up with her daddy.

"She's getting to be extremely independent these days," Dub said when he realized I was watching her. "She won't even let us pick her up anymore. I don't mind that so much, but waiting for her really slows me down."

"She'll get faster," I said, thinking about Desiree's determination. "Just give her time."

Tami and Desi look nothing alike, but I see glimpses of the immediate future in her proud face and wobbly gait. I want Desi to grow up and change the world, but I can't part with my little girl. At the same time, I'm anxious to see her continue to grow. I love watching her smash these milestones like the boss baby she is. Ugh. Fatherhood is just a melting pot of contradictions. How can I be happy and sad, proud and scared at the same time?

Tami finally made her way over to us, so I waved.

"Hey there! Do you remember me? I'm Luca. That's a pretty dress."

Her face lit up, and I knew it didn't matter if she remembered me or not. I was currently her new bestie. Flattery works at all ages, hee hee.

"What do you say when someone gives you a compliment?" Dub asked.

"I know," she shouted.

Me and Dub had a good laugh. She's so precocious, and I love it. Kids really do say the darndest things, and I can't wait to hear what Desi will have to say. Hopefully that's not a be careful what you wish for situation, heh.

"That's right, Tam," I said. "You better know it."

"How are you holding up?" Dub asked, wiping the smile off my face.

"I'm good. As good as I can be, rather. It gets a little better every day."

"I'm glad to hear it. I can't even think about what that's going to be like."

"It might sound morbid, but you should start thinking about it, man. It's the shock that's hard to get over."

"You play dollies with me," Tambara shouts.

That was probably supposed to be a question, but she's too excited about her new, big friend and it's too cute.

"Oh, no," Dub says to me. "You start that and she'll never let you go."

She's adorable, looking just like both of them. I hope she and Desi will like each other. It'll be a shame to have them fighting or snubbing each other when we hang out.

"You can play with Desiree later, okay?" he says.

"Speaking of... We should probably get this show on the road soon. Let me finish these ribs."

(makeovers and family photos below!)

Dub and fam by @mysimsloveaffair

[rubus-yunnion]

Anything for our resident Irish man? You know who I mean

Hello! So sorry for answering your question so late, life has been busy for me. I'm assuming your talking about O'Connor, and I've finally found the time to write down some hcs, enjoy!

° Knows every single pick up line, he knows his way around woman.

° Gets along really well with both Gibbo and Trots, he agrees with Trots most of the time but there are others where he seems to be agreeing with Gibbo.

° Sometimes writes love letters to himself about Mary, always keeps it hidden. Caz did find one of them and started to read it out loud in the canteen, O’Connor refused to talk to anyone that whole week.

° O’Connor is roughly around 5’11, tallest crew member being Raffs (6’3)

° Always hated skating, but the thing he hates even more is ice skating, he could never control his balance, even when holding onto the railings and whatnot. But, he’ll always join his Mary as she loves it more then he does.

° VERY GOOD at pool, if he and Rennick were to compete against each other then there would be war in the crew lounge. And also a free job for scouting the pontoons.

° Speaking of Rennick, he doesn’t actually have an opinion on him, at least not too many bad opinions. Though he isn’t very supportive of how Rennick treats the rig, especially when it comes to the pontoon operations.

° Not the best at singing or playing any other instrument, but he is very fluent in playing the piano.

° Has way too many health issues, it’s surprising how long he’s lived for with all these problems, did in fact pee himself one time, Gibbo was the first to acknowledge and Trots unfortunately had to clean it up for him. Poor Trots.

° Has broken way too many bones in his life, specifically his left arm. Nobody knows why it’s always the left arm that gets broken.

° Although he has broken many of bones, he sometimes pretends that he twisted his feet all the time. Though Brodie wasn’t aware of this the first time and immediately tried to convince Rennick to call a hospital chopper.

° Loves pottery, he’s used to his hands being quite dirty so this never really bothered him too much. One time he tried to make a swan for Mary’s birthday, but it ended up looking like a cat that got ran over 3 times. She didn’t mind it though, actually she thought it was quite charming.

° Pretty decent at darts, though not as good as Finlay or Brodie. Speaking of Finlay, he gets along with her well, though still quite scared of her just like the rest of the crew members.

° Addair disgusts him, his views on the world is something he wished Addair kept to himself. Whenever he gets the chance, he’ll rip immigrant posters down from his walls and throw them in the bin.

° Has a bad habit of whistling all the time, many people told him to shut up because of it.

° Talk ill of Mary and you’ll start wishing Rennick called a hospital chopper for you.

[stormysunday9]

I've been editing this for too long now and I just need to put it out into the world. The ending doesn't feel quite right...but maybe that's because this story just isn't done yet!

Featuring: happy Joe, some 18+ stuff, and a bit of cheese.

The Missing Piece

I was now five blocks from work and the man who had  stepped out behind me after I locked the door was still following closely behind me.

I started to panic, I was at least another ten blocks from home. It was starting to get dark. I was 5'5 and all I had to protect me was my lunch bag and the yogurt I didn't eat. My heart was pounding. I didn't need to turn around to see him, I could sense him there.

This was a pretty affluent neighbourhood, maybe I could just pretend I lived here. I walked past a couple more homes, then started the journey up one of the long driveways, not daring to look behind me. When I reached the front door, I pretended to unlock it, hoping I'd sold my story to my creepy shadow. When I twisted the knob, the door opened easily, and since I was no longer thinking clearly I just stepped inside.

After a moment of relief from being off the street and into safety, I looked up to see a very tall man standing in front of me with a look of both shock and concern fleeting over his icy blue eyes.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so so sorry! There was a man, I don't know, he's been following me since I left work! I still have so far to go, I was getting scared, I didn't know what to do, your door was unlocked, I didn't mean to come in...." I was still tripping over my words as the man placed his hands on my shoulders and tried to meet my wild eyes .

"Hey, hey." He said firmly but calmly. "It's ok, you're ok. I know, I saw him on the camera, he was following you up the drive. Do you want me to call the police?"

"No, I don't think so. I don't know. I didn't even get a good look at him." I replied. "Do you mind if I sit down?" I asked embarrassingly, the adrenaline was fading and I felt like I might fall over.

"Yes of course", he ushered me to the couch, "and my security camera, I have a clear shot of him on there."

"Oh smart. Ya I can get an image from there then, I'll file a report tomorrow. I'm so sorry for all this." My head was finally starting to stop spinning and my heart slowing down, allowing me to take in my surroundings a bit more clearly. This was a very nice house. Very clean. No clutter. I looked over my shoulder to see him coming back from the kitchen.

He carefully sat down near me on the couch, being sure to leave a full cushion's worth of space between us. He handed me a glass of water and said, "I'm Joe, by the way."

"Hi Joe", I responded, and took a quick drink of water before adding, "you should really lock your doors."

He let out a chuckle and a grin spread across his face. "Well, in this particular instance, I'm kind of glad I didn't. My manager was supposed to be stopping by, so I left it open."

"Oh my gosh, let me get out of your hair then. I don't want to get you in trouble with work! I just need to call an Uber." I started searching my bag for my phone.

"I would like to drive you home if that's ok. Not sure how many more strange men you should add to this day." He raised an eyebrow at me, presumably waiting to see if I was going to laugh or start crying.

I laughed. "That's very kind, but what about your manager?"

"Don't worry about that, my job is pretty secure," he smiled, "let me grab my keys and my shoes."

I noticed he was wearing slippers currently, slippers which I could only describe as old man slippers. He did seem to have an old soul aura about him. I followed Joe out to his garage, that housed multiple vehicles - a very flashy sports car, a futuristic looking truck, and a Mercedes G Wagon. And it looked like we were taking the latter. He must be some kind of tech mogul, I thought to myself, but what's a tech mogul doing in the middle of Ohio?

When we reached my house, which was about an eighth the size of his, I turned to look at him. I couldn't help but think how warm those cold blue eyes looked. 

"Thank you so much, seriously." I said. "You're a real hero."

He chuckled. "Would I be able to give you my number?" He asked.

My wide eyed expression must have given away what I was trying to keep my mouth from saying because Joe immediately spoke up.

"Not like that!" He backtracked shaking his head, "just in case you need more security footage, or a witness statement of something. Or anything at all really. I'm usually around. Except Sundays. I work Sundays." 

I handed him my phone and he quickly typed his number in and handed it back to me. 

"I'm Casey, by the way" I said as I stepped out of his truck. 

"Hi Casey," he smiled.

"Lock your door, Joe!" I yelled over my shoulder as I walked to my front door.

I saw him give me a hand to forehead salute through the passenger window. I walked inside, locked my own door, and peeked out the window, just in time to see him pull away.

---------------

The next couple days were less eventful. I had security cameras installed at the shop. I filed my police report at the station. And I ordered some bear spray from Amazon. I was glad when the weekend finally rolled around, and on Sunday headed over to my friend Jess' house for our weekend supper tradition. Jess and her husband always hosted, and our other friend Kate and her boyfriend joined, and then me, the obligatory fifth wheel. The boys usually watched football and us girls caught up on gossip and played board games.

The girls and I were playing a very distracted round of Uno while the boys yelled at the game on the TV. I casually glanced over at the TV after being served multiple miss a turns in a row, and what I saw put my heart in my stomach. 

Unforgettable icy blue eyes.

"Ummm, who is that, Trevor?" I anxiously asked Jess' husband.

"Joe Burrow.", Trevor replied.

"I can read the screen, Trev, I mean who IS he?"

"The quarterback for the Cincinnati Bengals. And you're a disappointment to the whole state of Ohio for not knowing that."

"Harsh, but ok...and like, he's pretty good? Or what?"

Trevor rolled his eyes and turned to look at me, "ya he's like top three in the league, easy. Why, Case? You finally gonna become a football fan?"

I excused myself from the Uno game that I was never going to win anyway and grabbed my phone from my bag. I searched my contacts. J...O...E...

Joe with the Unlocked Doors.

There he was. And with a sense of humor at that. I opened the contact and began to type.

Wow. Your overconfident sense of job security makes so much sense now!

Presumably he wouldn't be texting back anytime soon. Based on the tv screen he appeared to be rather busy at the moment. 

Later that evening I was laying on the couch, working on a bracelet I was making and watching Netflix when my phone lit up.

Shocked Pikachu gif. (Classic choice.) So you're not a football fan then?

I just don't know anything about it. But today I learned Joe Burrow is the quarterback of the Cincinnati Bengals. And that sometimes he leaves his doors unlocked. 🤷‍♀️

Ha! Both of those are true. I'm glad you texted.

It was a shock response.

I'm glad anyway. So now you know what I do, what do you do? Aside from walk into strangers houses, of course.

Cold.

I'm actually a dog groomer. I make pups pretty for a living. I have a little shop on Hudson, which is where I was walking from when I broke into your home.

That's unexpected, and so cool. Love that you've got your own grind. 

Well my grind doesn't garner me multiple vehicles in my garage, but I do love it. It only affords me my old Bronco that starts half the time, and not at all in the winter.

Is that why you walk?

Sometimes. But I do like being outside. And "that day" I chose to walk. Looking back, evidently a poor choice.

Maybe not all bad since you met me?

Haha, I dunno, I got to meet the quarterback of an NFL team and didn't even ask for an autograph! 🫤

Funny. Maybe don't think of me as that, just think of me as Joe.

...with the unlocked doors! 

Exactly. 😉

We continued to message back and forth, joking and laughing while also learning a bit about one another, when I looked at the time on my phone and couldn't believe how late it had gotten.

I think I better get some shut eye. Early start tomorrow. Nice chatting with you. Goodnight, Joe!

Goodnight, Casey. Sweet dreams.

It took me a while to fall asleep that night. What is happening? He's so nice. And absolutely gorgeous. Now that I could think about him a little more clearly and not in a fear filled state of adrenaline...wow. He had to be a full foot taller than me, with what appeared to be the strength of a Greek god, and the fluffiest, wavy hair that was just being begged to have hands run through it. And a little curl that kept falling onto his forehead no matter how many times he pushed it back. And those eyes...oh my gosh those eyes. 

Pull yourself together, Casey! I scolded myself. I was being ridiculous. And I needed some sleep, it was back to my not so lucrative grind tomorrow.

----------------

Monday morning I was back in my element. The Bronco started, my first dogs of the day were settled on the floor around me, my coffee was just right. Maybe it would be a good week. With my headphones on, and high velocity dryer blasting, I almost didn't hear someone walk through the door. I looked up, startled so see a man with a hoodie pulled over his head and wrap around sunglasses on his face. He must have seen the fear in my eyes as he immediately reached up to push the hood off his head and replace it with his sunglasses.

Joe.

I felt my face flush. I turned off the dryer and put my headphones around my neck.

"What on earth..." Was all I could get out.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just figured that you saw what I do, so I wanted to see what you do...I hope that's ok." I could see a worried look in his eyes.

"How did you find me?" I probably should have reassured those baby blues, but I was still so confused.

"Well you told me your shop was on Hudson. And there was a dog groomer on Hudson called Casey's Place.....so I guess I'm a detective?" He was still feeling out if he'd made a mistake.

I laughed. "That's fair I guess. You googled me?!"

He let out a chuckle. Those seemed difficult to evoke from him, but I felt like I could make it my full time job just to hear the sound and watch the corners of his eyes crinkle.

"You haven't googled me?" He asked with mock accusation.

"Actually, no," I admitted, "I think I'd prefer to learn about you from you."

He smiled, "well I guess we've determined who's the better person then!"

He suddenly sat on the floor cross legged, and the three dogs already on the floor immediately ran to him and began climbing and licking him maniacally.

Jealous, I thought. But only said, "well that's a good sign."

"What is?," he asked while trying to avoid getting dog tongue directly in his mouth.

"Never trust someone your dog doesn't trust! And they seem to love you."

This time he blushed.

I lifted the dog on the table down to the floor so he could join the fun. 

Joe tried to untangle himself from the dog pile and stand back up. "I was wondering if I could take you to lunch?" he asked, barely making eye contact.

Wow, is he...nervous? I wanted to say yes so bad, but I was the only one in the shop today, and I couldn't leave the dogs unattended. 

"Could I take a rain check?" I asked, hoping my eyes didn't look as desperate as I felt.

"Of course," he replied, "I knew you were working, I'm sorry."

I gave him a little pout, and the corners of his mouth turned up. 

"I'll talk to you soon!" He said and quickly turned and walked out the door.

My heart sank. Did I just turn down Joe Burrow on a date? But my job, I've worked so hard for this shop, and surely he gets that. I hoisted the dog back onto the table and got back to work, while my heart continued to chastise my brain for being too responsible. Then my phone chimed. I looked at my watch to see a message from Joe. I pulled out my phone to open it.

Do you like onions?

Well...I guess he still wants to get to know me? First what I do for a living, now my produce preferences?

I typed back, Yes with a question mark.

Message read, no response.

This man is an enigma. 

And then 10 minutes later my door dinged and in walked Joe with two greasy paper bags, a tray loaded down with drinks, and a smile that could light up the dark.

"You still have to eat, right?" He said with a shrug of his big, broad shoulders and began to spread out a selection of burgers and fries across the grooming table that wasn't currently in use.

"I got you a soda, a milkshake and a coffee because I don't know what you like yet." He explained 

Yet. Oh my gosh he was adorable. I melted, perhaps obviously.

I pulled up two stools, suddenly a little unsure if one would even support Joe's enormous size. He sat down and it looked almost comical.

"I'm so sorry," I apologized, unable to choke back my laughter, "I don't normally cater to football stars". 

He brushed it off, quickly. "All good, a lot of furniture is too small for me. Or I'm too big for it. Whichever."

He took a big bite of a burger while I grabbed a couple fries, unable to take my eyes off him, trying to understand what these last several days were coming to. My overthinking brain couldn't take it anymore, and I just spit out "Why me?"

Joe turned to me, looking straight into my eyes, with surprise. "What do you mean?", he seemed genuinely confused. 

I took a deep breath. "Well, like, you're you. You're obviously super attractive, you're a famous athlete, you're talented, smart, focused, funny, kind, charming... I'm sure you could have your pick of anyone in Ohio - no, in America. Maybe even Canada too. And then, I'm just me."

"You think I'm attractive?" He said, eyebrows raising, blue eyes mischievous.

I rolled my eyes.

"But seriously, Casey," he continued, "I'm intrigued by you. I love that you know who you are, and what you're about. You're beautiful, you're smart, you're focused. And honestly, I kind of liked that you didn't know who I was."

I could feel the flush of red flowing up my face, I've never been good at accepting compliments. Especially from this remarkable specimen of a man sitting so very close to me right now.

"I really don't think you're giving yourself enough credit", he continued, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since the day I laid eyes on you. I wasn't going to push it, but when you texted me yesterday, I knew I didn't want to let you get away." 

He placed his large hand on my thigh, I think to comfort me because he could tell I was overwhelmed, but it had the opposite effect and made my heart beat 10 times faster.

"I like you too, Joe. I just don't know what this would look like. Dog groomer dates NFL superstar? I'm an introvert. Sometimes I get anxious if the grocery store is really busy."

Joe burst out laughing. "Maybe just don't overthink it, and we can see what happens?" He smiled, his eyes pleading with mine, feeling like they were reaching in and pulling directly on my heart. A smile started creeping across my face, despite my best efforts to convince myself there was just no way this was happening, and then Joe leaned in and planted his full, beautiful lips on mine, leaving absolutely no doubt that it really was. 

------------

The rest of the week was bliss. Late nights facetiming until we fell asleep, Joe stopping in with coffee for me at work (now that he knew that was my drink of choice). I was living for getting to know and understand him. I'd never known someone so focused, so loyal. He was incredibly intelligent, loved his family, he was thoughtful, awkward enough to allow me to believe he really was human, and so adorable when he tried to flirt. And probably most surprising, he was quite introverted too, preferring to keep a small circle, and still navigating the fame that he had now achieved. 

I also learned that the day before game day, as far as anyone in the world is concerned, Joe Burrow does not exist. He takes the day to focus, watch tape, and avoid distraction and chatter at all costs. He definitely takes his job seriously, but I get it, he loves what he does.

So Friday night he picked me up to go to his place for supper. He wanted to avoid a public outing, to avoid the media storm that was sure to follow. I thought that sounded like a great idea. He pulled up in his white G-Wagon around 7pm. 

I climbed up into the passenger side. 

"Did you lock your door?" He joked.

"Hilarious.", I replied, "why do you always drive this thing? Don't get me wrong, you look hot as hell behind the wheel, but I know you have a garage full of choices."

He blushed and tried to hide his smile. "Those were all phases I thought I was going through I guess. This thing is my favourite. And the least conspicuous". 

He put the vehicle in gear and reached across the console to hold my hand. It was a short drive to his house, despite us living in very different neighbourhoods. We walked into his house that already smelled like food as his cook was busy preparing game day prep-appropriate nutrition. We sat down on his oversized couch (he seemed to have purchased furniture more suited so his size), and he turned to look at me. He grabbed both my hands in his, making them all but disappear. 

"I have a question for you," he started.

Uh oh. Serious Joe was also unreadable Joe. 

"Oooook," I said nervously.

He squeezed my hands. 

"It's nothing bad, I was just wondering if you wanted to come to my game on Sunday. You don't have to sit in the suite, I can get you tickets for the stands. You can bring friends if you want. Whatever you want."

Oh boy. There is nothing I wanted more than to be there to support him, cheer him on, watch him do his thing, see him in those tight pants in person... But I wasn't sure I was ready for that kind of debut yet.

"Joe...."

He could sense my reservations immediately.

"It's ok," he reassured me, "I wanted you to have the invitation, I totally get it if we're...not there yet." He seemed genuine, but also a little sad. Damn those puppy dog eyes.

"It's not that, I just haven't really told anyone about us yet, I wasn't even sure there was anything to tell, and I barely understand the game, and if at any point you'd be there with me I'd be all for it, but I know that's not how game day works. I will be there, and soon....I think I just need a little more time." My eyes were pleading with him to understand. 

And of course he did. He wrapped me in a big hug. "I'm looking forward to that day, and it makes me unreasonably happy to hear you talk about the future, even if you're just talking three weeks from now." He was grinning like a fool. I was absolutely falling for this man.

"I have a proposition, perhaps a bit of a compromise. What if you come to my place after your game. I would really like to see you, especially if I have to be Joe-free tomorrow." I tried my best puppy dog eyes, and they seemed to work.

"I can do that," he agreed, "but if we don't win, I can't say how good of company I'll be".

"If we don't win?!" I mocked, "well that doesn't sound like Joe Burrow at all!"

He laughed. That was still my favourite. They didn't come easily, but I would spend my last day trying just to hear that beautiful sound. 

----------

Sunday afternoon I plopped down on the couch with a coffee, a blanket, and my phone. I turned on the tv to the game. And suddenly felt very, very nervous. I wasn't sure what the superstitions were about talking to the players before the game, but I decided to send Joe a quick text. Knowing him, he doesn't even look at his phone prior to a game. 

Have fun today. We're the lucky ones, getting paid to do what we love ❤️

He replied with the kissing face emoji: 😘

Swoon.

I spent most of the game googling - offside, the pocket, roughing the passer, why are they punting, what is a punt.....this was gonna be a steep learning curve. I also spent part of the game covering my eyes when Joe was about to get hit. This was so intense. It was a hard fought game, but three hours later the Bengals finished with a loss by two points. Now I was even more nervous. I was about to meet After a Loss Joe. Knowing how seriously he takes his job, I knew losses must hit him pretty hard. 

45 minutes after the game ended, the G Wagon's headlights shone into my front window. Well, he still came over so that was a good sign.

I opened the door to him not standing as tall as he usually does, but he still wrapped me in a hug and gave me a kiss on the top of my head. 

"Hi", I said softly, meeting his eyes. "I'm proud of you, that was amazing to watch". 

He offered a small smile and walked across the room to collapse on the couch.

I walked to the kitchen and poured myself a cup of tea  and him a glass of water, then joined him in the front room. I set the cups on the table, and sat down on his lap, running my hand through his freshly washed hair. He wrapped his long arms around my waist and rested his head against my shoulder. I didn't say anything, just listened to him breathe, while I breathed in his fresh shower scent, and enjoyed how small I felt on his expansive lap, with his strong arms enveloping me. 

Eventually he swung his legs up onto the couch and scooted down so he was laying down, taking up the whole length of the couch. He moved me to the side so I was tucked in between his body and the back of the couch. I rested my head on his chest.

"I just hate letting the guys down," he finally spoke.

I didn't offer a response. I didn't think he was looking for one.

"I fumbled that snap, I don't even know how, but that was about to be a big play, and instead it was nothing."

I pushed myself up onto my elbow so I could see his face. He stared at me for a minute.

"Aren't you gonna say anything?" He asked.

"What could I possibly have to offer? I spent the whole game googling terminology and covering my eyes cuz I was scared you were gonna get hurt!" I admitted.

Unexpectedly, his face relaxed, and he laughed. 

"If it helps, I thought you looked great, I found the game really exciting, for what I understood, and I kinda hoped you were gonna show up here in your uniform still because wow, apparently I love a man I uniform." I said with a knowing look. 

"Is that so?" He asked, a smirk on his face

He sat back up, and scooped me back onto his lap, this time so I was straddling him and looking right into those beautiful eyes. He stared at me for what felt like forever before saying, "You're my missing piece." 

"Sorry?" I replied, confused.

"It's just, I have everything I ever could have wanted from life, and I couldn't figure out why I still wasn't where I wanted to be. This is the first time I've ever held onto a little hope after a loss, because I still had something to look forward to. I was excited to come here. It's you, Case. I was missing you. And now here you are. And I'm sorry to tell you, but now that I have you, i'm never gonna let you go." His face was so soft, relaxed, certain.

I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes. His sincerity made me emotional. I didn't risk speaking, as I knew my voice would give away how much I was feeling for him in that moment. Instead, I leaned into him and kissed him deeply. His tongue forced it's way into my mouth, playing tag with mine. I ran my hands through his hair like I'd been dreaming of doing all week. 

He slipped his hands under me and lifted us both off the couch in one swift movement. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, still kissing his mouth, his cheeks, his neck. 

He gently laid me down on my bed, and I shimmied my body up to my pillow. He climbed onto the bed on his hands and knees, hovering over me like a real Bengal tiger about to devour his prey. He started at my forehead and began working his way down, kissing every inch of me. He pulled down the shoulder of my shirt and planted soft, yet hungry kisses on my bare skin. He then pushed my shirt up, exposing my belly, kissing me more. I pulled the shirt over my head, exposing my bra. More kisses between the exposed parts of my breasts. Down to my belly button, where he began to unbutton my jeans. 

"You're so beautiful" be breathed out between kisses. 

"Hold on," I begged, and pulled his shirt over his head. I almost gasped, taking in every inch of his expansive, muscular torso. A bruise on his bicep, a scar on his belly, and the most phenomenal abs I'd ever seen. 

"You're ethereal." I panted.

"Your vocabulary is so sexy", he grinned, and continued planting kisses all over me. He pulled my jeans down and kissed his way back up my legs. When he made it to the warm, increasingly wet place between my legs, he sat up on his knees, taking in all of me. I should have felt self conscious, but instead I felt safe, even beautiful. I pulled him back into me and began sliding his track pants over his hips. He wasn't wearing underwear. His cock sprung out, erect and very large. I looked up at him, he was waiting for a response. I may have whimpered.

"Is this ok?" He asked.

"I can't think of anything I want more", I replied, perhaps a bit desperately.

He slid my panties down and let his fingers enter me. I couldn't have been any more wet, but the feel of his hard length rubbing against my thigh as he fingered me was making me feral. 

I put my hands on his shoulders, drawing his attention back to my face. "I want you," I panted, "all of you."

His face was flushed, and he smiled. He positioned himself back on top of me, and slowly pushed his hard cock into me. It slid in easily with how wet I was, and filled absolutely every bit of me. When he finally bottomed out, I gasped 

"Are you alright?" His face showed genuine concern. 

"Never been better," I reassured him. I wrapped my legs around him, taking in every inch, while he kissed my neck and thrusted into me, slowly, steadily. I was digging my nails into his back. He felt so good. I never wanted him to stop. He continue to place soft kisses down my neck, on my breasts, letting his tongue linger on my nipples. Despite how strong this man was, he couldn't have been more gentle and attentive. 

When his face was near mine again, I told him to roll over. Excitement flickered over his eyes, he smiled, and obeyed.

I straddled him and began grinding my hips against him. In this position, he went even deeper into me, I could feel him in my belly. I couldn't stop staring at him. The more I took in every perfect angle of his face and body, the quicker my body forced itself against him. My clit rubbing against his abdomen in my own slickness, I could feel myself reaching my climax.

"Are you close?" I breathed, holding onto him tightly.

"I'm ready when you are," he smiled.

I began rocking harder, faster, reaching around to cradle his heavy testicles, watching his face writhe in exquisite pleasure until I felt every nerve in me release while I pulled him in even deeper and tighter in the throes of orgasm. I felt him buck his hips into me while moaning in pleasure, savoring his own release. I collapsed onto his hard body, completely blissed out. 

He wrapped his arms around me, and whispered "wow..." Between ragged breaths. 

I rolled off of him and curled in beside him as tightly as possible. His arm around my back, mine draped over his perfect torso.

"After that, I won't be going anywhere either, just so you know." I told him while tracing small circles with my finger around his chest. 

"Nothing would make me happier," he smiled, and turned to kiss my cheek. 

I guess I better start figuring out how to be a little more comfortable in crowds....

----------