#charlie hunnam headcannon

[rimunagenius]

nothing…just Will Miller absolutely seducing me with his UNBELIEVABLY attractive neck rub and that cute sexy smirk of his. Charlie Hunnam, please marry me.

[callsignvenomcod]

nobody's son, nobody's daughter

Young!Simon and his troubled life in Manchester with his equally fucked up best friend Y/N, loosely based on "Chemtrails over the Country Club" by Lana del Rey.

Trigger warning: Mentions of abuse, sexual abuse, drug addiction, physical abuse, violence.

Author's note: In my head, at least for this one shot, young Simon would look like Charlie Hunnam during his Green Street Holigans era. Maybe a tad bit taller. A headcannon of mine, I guess.

He tried to convince himself that he was only crying because of the stinging feeling of the alcohol against his broken skin, against the red cheek bone and the bleeding gash he had on top of his right eyebrow. The flickering greenish, puke-colored light that was dangling on top of his head didn't help much to the cure. That and the sad looking tiles of his bathroom, no toothpaste, broken mirror, whole look. Simon had to convince himself that this really was going to be the last time. He did a lousy job at that. The lad really drank that kool aid.

That next time he will hit harder, that next time he would be smarter, faster, wiser than Daddy. His heart and his lungs were still on fire from the fight he just had with his father; saliva dripping down his chin mixed with vice and blood, because if Simon was a big boy, well, he had to get it from someone. Petey Riley was a big son of a bitch, standing 6'5, belly outside of his wife beater (saddly, ironical) blonde patches of hair covering his baldening head, he drank like one, hit like one. No distinction too, Tommy would take it, his Mum would take it too. Simon just wanted to be present to take the biggest hit. He could bare it; he would do it. For those he loved he would sacrifice.

Some days it felt like he was the bull and his father was The Matador. A bloody number they both put on for his mum and his little brother but none of them were clapping. Simon was merely a distraction, one that showed his horns to drag attention.

It was an act of love. Some days it was all he could give, somedays it was all that there was left of him.

"For fucks sake..." he hissed dapping a pink colored, blood-stained cotton ball against his eyebrow split, the gash squeezing out anti septic and crying red down his face. He threw the cotton ball to the trash bin and let his head hang low on top of the sink, without looking in the mirror, before letting out a big, tired sigh.

18 years old and his live had already gone to shit. No compass pointing north, no aspirations, no home, and a family he felt pity for. A world that felt no pity for them, for him. Simon Riley was just another alley rat of Manchester, with lungs so black from the coal he might as well have been a miner.

The truth was that Tommy could no longer stay in the house like this, nor could his mother. Tommy was barely 12, an age in which his brain was so moldable it might as well be play doh; and Pete fucked everything around him; even carrots would rot if stood next to him too much time. He had to get Tommy away from the man before it was too late. Before he became like him.

There was a knock on the door, and he instantly knew it was his mother, because Tommy would just slip in due to the nature of being a younger brother, and his father would just storm inside, stumbling around to piss without caring someone was using the toilet; plus, his father had stormed out of the house with a loud door slam, making all the glasses in the house rattle. He looked at himself in the mirror while answering.

"Oi..." he acknowledges.

"..." only silence for a moment, before her mother cleared her throat from behind the door. "Here's more antiseptic, sun..." They all knew too much about first aids, he might as well become a doctor or join the army.

He almost smiled at use of the old nickname. Her sun, he called him. 18, looking 23, and his mum still called him sun.

Simon perked up in front of the mirror, his trashed simple white shirt, (now stained with yellow and few drops of blood) slipping back on himself as he took a deep breath and walked out of the toilet, straight into the hall.

His mother took a few steps back. It had been a while since Simon had outgrown her in height. The blonde woman, pale and frail stood in front of him and only could see the tip of his chin now. She was wearing acid washed jeans and a bright colored shirt with shapes in it very 80's, and they were so dirt poor it might as well be from the 80's. On top of that, an open bathroom robe and her hair was, in deed a mess.

Molly Riley, maiden name Harrison, winced out loud at the state of his son's face. Simon could tell she had been crying. "Oh, sun..." she moaned, quivering lower lip.

The woman looked up at his older son and gave him an apologetic smile, and Simon would be damned if he stood around to listen to her apologized for whatever reason it made his father snap this time. Simon shook his head, sadly used to this and placed a hand on the woman's shoulder, feeling her shiver under his touch.

"Where's Tommy?" he asked, walking over to his room with his mother following close on his step. He just wanted to slip on his jumper and get out of the house.

"He's at the TV room. Sooty and Co is on." She explained, leaning against the frame of the door, hugging herself. She watched with hazel eyes as his older son would sin on his bunk bed and slip on his white trainers, dusty and worn out, and zipped up a jumper that went just below his chin, putting on a jacket on top of it.

"Simon..."

"Mum..." they both said at the same time as they mirror each other. He knew what would happen the second he went outside the house. Tommy would drown himself in milk and cereal, being a vegetable in front of the TV until his eyeballs burned, and his mother would sit in the couch behind him, laughing at the show until she ran away to cry in her room, toying with the idea of picking of the things and leaving Pete. Nothing would happen and the wheel will keep turning. In a not so hopeful way of speech, they still had tomorrow. They had to take that as it sounded at the moment.

"Where are you going?" she asked, in an effort to seem motherly. The boy had seen her give up all her earthly power to the monster of his father and being in this same room with her suffocated him. He hated himself for it. Sometimes he had to really try not to hate her. He could never be quite there, but he was always dangerously close.

"Pub." He simply said, feeling up his pocket to make sure he had enough money to spend. He worked long shifts in the butcher's and weirdly enough, being surrounded by so much blood and carnage made him feel relaxed. Maybe it had to do with the fact it was him holding the knife and the pig hanging upside down, cutthroat. Simon wanted to tap out, get a flat for himself, even move cities, move damn planets, but couldn't bring himself to leave Tommy and his mother behind. They were all victims of the same natural disaster. "Don't stay up."

"Well, give her my regards..." she simply said with a soft smile.

They shared a knowing look, knowing that Molly would drop a pill in a few hours and won't be up until tomorrow morning; if lucky. She nodded, dropped eyes, and leaned against the frame to let Simon walk past her, the too loud sound of the TV in the room next door and distracted laughs of his younger brother making a soundtrack. Simon would look the back of his blonde hair before stepping out of the door and head out to the pub, much like his father did a few hours ago.

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Breathe in, breath out. Mechanical, your body could do it without your brain telling it to, but sometimes your brain got so anxious it forgot about it. Some people started calling them anxiety attacks. Doctors, mostly. Y/N wasn't a doctor, but instead just knew it made her feel like ripping out her hair one by one and crawl out of her skin.

The cigarettes helped. Michelle, her older sister told her it wasn't a very feminine look to smoke Marlboro reds the way she did, but with a prostitute mother and a junkie lizard for a step father, whatever effort they made to look good to society was futile now.

That and the multiple bruises they both sported on their bodies. Michelle had learned how to put makeup on them, Y/N couldn't bother anymore.

Michelle. Emerald eyes, long face, short hair. Smart Michelle, kind Michelle, 5 years older Michelle, in love Michelle, pregnant Michelle, crying face Michelle, "Come with us" Michelle, "Come to see me soon," Michelle. Two jobs and a new born Michelle, always a mother Michelle. Too busy for her Michelle.

Michelle, Michelle, Michelle. Ma belle.

She missed Michelle, and now and then she wished she just had picked up and left Manchester with her and John, take a train to America, to a place called Chicago. Scape this place like a crying Michelle had asked her to, but no. She had done too much: her older sister had already acted like a mother her whole life, and Y/N thought she deserved a chance at love. John was that. A chance at happiness. A warm pair of arms, a nice house. No unsolicited grabbing, to drugs, no shouting and no smacks. Y/N couldn't just storm into her life and wreck it all, be a reminder of the past Michelle barely survived.

She took a drag of her third cigarette and leaned against the back alley of the convenience store she worked in. Few hours, shitty pay, but it was a way to stay away from her house, with her mom asleep, drugged off her tits most of the day and working all the night, she no longer felt like it was a home; not that it ever did. It was a place where she had a thin mattress and some clothes and a place she would only want to use to sleep.

The girl hugged herself, her too big on her black coat almost swallowing her. Her shift was off, the old man owner of the store telling her to "fix herself" before coming back on Monday.

He meant the bruises. They all meant the bruises.

She had a gash on top of her eyebrow from running away from a blow from Ethan, Mum's husband, presumedly pimp. It took a lot of rage, but the bastard wouldn't touch her again, not a single hair on her head.

This was not the first time he did it. This was not the last time it would happen. Y/N knew it.

Her hands slipped down her face, chipped burgundy polish on her nails, and she ran her hand down her hair, stepping on her cigarette butt and placing her hands inside her pockets.

She could see her breath in front of her, and the news said that it might snow this year again. Man, her house could no longer hold another winter the way it was. It was cold and wet on the bottom floor, and she wouldn't dare step upstairs in fear of the risks of being in the same room as Ethan.

She thought that if it came down to it, she could always convince Simon to just gather some money and spend the season in a motel with heat. It was a luxury, but she didn't want to be an Ice Lolly.

She smiled to herself at the thought of him. She flicked open the fire and lit another cigarette, the cherry burning almost instantly as she blew the smoke out of her hair. The girl started walking out of the alley, with a bit of a hunched back to her step, something she learned from when she was a kid and tried to conceal the fact that she had grown tits now.

The boy was her best friend, if not he was her only friend, the only one she could trust. What started with an innocent childhood friendship, with both of them being at the headmaster's office almost daily (teachers would find Y/N stealing stickers and pennies out of other girl's school bags and had to physically break out fights Simon started) developed into a deep understanding of each other circumstances; into an everlasting love that held no labels.

Simon gave Y/N her first beer at 11 years old and smoke her first joint with her at 12. Y/N pierced Simon's ear lobe with a burnt-out safety pin drenched in vodka, and with time had more experience in curing his bruises than the local doctor. A match made in heaven, you could say. A refuge for both of them. They both did it for the right reasons.

It was freedom of not having to use a mask. Y/N could crumble to pieces in front of Simon, curse the Gods, curse fate, confess herself a human being because she knew her vulnerability was safe with him, that Simon wouldn't let the light in.

In a sick joke of destiny, they seemed made for each other. Y/N's mum was also an addict much like Pete Riley. Broken homes both opened their doors to let loose the monster that lived inside Simon and Y/N's chest, and their jaw clenched at a fury that they never knew where to direct. None of them knew very well how to live now, and at 18, it had stopped being cute long ago.

So, it wasn't Simon beating up John Misty in the playground, rather bare-knuckle fighting drunks at the local pubs that would serve him, spitting into his father's face, in a screaming contest with the police. It was no longer Y/N shop lifting lip glosses from Macy's, giving a cheeky wink to the slow and beat up security cameras, rather than that it was her letting any boy that would fake listen to her feel her up under her clothes in the alley, picking up the tails of stranger's joints in the street. In a race with rats.

The girl detached herself from the wall and fixed her jacket, putting some strands of hair behind her ear and walking down the alley, the sound of her torn sneakers against the cold pavement. The bags under her eyes were turning blue now and her back was starting to hurt like it always did after a shift, but she couldn't go back home, if she ever had one. Plus...she thought, looking up.

The stars were out.

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

It was a nice night.

The stars were out.

He could see it through the smoke of his joint as he leaned over the hill, joint in one hand, 40oz of beer in the other one. Nothing but the grey air of Manchester and the big hill under him, and yet the moon and the stars managed to go out and shine down on all of them mortals. Simon took a drag of the smoke and blew it out almost immediately, feeling every muscle in his body relax. He had to thank Ake next time he saw him; Ake had half a brain but double the heart and was always there when he needed someone to talk to...or free weed.

Yeah, Simon had that other bit covered. He knew that whenever he decided to open his mouth to speak whatever was locked inside, Y/N would be there to listen to him. He was the only girl he could talk to without fucking stuttering or feeling such an inadequate monster of a man. All the girls around him were older, mostly prostitutes, ladies of the night, that were equally broken than him, and more often than not, Simon thought about...just doing it. Pay for it. Pay for sex. In reality, he was paying for the company, for a warm chest and nice hands, for a fake smile, cheap perfume, but who was he to judge?

He stopped doing it that one time he saw Y/N's mum walking down the street in very tight latex and tired eyes and he couldn't stomach the image of another prostitute's kid, hungry and cold, waiting for their mum at home. Much like Y/N had done it before, and Michelle before her.

Around the same time, Y/N grew sick of the one-night stands. Of boys pretending to listen, to care, to feel her up. She grew tired of the empty eyes and the dead beat "goodbye's" after having sex. And after fucking Paul Brendan in the back of the school yard, and the boy fixing himself up and giving him a nasty wink without a second action to it as a goodbye, she decided enough was enough.

It was nice to have a friend for any ocasion.

A best friend.

They started fucking each other the summer they both turned 17.

And they never said it was something, let's say, exclusive, but none of them touched anyone else. Y/N just couldn't trust anyone else enough to do so, wouldn't go near boys or men in general after that last slip of her dignity and self-worth, and it was only wrapped around Simon's arms that she could allow herself to be as intimate as she wanted to, to literally spread open for him.

For Simon, however, it ran deeper. Once he tasted Y/N, well...there was literally no one else in the whole of Manchester that could catch his attention. Maybe he was attracted to other girls, sure, Emily Nichols could make a grown man cry with those tits of her, and Samantha Blunt's leg should be ensured for 1'000'000 pounds at least, but there was just something about Y/N that no one else could supply. It was like she had some sort of additive dripping from in-between her legs, something laced in her saliva that he just couldn't resist. He was just perpetually thirsty.

They never quite said it but they both knew they were only for each other, and they knew each other enough, so much, to reach the point where Simon could tell Y/N who she was in case she forgot.

And that's why, guzzling the rest of his first 40 oz down his throat, messily getting his chin wet, Simon could hear the dry leaves behind him and identify, the way only a kid born in a house on fire could, the steps of her friend behind him.

This was their spot. Sure, maybe some junkies came over, left needles and used condoms around, teenagers like themselves used them to drink from cans of beer and leave their traces behind but this was their spot. Hidden behind thick leaves and bushes, down the hill, slightly tilted down enough to lay down with no effort, only using their elbows. Simon bit down the joint to keep it in place and scratched under his shirt lazily.

"Look what the cat dragged in..." Simon joked, eyes still to the front, to the dark night. He earned nothing but an annoyed huff erupting from Y/N's plush lips as the girl sat down next to him in the dark.

"Fuck off, Riley. I am not in a good mood today."

Simon almost giggled in a lazy weed haze. "Oi, when are you ever in a good mood? I bet...-Shit."

"Shit." They both said at the same time, staring at each other, analyzing their faces, at least as much as the moonlight would let them. They had seen each other with all sorts of bruises and gashes, purple and red, dried blood and busted out stitches but it was always a sight for sore eyes. Simon sat down correctly, putting off the joint next to him next to the beer bottle and Y/N crawled next to him, sitting on her knees to observe his face.

Simon's hands went directly to her face, delicately, afraid to hurt her even more, calloused hand above a beat-up princess cheek. He wasn't surprised, he stopped being surprised years ago, at the same exact spot, seeing her first bruise, boiling with rage, wanting to go to her father, beat him up. Simon was as scrawny 12 year old back then.

Yeah, but it still wasn't a pleasant view. Never would be.

Y/N at the same time was able to stare back at him. Simon's rugged features were there, no doubt, but if she squinted her eyes enough, she could see the boy beneath him. The soft cheeks, now beat up, the kind eyes, now darkened. He was also sporting a pretty gash on top of his eyebrow, still red and angry around the edges. He must have cured it himself. She sucked on his teeth as his hands went and wrapped around Simon's wrist, in an effort to make contact. They both stared at each other for a pretty minute before both stumbled across their own words, trying to figure out what had happened.

"What did..."

"That fucking arsehole, the cunt..."

"Simon, it's not..."

"Did he...?"

"No." They both remained silent. She had hurried the answer, not wanting for Simon to finish the question. "He didn't." Not this time. And it was true. This time it was true. Y/N had seen him reach for his buckle, but she had hurried away before he could do anything to her. Make her do anything to him.

Simon scanned her face for a second. "Good..." he whispered. There was nothing much else to say. He sorts of missed the days where she would rush over to him a crying mess, babbling, shaking with fear and anger and sadness and shock. These days Y/N would just sit next to him, sort of showed her wounds and then just...drink it away. There was nothing else in there. The light was already broken.

The ball of the bottle gagged up and down as Y/N drank a big gulp from it, the burning sensation on her throat long forgotten. Simon watched for a few seconds before deciding to look away, look to the abandoned park in front of them and just let her sit in silence for a while, figure out her emotions, how much pain she was in. If it was worth the cry.

Y/N leaned the bottle next to him and her fingers left the neck of it seconds before Simon picked it up, drank a little himself. She placed her elbows on her bent knees and sniffed the cold air of Manchester through her nose. Simon lazy eyes scanned her side. Perky nose, loose messy ponytail, tear eyed, glassy look. He sighed and shook his head slightly. He wasn't sure about himself but...he knew Y/N deserved better.

This wasn't like any of the other times. Once she was fierce, fiery, talking about how many things he would do to her stepfather if she ever gathered the courage to do it herself or let Simon take business in his own hands, but now she was quiet, and the lonely park was just an extension of her silence. Dead, and beautiful and familiar and comfortable.

He opened his mouth to say something, as he thought he should but Y/N, beautiful, forceful, trainwreck Y/N spoke first.

"You know I see us so far away from here? Sniff." She said with a watery tone in her speak. She looked at him before briefly looking at her torn boot. She sniffed again, holding back tears. "So far from Manchester, so far from that fucking neighborhood..."

"What?" He dared to say. "Wales?" They shared a very brief look before she shook her head.

"Out of fucking England, me and you..." she said, talking absently, more to herself, as if Simon wasn't there. "Away from Ethan, the cunt, and your bloody father. Away from this park..." Her voice was raising, and she didn't even realize she was close to shouting. Simon straightened up in his seat, alert.

"Oi..." he tried to interrumpt, hands up to stabilize her.

"Away from this fucking cold, and the leaky ceilings and, and my whore of a mother and... a-away from...away from that fucking house! Away from... FUCK, FUCK!" she ended screaming, as if it was a crescendo.

No one was around to hear it except Simon, and it tore his insides a little to see the vein in her neck pop out, to see her run out of breath, fisting her hands, face all red and angry. Her chest was going up and down, her rage bubbling inside her chest, from an angry red dissolving into a confusing and cold blue. She swallowed her tears, chest still in a rush and stared at him, biting her bottom lip, trying to contain herself.

It was seeing herself reflected in Simon's unsure, impressed face what broke her. Her brows furrowed, and her face contorted in a sob as Simon opened his arms to embrace her, whiskey bottle now forgotten next to them. Their cheap jackets rubbed against each other, sheltering the cold away from them, so thin their hearts could touch each other.

She had kneeled next to the boy now, almost crawled into his lap and it was only there that she allowed to...feel.

It was the loudest she had cried in years and again it was Simon's chest who sheltered, from the outside world, from the cold, from the dark of the park, from herself. From Ethan.

The girl leaned her cheek against his chest, pressing hardly, as if wanting to crawl into his ribcage. It had reached a point where she was that scared. Where she made sense out of it. She trembled and groaned, and cried, stopped for a few seconds shivering, while Simon rocked her slightly, confused, aware, terrified.

Was this the end? Was this what happened before the whole world went utterly to shit? Were they staring at the abyss and didn't even realize?

The girl trembling in his arms knew it was ending. Something had kicked inside her, her surviving instincts and, okay, if it came to it, he knew that Y/N would be the type of girl to survive a mass shooting, a natural disaster, any disaster really, but first...she was going to cry. She was a Manchester girl, a port girl, she was made to live in the waters.

"I see us so far away from here, Simon..." She repeated, her voice calmer, miles away from that park. "I need us far away from here." Y/N closed her eyes and frowned. "I still believe we deserve a kinder life than this..."

"Y/N..." he whimpered, holding her tight against his chest. "Where...?"

"Do you see it?" She asked, and Simon looked down to his chest, to her pressed cheek against his pectoral, his arms surrounding her small frame, his thumbs rubbing against her shoulders. Her eyes were staring at nothing, or at something very far away in the distance. "Simon, do you see it?"

Did he? What were they going to do now? Okay, out of Manchester, out of England. Then what? They were 18, just out of their mum's fannies, not a penny to their names, no one that gave a shit about them really. Did he really saw something out of that park, something that involved them both, safe, not starved, somewhere warm?

Nobody's son, nobody's daughter.

Somewhere kinder.

He looked down to his chest, to her rosy cheeks, to the small patch of tears that stained his jacket, the icy forms her lips made due to the cold of her breath. A little dove nesting in his chest, a pair of bloody knuckles from bare knuckle fighting, holding her so softly. Simon's breath got caught up in his chest and he decided they will leave town the next day.

"Simon?" she asked, looking up, childish thick eyelashes, glossy stare, hopeful, terrified. "Do you see it?"

He nodded, hugged her tightly against him and felt her arms hugging him back for the first time in the night. She had moved into giving a part of herself, hugging back. She was in.

He kissed her temple, he dared, softly, wet, his eyes now also looking into the distance, to something that involved them both in a kinder place.

"I see it."

[tonopahfallshq]

Name: Cole Monroe Age: 37 Occupation: Mechanic Time living in Tonopah: 22 years Neighborhood: Webster Village Gang Affiliation: Sons of Silence - President Face Claim: Charlie Hunnam

Biography: (tw: death/murder )

Diana Monroe was a Tonopah Falls native who made her living working at Lust Gentlemen’s Club. She was especially known for her Marilyn Monroe act, a show that quickly earned the attention of none other than Jeffrey Decker. It didn’t take long for them to engage in a sexual relationship behind his family’s back and well out of the public eye. About six months into their affair, a positive pregnancy test popped the picture perfect bubble Diana thought she’d been living in. As expected, Jeffrey was furious and more concerned about his public image than the child she was carrying. Immediately, and without a second thought, he demanded that Diana get an abortion– even if he had to pay for it, but she refused. And so he made her go away.

Packing every bit of what she owned, which admittedly wasn’t very much, Diana left her home, her brother Michael, and everything she’d ever known just to keep Jeffrey’s threats at bay. She eventually settled in Knoxville, Tennessee, and soon fell into the same old habits she couldn’t outrun no matter how far she strayed from Tonopah Falls. Cole Michael Monroe was born on April 14, 1985– a month and a half early and tweaking on his mother’s cocaine. Not expected to survive, Cole spent the next several weeks in the NICU, undergoing a number of different surgeries and fighting for his life until he was healthy enough for discharge. He mostly raised himself. Diana was either too busy, too high, or too depressed to be the mother Cole needed her to be, but it did little to quell his love for her. Day after day, he cared for his mother and tended to her more than she ever did for him.

Cole stayed in and out of trouble all throughout his childhood and early teens. He often got kicked out of school, even had a couple stints in juvenile detention. But his world stopped on its axis when, at fifteen years old, he found his mother dead in their mobile home following a heroin overdose. After Diana’s death, Cole was directed to the next of kin– his uncle, Michael Monroe. Michael and his wife, Laura, willingly took Cole in and brought him back to Tonopah Falls to live with them. Michael, a founding member of the Sons of Silence and owner of Reaper Crew Auto, quickly indoctrinated Cole and the young teen fell in love with club life almost instantly.

He started out as a hangaround then began prospecting at eighteen. At nineteen years old, Cole patched in as a member of the Sons of Silence and never looked back. Cole got into some trouble at twenty-six years old. He was arrested for attempted murder and aggravated assault, and handed a ten year prison sentence after nearly beating to death the abusive ex-boyfriend of a close friend. Prison took a toll on Cole. Not only was his uncle killed in a driveby shooting during that time, but the injuries Cole sustained in prison and the amount of hours he spent in solitary confinement began to wear on him.

After five years inside, Cole was released on parole at thirty-one years old. He spent the better part of the next year trying to piece his life back together and pick up where he left off. A few years later, the SOS fell into turmoil, with their president colluding behind the club’s back with Los Bandoleros in a bid to line his own pockets with cash. Once discovered, the former president was immediately removed and dealt with, and the club was left at a crossroads. With their future hanging in the balance, they turned to Cole for guidance. On the eve of his thirty-fifth birthday, he was voted in as the new president of the Sons of Silence. Since then, he’s been working hard to put the club first and stay on top of the ever present feud between the Sons and Los Bandoleros.

Headcannons:

Cole has yet to discover that his father is Jeffrey Decker– and that he has two half-siblings.

He struggles with sleep and will frequently end up at Stargazing Station just to pass the time and pick out various constellations. On that note, he wanted to be an astronaut when he grew up– obviously that didn’t happen.

In his spare time, Cole is a boxer and will frequently fight at the local gym.

He loves peppermints and hates anything lemon flavored.

[pcrfectillusicn]

CALLUM MURPHY

gender - male age -  42 occupation -  mechanic / vice president of MC sexuality - heterosexual fandom - fandomless faceclaim - charlie hunnam

biography points.

there are two types of people who are in motorcycle clubs; those who choose to join and those born in it. callum murphy was born in it. his grandfather founded the howling commandos naming himself president. callum was five when his father became president after his grandfather was shot and killed.

the boy grew up around the club watching as the men came and went on their bikes. he was too young to understand what was really going on. it wasn’t until he was 14 when callum walked in on something he shouldn’t have seen yet. since then, despite his mother’s desperate pleas, callum was taught the ways and the life of being in the mc.

skipping prospect, callum became a member when he turned 18. holding and wearing the leather cut meant everything to him. callum began tagging along to drug and weapon shipments being the lookout.

the man was twenty when he went to jail for the first time. there is where he got a dose of reality. left to mop a corridor the doors burst open with a group of guys barreling after him. they quickly stopped when another group of men appeared behind callum claiming he wasn’t to be touched. some investigating found his father had deep roots in the prison.

since then callum had been in and out of prison three times - one for a drug possession, one for aggravated assault, last for breaking and entering.

now callum continues to support his mc with his father still president, and  callum vice president.

headcannons.

keeps his trusted zippo lighter with him everywhere - since he smokes like a damn chimney.

callum  bought his own ranch house when he was twenty-one. it’s a three bedroom home too big for him so he has two dogs; Bam-Bam and Pebbles, both pitbulls.

callum owns a truck and two bikes. one bike he reserves for the club, the other for himself.

doesn’t sleep often.

tag dump;;

[midnxghtsunwrites]

TAKING CARE OF CHARLIE HEADCANNON

y'all, this man is so fricking adorable — i just watched his interview w jimmy kimmel and found out he had covid so imagine y/n taking care of him when he's sick cause istg this man is always sick

(this isn't my gif)

it was a cold that passed through the household, starting with you and ending with him

well, you wouldn't say it ended since he was still stuck in your shared bed, down for the count

due to his years of being a massive germaphobe, his body seems to be going through it from lack of exposure

a three year relationship has allowed you guys to see each other through better and worse

it's early morning — a time when charlie would already be wide awake but isn't, so you take it upon yourself to treat your man

you enter the bedroom with a bowl of soup and a glass of lemon water

"baby," you see him laid under the covers, the fan above your bed blowing right on him

he hums in response

you prop the tray on his night table and begin your process of basically pressing your weight on him

he groans and turns to rest you on the other side of him, his lips connecting with your jawline sweetly

you weren't too worried about getting sick again — you guys are already pretty much stirring in germs and whatnot since you live in the same house and sleep in the same bed

"it's time to wake up," you whisper, feeling as he tightens his arms around your waist and cuddles into you. he doesn't budge though, his eyes still closed — you can tell because of his long lashes brushing against your neck, "charlie."

you can feel him shake his head

"don't make me push you," you run a hand through his shoulder-length hair

"you wouldn't dare," he grumbles, his beard tickling your skin

you throw your head back and take a hold of his strong arms, "hah! i did it — you're awake."

"i'm not."

"i didn't know you can sleep talk. all these years..."

he groans and pulls his head out of the crook of your neck, glancing up at you with his fair skin as red as ever — you can feel the heat radiating off of him

"i brought you soup, baby," you peck his lips and watch as he smiles softly, "aw, you're so cute."

he turns away, his eyes closing again as a yawn escapes him. he runs a hand down his face before turning back to you, "thank you for taking care of me, sweetheart."

you kiss him again, y/c/e meeting blue when you pull away, "i'm sure you'll pay me back when you get better." your tone is seductive as he runs a hand over your thigh that was thrown over his lap

he chuckles, his smile bright as he flops you onto your back and hovers over you, "why wait?"

TAGLIST

@complacentviawattpad @gwenspacy @rosenoirwrites @dollyhoess

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Send me your Triple Frontier boys head cannons I want to try to write some and need some inspiration!

[citrusmun]

𝔑𝔢𝔣𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔬𝔰 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡

The Parker Family has been one of the distinguished mob families in Far Rockaway many years ago, they are the direct rival of the Guidecelli clan. They have different businesses that raises some eyebrows but most of it are legal, or at least they will be able to contest that it is. 

[[𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙣 𝙊𝘾 𝙧𝙥 𝙪𝙣𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙚 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩.]]

Cast:

Jonathan Parker - Brad Pitt

Abigail Parker - Michelle Pfeiffer

Nathaniel “Nate” Parker - Charlie Hunnam

Bullet Parker - Lucky Blue Smith

Gracie Parker - Sabrina Carpenter

Richard Parker - Alexander Skarsgard

Ellis Parker - Ellen Pompeo

Mischa Parker - Margot Robbie

Jared Parker - Nikolaj Coster Waldau

Elijah Simmons - Chris Hemsworth

Theodore “Theo” West - Ryan Gosling

Lillian Houster - Cate Blanchett

Headcannons:

Grace and Bullet are Jonathan’s children from two other women.

Abigail adopted Bullet as his mother died when he was 5 years old.

Grace doesn’t live with the Parker family but she receives support and protection as befitting for her. 

Elijah and Theo compete to be the right hand of Nate. 

They employ the best lawyers in the country to make sure their establishments are well protected and secured. 

Mischa handles the bar of the family which is the front for multitude of other underground business including a porn studio, brothel, and cam models agency.

[[More to be added later]]

[fichasthc]

onyx 2

INFORMAÇÕES OOC

♕ Nome + pronomes: Ju, ela/dela

♕ Tempo disponível: tardes durante a semana, fim de semana variado.

♕ Triggers: nenhum.

INFORMAÇÕES OC

♕ Nome do Skeleton: Onyx.

♕ Nome do personagem: Finnegan Asa Sinclaire.

♕ Idade: 30.

♕ Label: the misfit.

♕ Local de nascimento: Colchester, condado de Essex.

♕ FC: Charlie Hunnam.

♕ Headcannon:

Finnegan Asa Sinclaire sempre foi um homem de gostos simples. O pai é proprietário de uma pequena fazenda ao norte de Londres, situada na zona rural da cidade de Colchester, apenas a 90 km da capital. Um homem de poucas palavras, mas de um coração honesto e correto. A mãe, uma mulher dotada de muitos talentos literários e artísticos, que saiu da grande Londres para morar em uma casa simples, indigna de sua grandiosidade. Uma mulher estranha, como as outras da sua idade insistiam em se referir a ela, que negou todas as vantagens de pertencer a uma boa família para casar-se com um ninguém e ter um filho que também, por via de regra, seria outro ninguém.

Apagado e ignorado, Finnegan cresceu nas margens da sociedade Londrina. A vida, para si, sempre fora perfeita. Nos olhos de criança, atividades na pequena fazenda da família teciam uma realidade de elísio, o paraíso tranquilo de cuidar dos animais, plantar e colher. O convívio com os pais era próximo, já que não tinha governanta ou criados. Cresceu sem muitos amigos e contato com o mundo exterior, aprendendo a apreciar as pequenas coisas como uma refeição com especiarias e passeios a cavalo. Na fazenda, aprendeu artes básicas e simples como a de caça, construção de armadilhas e pesca. Muitas vezes saía em pequenas expedições com o pai para que acampassem na floresta e aprendesse sobre as ‘coisas que realmente importavam’. A natureza e momentos em família sempre foram importantes para si.

Conforme crescia, porém, Finnegan começou a perceber que a maioria dos olhares e piadas relacionadas ao seu jeito simples de se vestir e de falar eram maliciosas. Quando na cidade, seus pais eram olhados de maneira desrespeitosa, tratados como escória pelo casamento sem títulos e falta de posses. Muitas das vezes, estava sujo pelo trabalho manual que realizava, o que despertava olhares de aversão. Notou que a falta de sorrisos e o motivo da tristeza constante da mãe ao ver as velhas amigas tinham um intensificador em comum. A constante exclusão daquela sociedade falsa que lhes julgava sem qualquer chance de redenção.

Já adolescente, com a idade e os hormônios à flor da pele, o jovem Sinclaire começou a desenvolver um comportamento destrutivo, apelando à violência contra os jovens nobres da sociedade. Se aquela sociedade insistia em lhe acusar de modos precários, seria o pior que pudesse, que conseguisse ser. Faria qualquer um se aterrorizar por estar em um mesmo ambiente que ele. Fosse o jeito de conversar o motivo de tanto incômodo, traria à mesa de refeição as piores maneiras.

Por sorte, Asa não foi preso, e a ajuda veio de longe. Seu tio materno se apiedou quando soube da doença da irmã. Em um ato que ele acreditava ser nobre, acolheu o jovem Finnegan para lhe ajudar a desenvolver um tipo diferente de desfecho. A vida desde então não foi fácil. Com o sangue e o suor, Asa descobriu que com um patrocínio certo poderia dar à sociedade Londrina o melhor tapa de luva possível.

Superou as próprias dificuldades literárias com a ajuda da mãe, que pouco a pouco melhorava da tristeza, ainda com sequelas devido aos anos de exclusão. No boxe, Finnegan encontrou a sua verdadeira paixão. A dor e a adrenalina se tornaram fonte para seguir em frente, enervadoras da sua vontade de dar uma vida melhor aos pais. Seu patrocinador o mostrou que convergir as forças da raiva e da briga para algo produtivo poderia trazer resultados mais significativos para qualquer mudança de perspectiva a respeito de si.

Durante anos, Finnegan ficou afastado da alta sociedade Londrina viajando pelos condados enquanto tentava debutar no mundo da luta como Asa. Há oito anos ao obter sucesso, em uma luta marcante contra um nome conhecido do esporte, ganhou dinheiro por causa de apostas e de outros meios lícitos. Fez seu nome na categoria e conseguiu dinheiro suficiente para renovar a fazenda da família e comprar uma propriedade em Londres.

Agora com seus 30, Finnegan está de volta de sua última sequência de lutas. Sua mãe insiste que já é hora dele se casar, mas a ideia não o apetece. Detesta as frivolidades da corte e todo o pudor envolvido. Um novo homem, possuidor de ternos comportados e bens, mas que se recusa a esquecer seu passado, cheio de amargura no peito e ternura pelos dias da infância. Seus objetivos são claros, e ele não pretende trocá-los por um coração.

[rimunagenius]

just thought you’d guys like to see these edits i made😏😏 for you frankie morales, jax teller, and daryl dixon lovers!!

Pedro Pascal:

Barbie tingz

Daddy issues

Charlie Hunnam:

She will

Barbie tingz

But you haven’t seen my man

Daryl Dixon:

Barbie tingz

Daddy issues

Me and your mama

Loyalty

Goosebumps

Daddy issues pt.2

Change

Begging vs. Demanding

Cash shit

these are all ranked by recent edits bc old edits were NOT it. if you do check them out, comment or repost, or like!! lmk if you came from here 😌 THIS LIST WILL BE ADDED TO OVERTIME!! [you DO NOT have to check these edits out, i would love it if you did, but again, you don’t have to.]

Tiktok: @lvylvhzfilmz

[triplevarsity]

LIST OF RP FAVORITES AND LEAST FAVORITES !  / REPOST, do not reblog.

TAGGED BY: none one, i just like these things.

TAGGING: @kolhearted @seesgood @wearsheadbands @faithiiisms @clayymorrow 

FIRST NAME:  Ellie.

FAVORITE FCS TO PLAY: Hmmm, Charlie Hunnam is probably one of my favorite FCs. Because tortured and bad ass, and also he looks hot af. Mila Kunis would probably be another one because of her facial expressions. But for the most part, I like to only play an FC once. Because after that, they are forever attached to that character.

FAVORITE SHIP YOU’VE EVER HAD:  Oh dear god, okay ready for this. My all time favorite OTP is something I can only play out in Fannon. DEAN WINCHESTER/BUFFY SUMMERS. Seriously, I ship it so hard it hurts. It started when I started RPing Buffy four years ago, and now it’s huge. I have like five million headcannons for them. Like it’s my Buffy OTP. Like I don’t even care that much about Bangel and Spuffy anymore because it’s Duffy for me. I’m writing a crossover virtual series about both of them. LIKE THEY WERE MEANT TO BE TOGETHER SOME HOW. Also FORWOOD FORWOOD FORWOOD. Forwood is bae okay. Tyler loves Caroline with every ounce of his being. Caroline made him a better person. She saw past the douchebag jock front that Tyler put on and pulled him out. She was there for him during his transition when no one else was. Just FORWOOD.

FAVORITE FANDOM YOU’VE BEEN IN:  TVD. Like the fandom is not without it’s problems but it’s the only fandom I have felt at home in. Like even when I play Buffy, I play her in the TVD fandom. I like all the AUs and how into the characters everyone gets.

FAVORITE SONG TO GIVE YOU MUSE:  For Tyler, it’d probably be Becoming the Bull, by Atreyu. For Buffy it’s Superhero by Simon Curtis. and for Jax it’s Later that Year by Straylight Run.

LEAST FAVORITE FCS TO PLAY/PLAY AGAINST:  Uhm, the usual I guess. Most singer/band fcs. Taylor Swift in particular because I don’t like her, and it’s partially because of someone who was shitty to me in my life. 

LEAST FAVORITE RP EXPERIENCE:  It was in my first RP expirence. It ended up working out but was really horrible to through. It was a mob rpg I was a part of, and I was an admin, but they had me doing the graphics and coding, because i’m good at that stuff. I felt really underappreciated and salty that they pushed away all the bios I made. An admin who stepped down and I took her place kinda manipulated me into thinking that the other admins were horrible to me and convinced me to secretly create a new rpg with her, but it had a lotta of the same fcs and I brought the character I played along. Long story short there was a huge war when they found out it was me and the other admin. People were screaming at each other in the OOC blog, and the RPG pretty much died as soon as all that happened. It ended up being fine because months down the road me and the other admins talked things out and two of them are stil really good friends on mine years and years later. One is the the person who convinced me to try out idnies.

LEAST FAVORITE GENRE OF WRITING:  I’m not all that great with the crack stuff. I’m an angst person all the way, I will tear your out. I can do fluff and be cuddly and shit. I love BroTps, but I guess i’m not the best at not being serious (unless it’s with @seesgood and it’s hilarious forwood headcannons).

LEAST FAVORITE FANDOM YOU’VE BEEN IN:  Probably the Buffy fandom. Don’t get wrong, BUFFY IS BAE and i have met some super awesome people in the fandom. But there is kinda a reason that I play Buffy mostly in the TVD fandom. I feel like BTVS has a lotta ships that they just jump into, like they expect everyone to ship with the right away, even if it’s super ooc for both characters. And like, i’m all for AUs but some of the stuff just is a bit redic, and someones always bashing a character, and yeah. BUT I STILL LOVE BUFFY OK.

LEAST FAVORITE THING PEOPLE ASSUME ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER:  Okay, breathe. So a lot of people are not fans of Tyler. They don’t see past season one Tyler. Yeah, Tyler was a douchebag in s1. But that’s kinda what makes him so great. He had this amazing character development in s2-4. He is so loyal to his friends, even though most of them would never even stick their neck on the line for him. Tyler is so low on his friends priority level. People assume Tyler is still a douchebag. He’s still sassy, yes. He’s blunt, yes. But he’s so different from the guy he was in the first season.

OTHER CHARACTERS YOU’D LIKE TO PLAY:

Jax Teller ; SOA (I kinda created his blog yesterday)

Klaus Mikaelson ; TVD(so bad but not caught up on TO)

Mary Porter ; TVD (I’d love to really develop and flesh her out from the tid bits we got from TVD about her )

Rose Hathaway ; Vampire Academy books. (Oh my god I want to so so so so bad but there is like no VA fandom. )

Motherfuckin Jason Todd ; DC comics (JASON TODD IS MY BABY OK. )

and, for the bonus round, BOLD whatever rp-related things appeal to you from the list below!

MUSE PREFERENCES: FEMALES / MALES / CANONS / ocs / CORRUPTED / GOOD / LIVE ACTION / animated / HUMAN / SUPERNATURAL / other species / HOPELESS ROMANTIC / AVERSE TO LOVE / YOUNGER (15-25) / OLDER (25+) / EASY FOR YOU TO RELATE TO / hard for you to relate to.

PLOT IDEAS: ACCIDENTALLY MARRIED / affairs / age gaps / ANGST / APOCALYPSE / ARRANGED MARRIAGE / BOARDING SCHOOL / COLLEGE ROOMMATES / CRIMINALS / ENEMIES TO LOVERS /ENEMIES WITH BENEFITS / EXES / FAKE RELATIONSHIP / FLUFF / FORBIDDEN RELATIONSHIP / FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS / online relationships / PREGNANCY / prison / professor/student / road trips / rich kids / royalty / SMUT / SUPERNATURAL / TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS.

POSSIBLE TRIGGERS IN PLOTS YOU’RE OKAY WITH: ABUSE / BDSM / daddy kink / DRINKING / DRUGS / dub-con / GORE / incest / KIDNAPPING / MURDER / non-con / prostitution / stepcest / STOCKHOLM SYNDROME / TORTURE.

[themeteste147542]

❖ OC:

Nome (ou apelido): Jay

Nível de atividade: Eu estou online todo dia de manhã, das 9 até as 17, e de noite depois das 22. No final de semana, sábado geralmente é o dia todo, e no domingo, só pela noite.

Meio de contato: http://loganmarshallwrites.tumblr.com e twitter no @stevgrantrogers

❖ IC:

Nome: Erik Von Reinhardt

Idade: 35 anos

Fc: Charlie Hunnam

Ocupação dentro da corte: Enviado do Vaticano, disfarçado de Frei Franciscano.

Dois pontos positivos e negativos do personagem:  Positivo: + Inteligente  +Compassivo, Negativos: - Pragmático - Reservado

Label: “The prodigy”

Headcannons: no mínimo cinco, contendo três linhas cada.

- Nascido em Salzburgo e de uma família abastada do Sacro Império Romano Germânico, Erik é o terceiro de três filhos do Conde August Von Reinhardt. Desde jovem o rapaz já sabia que nunca herdaria as terras de sua família, direito reservado apenas ao filho mais velho, Adam. Isso fez com que Erik se agarrasse a ideia de sua mãe de ter um filho como padre com unhas e dentes, acreditando que, mesmo que não tivesse vocação, essa talvez fosse a única alternativa para conseguir que os pais o notassem.

- Assim como os outros filhos, Erik passou por treinamento de batalha, já que o Conde August queria que todos os filhos pudessem se defender. Apesar da pouca idade, o menino se mostrara bastante habilidoso com a espada, o que fez com que o Conde tentasse por algum tempo, convencer Bruno a desistir de se juntar a igreja como padre, mas desistisse ao ver o filho do meio entrar para o exercito da Baviera.

- Erik foi educado pela Ordem de São Bento em Colônia, chegando a se tornar noviço, mas abandonando a posição há poucos dias antes de tomar seus votos como monge aos 18 anos para entrar o seminário, por acreditar que a clausura dos mosteiros afastavam os monges da missão de evangelizar e espalhar a palavra de deus.

- De inteligência destacada, Erik retornou a Salzburgo onde trabalhou como professor até ser aceito no seminário em Colônia aos 20 anos. No seu período como seminarista, Erik foi apadrinhado pelo padre Francis Hoffman, um homem conhecido por sua sagacidade e por ser especialista em investigações para a igreja. Hoffman ensinou ao seminarista tudo o que aprendera em anos trabalhando para ajudar o Vaticano a encontrar hereges e católicos que estavam tramando contra a Santa Sé.

- Erik foi ordenado padre dois anos mais tarde, e a pedido do padre Hoffman, continuou auxiliando em sua missão, precisando se disfarçar muitas vezes para evitar que sua investigação fosse descoberta. Seu talento nato para detetive, sua fé exemplar e seu grande amor à Igreja, rendeu-lhe uma indicação para ir trabalhar no Vaticano, após sua investigação sobre a ocorrência de heresias em um mosteiro beneditino. Erik recebeu o título de cônego e fora enviado para ser assistente de do Arcebispo de Trento, Adalperone, na arquidiocese na Itália.

- Desde as notícias do retorno do rei, que Erik fora designado pelo arcebispo, a mando da Santa Sé, para apenas observar os eventos no reino. O cônego achava que a presença dos turcos e a conversão de Kaaj, eram provas suficientes para que o Vaticano tomasse alguma providência para que o reino voltasse para o caminho da igreja e de Deus. Entretanto, com a morte do rei e a inclinação de Mihail para seguir os passos do pai, o arcebispo decidiu enviar Erik para Belônia e dar carta branca para o clérigo agir. Disfarçado de Frei Francis Dragolescu, o cônego planeja concluir sua missão de reconduzir Andrev ao poder o mais rápido possível, acreditando que somente assim a paz voltaria ao reino.  

E por último mas não menos importante, quais seus planos para o personagem e seu desenvolvimento?

Erik vai ter uma crise de fé e de identidade, porque apesar de ser extremamente católico, de gostar de ser Cônego e de trabalhar para o Arcebispo de Trento,  conviver com os turcos em Belônia, e ver a relação deles com Alá, vai fazer o clérigo começar a questionar a missão de ajudar Andrev, o papel dele como membro da igreja católica, e o destino dele como pessoa, pois ele nunca teve o privilégio de pensar por si mesmo, já que sempre teve alguém para dizer o que fazer, e essa é a primeira vez que o Erik se encontra diante de um dilema moral que vai de encontro contra tudo o que ele havia aprendido até então, eque a única pessoa que pode determinar o que deve ser feito é ele mesmo.

[lucrezia-thoughts]

Hi Princess. Happy Friday! How are you doing today?

You don't need to answer this if you don't feel comfortable, but thought it might be fun.

How do you think it would go if say you (or reader) was warming my cock while they were writing filthy smut?

Daddy Will!! 💚 Hi!! Happy Friday to you too! I'm doing alright, staying off my hurty toe! How are you doing today?? 🥰

Now... I... umm... I hope this was kind of what you were looking for, Daddy Will!

Cockwarming Will While Writing Filthy Smut... (18+ under the cut!)

You'd never struggled as much to write a story as you were right now...

Despite all the... inspiration... you were currently receiving by cockwarming your boyfriend, this was the fifth time you'd attempted to type the word "the" and you had spelled it wrong once again...

"Having trouble concentrating, Honeybee?"

You could hear the grin in Will’s deliciously low voice and couldn't help but shiver and roll your hips in his lap...

"Daddy... that's not... not fair-"

Your words broke off into a wanton moan when his large, warm hands gripped your hips to still your movements as a deep groan rumbled out of his chest and you felt his cock twitch deep inside your cunt...

"Honeybee..."

The warning in his tone was clear... you were breaking the rules of this game by moving...

Taking as deep of a breath as you could muster, you nodded your head and shakily brought your fingers back to the keyboard...

"Good girl..." you felt his hot breath on the back of your neck as he whispered...

"Now..." the fingers of his right hand slowly slid down the inside of your thigh to rub slow circles around your clit...

"How are you going to have me take care of your wet little pussy when I pull the car over?"

[lucrezia-thoughts]

Will finding your stash of sex toys and wanting to use them on you or he wants to watch you use them on yourself!!! Will needs to know all of your "Stats", he has even kept count of the number of orgasms he has given you!!

Yessssss, love!! 🥵💚

Will finding your sex toys... (18+ only under the cut, f!reader)

When he finds your stash of toys, the first thing Will does is count and group them into two categories...

One group for toys he wants to see you use on yourself... toys like dildos... A or G spot toys... internal vibrators...

One group for toys he wants to use on you... like wand vibrators... clitoral vibrators... clitoral suction toys...

Then, he'll want to watch you play with yourself... watch how you like to give your body pleasure...

He'll take note of the angles you use... the speed... what moves make your breath catch... your legs twitch... or your pussy clamp down around the toy...

Once he's seen you play with each of those toys, coating them in your sweet honey (that he'll eagerly lick off when you're done with them), he'll tally up the orgasms you gave yourself before grabbing a toy from the second group...

[lucrezia-thoughts]

Dearest Lucrezia…

How are you feeling today, my dear? I hope that you’re doing well and taking some time for yourself 💚💚💚💚💚

As per usual on a lovely TF Friday such as today, I am filled with whorish thots for one (1) blond and ruggedly handsome Delta Force Captain…

Okay, listen. I am a simple person with a simple (and extensive) list of kinks, most of which happen to link up with our dear Will. Breeding kink? Yeah. We’ve already discussed that in length (something I am eternally grateful for, btws). But I’ve been thinking… after you’ve succeeded in getting pregnant and your body starts to change? Riding him with your stomach huge and your chest swollen? Unparalleled. (Except, of course, for the lactation kink he develops after the baby’s born and he sees your chest glistening with milk for the first time, but, that’s an ask for another day >:) )

This week on unfortunate circumstances… I have a breeding and pregnancy kink combo yet don’t want children… why, dear God, am I like this? (But thank you for indulging these habits in me, dearest 💚)

Sending you and Neville lots of hugs!

-🐞

My dearest 🐞!! Neville and I are doing well, mostly! 💚 you are not alone in those kinks, my dearest. I possess them both and I can't have children. 😔

18+ under the cut... f!reader...

As soon as the two of you found that Will's extensive efforts to breed you had proven successful, you couldn't keep his hands off of you...

You'd thought he'd been attentive and tactile before... that had been nothing...

As your body changed and grew to accommodate the life nestled safely in your womb, Will became even more insatiable and aroused by you...

At every possible opportunity, he was kissing your neck... and shoulders... and clavicle... begging you to ride him...

The two of you would spend hours as one... Will helping you balance as you rose and fell on his engorged erection... his large hands splayed protectively along your hip and stomach...

Or... he'd spend hours between your legs... gluttonous for your taste... even sweeter now that you were pregnant...

He actually fucked you into labor when the time came... a fact he is very proud of...

[lucrezia-thoughts]

Dearest Lucrezia…

Also also, because Will is perhaps my favorite of the boys, my head is brimming with thots for him because I am a thot for him. Pretty common in Will fanfics to call reader ‘honey’ (which is sweet af in my opinion) so with that in mind….

Will calling you honeybee. Will calling you honeybee as you dance around each other in the kitchen, making breakfast on a rainy Sunday morning—Will calling you honeybee in a soft and smooth voice as you lean into him while out with the boys—Will calling you honeybee amidst chuckles because just how did you manage to lock your keys in your car again?—Will calling you honeybee as he eats you out, humming the name into your cunt—Will calling you honeybee in soft murmurs and hushed grunts as he makes sweet love to you.

xoxo,

-🐞

Ooooh yes, let us explore this...

18+ under the cut... (f!reader, warning(s): bottom reader, daddy kink, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex...)

Will Calling You Honeybee...

Will absolutely loved to call you his honeybee...

When you're cooking together, he loves to press against your back... hands on your hips as he guides them to sway with him... he'll nip at your earlobe before coaxing you to turn so he can hold you in his arms... whispering into your ear "dance with me, honeybee..."

Or when he has you resting on his lap, arm wrapped around your waist as he laughs at some story Pope shared from an embarrassing screw up during his time in Colombia... you had your head resting on his shoulder, eyes drooping slightly as sleep tried to claim you... you felt his lips brush against your cheek... "you ready to go home, honeybee?"

Or that time you called him on your lunch break, frustration evident in your voice... you begrudgingly admitted that your keys were locked in your car and you needed him to come and unlock it... you heard his low chuckle through the phone... "Don't worry, honeybee, daddy's coming to help you..."

Or when his tongue is buried in your pussy, your hands fisted in his hair as he keeps you spread open so he can feast on you... pulling off your clit with a wet pop to moan against your soaked lips, "come on, honeybee... give me that sweet honey this pretty pussy makes..."

But especially when he's buried balls deep inside you, hips moving at a maddeningly slow pace, your hands intertwined as he stares into your eyes... you share breath as he moans into your mouth... "I love you, honeybee... that's it... let me make you feel good, honeybee..."