#i love how her outfit from the back looks like a crane

[musing-ryne]

I did get Shenhe

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Dad!Simon Riley x Fem!reader

Simon Riley: Girl Dad

From the request here ; pic screenshot from this video

“Can I come in now?” you ask, popping your head into the nursery as Simon finishes getting your 3 month old daughter Anna ready for the day. 

She wriggles in his grasp, babbling away as he mutters in a hushed tone to her about keeping still for daddy.

"Ya think this is funny yeah," he teases her, tickling her chubby tummy before trying to wrangle one of her legs in his grasp.

It’s like music to his soul the way the happy talking sounds she makes touches his heart and it only makes him want to do whatever he can so that she will keep making them for him. That’s why it always takes longer than usual to get her dressed when he does it.

You crane your neck trying to sneak a peak, but his voice stops you. “Not yet,” he says and moves his body to block your view. 

He doesn’t want you to see before he’s ready. The outfit is one he picked up the other night on a whim, the moment he saw it he knew Anna had to have it for today, and he wants to get it all on to give the full effect. He finishes straightening her up and tucks her body sitting up in the crook of his arm. She is content as can be being snuggled at the side of his chest, happily clapping her little hands together as they turn to face you. 

“Well?” he asks, brow furrowed and body slightly tense as he waits for your critique. “How'd we do?”

You match your daughter’s vibrant smile as you see the outfit Simon’s bought all on his own: a bright yellow corduroy romper with frill capped sleeves, little socks with suns on them, and a big yellow bow to match. Your heart swells full of emotion at the sight; it’s just an outfit, sure, but it really means so much more than the sum of its parts. You know just how far Simon has come in his journey with her and it truly warms your heart to see him so smitten with the little babe this way.  

When she first came home, there wasn’t a moment when Simon wasn’t on edge around her, nervous that somehow, someway, he would end up hurting her. She seemed so small to him in those first days, so incredibly delicate as she lay sleeping in her bassinet like the most perfect doll, that he was certain that someone as rough around the edges as him would never be able to be near her without breaking her and that was something he was not willing to risk.

She is his gift, his light, a treasure that came from out of all the years of heartache and hardship and he would never let anything bad ever happen to her.

It took some time and a lot of encouragement on your part, but finally Simon found his confidence and never looked back. Any chance now that he can get he is holding her, changing her, feeding her; anything and everything he can do to show her his love by his actions alone. And whether he gives himself the credit for it or not, he is doing a marvelous job.

“How did I know you'd choose something yellow?” you laugh as Simon glares at you, trying not to crack that fake tough facade. 

It is becoming a pattern for him to choose yellow things when it comes to Anna. When she came home from the hospital a few months ago in that yellow onesie, it was like a flip and been switched and that was it; that was her hue from then on. It is strange, Simon never really had a favorite color before that special day and then suddenly yellow was never the same. Now he cannot imagine his life without it.

His face breaks into a smile as he shakes his head, not ready to admit that he is becoming predictable. “Come on, did I do it right or not? Just want to be sure it looks fine on her. We got a big day and I want it ta be perfect.”

Your face brightens as you look her over again. “She looks adorable, Simon,” you reply cheerfully. “You did good, baby. I think you’re really getting the hang of this dad thing.”

Looking down at her in his grasp, he beams with a sense of accomplishment and his tense shoulders ease. Parenting is not something Simon ever thought he could be good at, he never thought he would be the one with the chance at having a family, but each day he is making strides in the right direction to becoming the dad he desperately wants to be.  

“Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own today?” you ask as you watch Simon place a delicate kiss to the top of Anna’s small, wispy-haired head. “Cause I can stay if you need me to. All I gotta do is make a call and let them know I can’t go.”

Simon shakes his head and reaches for you with his free arm, pulling you by the wrist until you step close enough that he can wrap his arm around your hip to pull you against him opposite your daughter. “Ya worry too damn much, sweetheart,” he says as his hand finds your cheek, his thumb stroking across the soft skin before he is leaning his face in towards yours. 

His full lips catch you in their tender embrace, a kiss that is full of emotion, and in an instant your eyes flutter closed as you relinquish yourself to him. You let all those worries fall away as the gentle touch of his lips, the heat from his breath, the passion flowing through his kiss calms your mind. He conveys so much without ever speaking a single word and in a flash you are put at ease.

Slowly he breaks away, already missing your taste the moment your lips part. Eyes still shut, he rests his forehead against yours, rocking all three of you back and forth a moment as he enjoys the feeling of having his entire life resting comfortably in his arms. You both open your eyes after a time and look down at Anna babbling away to herself, before looking back at each other. This is all still new and unchartered territory, so the both of you are working to figure it all out, but so far it has been anything except bad. 

“I promise, I got ‘er. We’re gonna be just fine,” he says quietly. “Isn’t that right, princess?”

At the sound of his voice Anna turns her face to find his and it lights up as it always does whenever her favorite person talks to her. She even employs her recently-learned skill of giggling happily to punctuate that she agrees with whatever it was she was just asked, even though she doesn’t understand a word of it.  

Simon kisses your forehead to be sure the worry is completely gone. “It’s just a couple hours on base and then we’ll be home the rest of tha day,” he says. “Besides, might be nice to show her off to the guys. She does look real pretty today.” 

“That she does,” you agree as you quickly check the clock on your phone and with a kiss to your baby and one more for Simon you are gone, leaving the pair alone.

Simon gets to work double checking everything in his backpack that he has to bring for her: extra diapers, wipes, bottles, toys, anything he could need while he is out. It’s in his nature, years of military training has come in handy as he is prepared for it all. Satisfied, he turns back to the baby at his side. “Alright princess,” he says, “ready to go see where your dad spends all his time when he ain’t at home?”

The moment he’s walking on base, black backpack filled with essentials strapped to his back, tiny baby girl dressed in bright clothes tucked in his arms, he’s drawing curious stares from everyone he passes. This is the first time she has gone to base with him, so of course people are going to be inquisitive about things. How can they not? Simon looks like… well, Simon: intense, stoic, intimidating. Even in just his black t-shirt and jeans, with his lightweight balaclava on, he is still an imposing figure. Never one to be shy per se, Simon still does not like the attention on him, but since he is with his little angel he doesn’t care. He is proud to show off the best damn thing he has ever helped to create.

The contrast between him and his daughter he knows is jarring and Simon laughs to himself at how absurd this must look for someone like him with such a coarse demeanor to be handling such a precious, sweet thing. Who would have thought that the scary skull-masked military officer would have a family of his own? It is a shock he is sure. 

“Seems we’re gonna be the talk ‘round ‘ere today, princess,” he says as he looks down at Anna, secure in his grasp as they continue on towards his office.

She is too busy looking everywhere her little head can turn to be bothered by anything. Being out and about with her father, seeing things she’s never seen before, which is pretty much everything, has her interested and engaged with the sights around her. Those small brown eyes, the ones that are a carbon copy of his, stare on as she silently takes everything in.

He makes it to his office and gets set up, grabbing everything that he needs in one tight spot as he sits Anna up in his lap with a toy for her to play with. She is content for a while as he goes through paperwork, occasionally he gives her a tickle or readjusts her on his thigh, something to show that he hasn’t forgotten she’s there with him. 

Barely an hour has passed before Anna begins to whine and fuss and Simon knows what that means: she’s hungry. He grabs the prepped bottle out of the bag and walks to the small microwave in the corner of the room, warming it and testing it on his wrist before he moves back to his desk and sits back down in his chair, cradling her in his arms against his chest as he places the nipple of the bottle in her mouth.

“There ya are, luv,” he comforts her until she settles into him, “I gotcha. Daddy didn’t forget.”

Unknown to Simon, there is an unexpected guest that has just appeared near his office door, though before the person can even knock to announce themselves, they are caught by surprise at the sight before them. Johnny, who’s come to deliver something from Price, stops right in his tracks and stares at the scene before him.

He stands there, watching as Simon tenderly holds this little infant in his arms, quietly rocking back and forth as she drinks her bottle. Every now and again he speaks to her softly, the skin around his eyes tightening to indicate there is a smile underneath the mask. There is an ease to his movements as if he knows exactly what he is doing and it genuinely shocks the young sergeant. Who could have ever guessed that this would be something Simon would be such a natural at?

As Anna is finishing the bottle, Simon looks up as he feels a pair of eyes on him to see Johnny standing there, obscured by the doorframe, silently watching. He sets the empty bottle down on his desk and moves Anna to sit upright on his thigh, leaning her against the crook of his arm so that he can pat and rub her back until she burps. 

“Can I help ya, Mactavish?” Simon’s distinct voice calls out, catching Johnny off-guard as he realizes he’s been caught staring.

“Sorry, L.T.” Johnny stutters out as he hurriedly steps inside the office, remembering why he is here in the first place, and sets some papers upon his desk. “Price sent these; says he needs ya to look ‘em over.”

Simon nods in understanding, his hand still rubbing the baby’s back. “Will do,” he agrees, thinking this will be the end of the interaction, but Johnny still lingers. “Anything else?”

“I heard ‘round base that ya had your little one here today. Had to come see if it was true fer myself,” Johnny admits with guilt. 

“Well, ya could meet ‘er if ya like, ‘stead a standin’ there just starin’.”  Simon nods his head down at the baby. “Johnny, this is Anna.”

The sergeant observes her as she begins to coo, her eyes catching the tattoos along Simon’s muscular arm, her petite fingers tapping and poking along the lines and patterns with delight as she loves to do when he holds her like this. She’s so engrossed that she hasn’t realized there is another person in the room yet.

Johnny clears his throat. “Didn’t mean ta stare, ya know. It’s just a surprise ta see she’s actually real, I guess.”

The original members of the 141 know about Anna, it wasn’t something that Simon could hide once she was about to make her way into the world, but it’s a bit jarring for the Scot to see someone that he had previously known to be so toughened by the world change so drastically. Anyone who gets close enough can see it in the lieutenant’s soft gaze: he adores the little girl and that is… interesting, to say the least.

Simon chuckles at the clear surprise in Johnny’s voice as Anna is still playing with his arm. “Bit absurd, innit Johnny?” he questions while watching her with a prideful twinkle in those brown eyes as she giggles. “Me with a kid? Doesn’t seem possible, does it?” 

“Ya seem a natural ta me,” the Scot admits in awe of how easily he makes it seem, as if he was given some secret knowledge that made him know exactly what to do and how to do it. “Then again I don’t know the first thing ‘bout babies. Wouldn’t even know where ta start.”

Simon is reminded about how when he first found out he was going to be a dad he had started reading all the books, researching all the things like a good, capable soldier would, but how all of that prep was nothing in the end as the moment she came into the world everything was turned on its head. It’s not like in the books, it’s so much better and it is days like today that make it worth all the worry and fear and anxiety he had to break through to get here.

“Easier than ya think,” Simon replies with a chuckle as he moves Anna around facing forward now. “Once ya get the hang of it.”

“Don’t tell my girl that,” Johnny laughs back. “Can’t afford one right now.”

Anna’s attention is stirred away from Simon’s tattoos and towards the other man standing in the room with them. She looks up at Johnny in awe, not having much experience with others outside of Simon and you, but Johnny shoots her his classic smile and he has her giggling again in a flash. 

“Well hey there Anna, nice ta meet ya,” he introduces himself before turning back to Simon. “I think she likes me.”

“It's your hair she's eyein’,” Simon points out, following her eye line.

Sure enough as soon as Johnny runs his hands over the mohawk cut into his hair her eyes light up. “Can she touch it?” he asks Simon and he nods in agreement.

Johnny falls to one knee in front of the little girl, leans his head down, and lets her put her hand in it. Her short, chubby fingers pull the strands as she laughs, the short, spiky pieces pricking her fingertips. She pulls away quickly before bringing her hand back in again, a sort of game that she repeats a few more times before Johnny gets back to his feet. 

“He’s a funny one, ain’t he, princess?” Simon questions his little one as he strokes his thumb around the smile that fills her tiny, round cheeks. “Ya like him, yeah?”

She coos, her little lips forming an ‘o’ so that she sounds like a dove. That’s the closest to a yes as they are going to get. 

“I sure ‘ope ya do, seein’ as I’m your dad’s best friend,” Johnny picks, looking to Simon to see his reaction. 

He rolls his eyes at the statement, but stays silent and doesn’t correct him. Instead Simon opts to end the conversation there, needing to get finished here anyway so that he can get back home. As much as Johnny’s company isn’t as grating as it first was, he is ready to spend some alone time with the baby before you get back. “Well, if ya don’t mind, I need to get back to it. Say goodbye Anna.”

Johnny agrees, though his mouth twitches like he wants to ask a question, but ultimately decides not to ask it in the end. He turns to leave, but Simon guesses at what he is wanting and calls out behind him so that he stops. 

“And ya can tell the others they can come see ‘er if they want,” Simon assures, “I know they’re probably itchin’ to get a glimpse of her too. That’s why they sent ya, yeah? See if I was up for company?”

Johnny turns around and nods his head. Fuck, they’ve been caught. “Will do, L.T.” he says. “Can ya blame us though? She’s pretty damn cute.”

And with that he turns back around. As Johnny leaves the office with the sounds of Simon and Anna at his back, he can’t help but smile to himself at seeing his friend finally have a bit of happiness; if anyone deserves it, it is Simon. Wait till the others see just how much things around here are going to change.

[yuqiyu]

Guitar Lessons (Eddie Munson x F!Reader)

♡ part 2

Summary: During one of your hangouts at Eddie's trailer, he offers to give you some guitar lessons.

Word Count: 6.6k

Tags: NSFW, sexual content, cunnilingus, face riding, making out, eating out, fluff, friends to lovers (kinda), slight angst, dramatic reader, no use of y/n

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“How long have you played?” you ask as you graze your fingers over the body of the guitar. It’s smooth and cold, the design fitting right in with Eddie’s aesthetic.

He’s looking at you cutely, leaning back on his forearms against the bed. There’s a sparkle in his doe eyes as he shifts a bit.

“So I see you’ve met the lady of the house,” he says, a slight lilt to his voice. “Go on, take her down.” 

As you carefully step over a messy pile of cassette tapes beside another pile of clothes, Eddie makes a grabbing motion and mumbles a That’s right, come to papa. You stifle a laugh, releasing a snort in the process. He shoots a look at you, fully defensive. 

Once the guitar (or the love of his life, as he’d say) is in his hands, it fits perfectly like a puzzle piece on his body. His neck is slightly craned over it. You think he’s looking at the strings, but as you move closer, his eyes are closed.

He starts plucking out a couple chords, a sweet melody completely contradicting the visuals you are being fed. You begin to close your eyes as well, allowing the music to flow through the both of you. It sounds beautiful despite not being hooked up to an amp.

It has been only a couple of months since you first met Eddie in the hallway between classes. You recall a head full of messy curls hanging over what you thought were interesting choices in an outfit. Girls were avoiding him left and right as he picked up the remnants of his stuff off the ground after a couple jocks had so kindly knocked them out of his hands. 

When you had picked up a notebook that had fallen behind him, a few loose papers with unfamiliar charts and symbols fell out. You plucked them up for a closer study.

“Just getting ready for the Satanic rituals this Thursday,” he mused. You looked up in surprise. 

He was a very pretty man, his hair framing his slim face surprisingly well. His large eyes bore into you, and you swore you could get lost in the dark abyss behind them.

“What?” 

“Sorry, bad joke.” He looked at you sheepishly, then to the notebook in your hands.

“Right, sorry.” Even after you quickly handed it back to him, he continued staring at you, amused. 

“Are you new?” 

You shuffled your feet, feeling even more awkward than you already were. 

“Yeah.” And the rest was history.

You open your eyes when the music stops. Eddie is staring at you with a crooked grin, inches away from your face.

“Jeez, you’re so creepy,” you laugh as you push him off. Ever the drama queen he is, he falls backward onto the bed limply, the guitar following suit. His hands are clutched over his heart as his face fakes a wounded expression. 

“I just gave you the best serenade you will ever hear in your life, and this is how you repay me?” He all but shrieks at you as you continue slapping at his arm.

“ Ever? That’s such a loaded statement, Eddie. You haven’t even answered my question.”

He jumps back up, then pauses for a beat. “I don’t know, my whole life I guess,” he shrugs. 

You stare back at the guitar, still being held snugly in his arms. There was no way to stop the idea of you being there instead, but you shake yourself out of it.

“That’s pretty cool, though. I don’t know how to play any instruments.” You copy his pose from earlier, supporting yourself up by your forearms. He twists his neck towards you, that beautiful damn smile beaming a hundred miles per hour your way. 

“Really,” he questions, dragging out the word playfully. “How about I, the greatest guitarist ever, teach you some new things.” 

“Again, such a loaded statement, but okay. Hit me.” 

The next hour or so is not exactly what you were expecting. He has an old acoustic guitar hiding somewhere in his closet (which he searches for with difficulty, under more piles of items) and has you test the waters on it. With the pleasant surprise of Eddie literally wrapping your back with his arms, moving your fingers to the right formations, you are basically floating on cloud nine. 

He is a demonstrations type of guy, not an I-will-show-you-first-then-you-play kind of way, but in an I-will-wrap-my-gorgeous-hands-around-yours kind of way. This shouldn’t have shocked you, ever since he cupped his hands over yours just to help you roll some dice when you hesitated during a campaign, at least. You often took sneaky glances at his fingers after that day, how could you help it? The day he finds out about your secret hand fetish will be the day you change your identity, because not only would it feed his already inflated ego, he would never let you live it down. He already has so much ammo against you, and you dread that only one more will put you six feet under. 

Eddie was exceedingly patient with you in teaching the strings and the chords, even though you had trouble memorizing where to place your fingers. You wish you could say the same about previous teachers, who were truly wicked demons compared to him. 

You let yourself falter and lean backwards, just enough for Eddie to notice. He suddenly peels your fingers off the instrument and gives little kisses to them. 

You yank your hand back in surprise and squeak out, “Eddie!”

His stupid antics always make it hard for you not to fall for him. It sometimes feels like he does it on purpose, like he means to fuel your feelings even more. 

“Just thought they needed some healing kissies ,” he replies, his pitch increasing at the end to mock you. 

“Kissies are only for couples,” you snapped, unable to process anything but the imprint of his soft lips on your hands. You hope you don’t look as dazed as you feel right now. 

He simply ignores you and strokes the neck of the guitar, still wrapped comfortably around you. “You’re a natural at this, y’know? Maybe you should get some real lessons.” 

“Yeah, right. It sure doesn’t feel like it.” You give your hands a good shake, loosening all the muscles as you sighed in relief. Dark, red lines were etched deep into your fingertips. Looking at them only made the pain feel even more real. 

He grabs them again, gripping them tightly. “Hey—hey, careful! These hands have unknown potential! You could be a god with these.”

“‘Thought you said you were the best out there,” you smile, nudging him in the ribs. He feigns offense.

“I am, but if there’s gonna be someone better out there, I’d rather it be you!” 

You can only roll your eyes at him as he drops his chin on your shoulder. He must be bored out of his mind right now, so you push for a new topic.

“Why are you being so touchy today,” you tease, turning to look at his face. It is much easier now to admire his features now that he is sitting so close to you. His eyes are glazed over.  “Wait a minute—were you high this whole time?” 

He gives you a guilty look.

You aren’t sure if you should be impressed that he was able to teach you so well under the influence, or if you should be disappointed. His affections to you often occurred under one and only one circumstance, and that was when he was ridiculously high. He must’ve smoked more than usual. The thought hits you like a crushing weight, smashing through your heart and sinking down to your stomach in just under five seconds. You want to throw your head into your palms and cringe at how hopeful you were, even though you’re already used to the reality of this godforsaken friendship. But then the sinking feeling falls even deeper into your pit when you realized something might’ve happened to make him reach for his stash like this. 

“Did something happen today?” You don’t mean to probe, but even stoner Eddie has his limits for most of the time. Sometimes the overcompensation is a little too obvious, even for your obliviousness. 

His head is still lolling on your shoulder, though this time there’s a faraway look in his eyes. There’s a silence that hangs thick for what felt like forever, until you feel his chin shift, trying to find a more comfortable spot to sulk in.

“Don’t tell me it’s girl troubles,” you huff out. The thought of it already has the heat rising to your cheeks. It’s one thing to have an unrequited crush, but to see said crush pining for another person was simply soul-crushing. 

He must notice your expression, because he looks at you amusingly. “Why? Would you be jealous?” 

When you shoot him a deadly look, he only giggles and reassures you. You’ve heard this speech about a million times already: you’re his best girl-friend and no one can ever beat you. To be honest, it’s hard to be beat when you’re his only girl-friend, but hey, it’s still a win. If he has to constantly remind you, though, maybe you’re being too obvious. You remind yourself to tone it down around him.

Eddie suddenly jumps off the bed with renewed vigor and swipes the guitar from your arms before laying it carefully somewhere in the closet, then plops back down beside you. His face is serious, the playful energy lasting only for a few seconds.

You ease yourself down slowly, lying on your side as you soak in the sight before you. His arms are tucked under his head, ankles crossed at the edge of the bed. 

“I only ask because I—”

“ Because you care. I know.” 

You give him a minute. There are only the sounds of your breaths mingling with each other, and if you relaxed enough, you swear you’d be able to hear his heartbeat. You’d usually miss the peace you had prior to meeting Eddie, but now, when there is no sound of his annoying voice or music or anything , it makes you nervous. Because a vulnerable Eddie is a sad Eddie. There was no easy way to learn this. 

“I heard you went on a date with Harrington,” he starts. His hands fly in the air as he continues. You can’t help but stare at the glint his rings give off in the different angles. “Went to the mall and everything.”

It’s your turn to look amused. When he catches it, he presses a finger to your lips, which only causes you to snicker. “How could you ignore me for some jock. Is that why you didn’t pick up my calls that day?” He has such an intense expression, backed up by the furrowing of his brows now hiding under his bangs. He seems so distressed, although you can’t help but smile at him in silence. 

“Is that all you have to say to me?” He’s practically begging for response at this point. 

“First of all, Munson,” you emphasize as he winces at the demotion of his name. It was easy to tell when you don’t feel like humoring him. Ever since the beginning, it had always been Eddie . When you had tried calling him anything else, it just didn’t feel right in those moments. And it still doesn’t. “It wasn’t a date. It was a double date!” 

His jaw drops as he rubs a hand over his face, having expected you to at least try to comfort him, like you usually would. It was shameful, honestly, the way you would scramble to mend his sorrow every single time. You pause for a second, letting the moment really sink in before continuing again. This is payback , you thought. “It was Nancy, Steve, Robin, and me. It wasn’t really a date, Eddie. I don’t know why you’d even care.” 

There’s a slight quiver in your voice when you articulate the last line, but you hope he doesn’t notice. However, it seems like that’s the only thing he noticed.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, missy, but I care a whole lot when my only friend in the whole wide world goes missing when I need her most.” The glazed look in his eyes hasn’t faded, but the seriousness is still there. You almost wish you aren’t still having this conversation because it only breaks your heart further the more he opens his goddamn mouth about friendship this, friendship that. But your love and concern for him overshadows it all, and you want to smack yourself over the head for that. 

You take a deep breath, inhaling all the different scents of Eddie (if that was even humanly possible) and ponder your thoughts. You like to do it because It keeps him on his toes, you remember, as if he’s always hanging onto your every word, inching closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. 

You allow your eyes to wander across his walls, taking in the various band posters, and then back onto the guitar. It’s so easy to get sidetracked in the confines of anything related to him, but the more you learn about him, the more you realize he’s just a huge dork who plays fantasy games and the guitar in his free time. He does a great job at keeping the air of mystery around him, though, and you wonder if people actually realized who he truly was, maybe they’d bully him a tiny bit less. That is, if they weren’t so scared of being sacrificed by him. He shakes you out of your conscious slumber with a couple snaps of his fingers in front of your face.

“Hey—are you even listening to me?” 

His hand continues waving in your face for a few more seconds before you swat it away. You’re looking at him with as much sincerity as you could possibly muster. He’s doing the same, though you notice the way the corners of his mouth tug down, like how they usually do whenever you reject one of his hugs.

“Can I level with you?” you ask.

He looks at you strangely, eyebrows raise in question. There’s some clarity to his eyes now, and you feel yourself getting sucked in temporarily. His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps thickly. He nods.

“I couldn’t give less of a shit about your love life and who you choose to date, so why should you? ” The words come out with more venom than you mean to, but you couldn’t—no, wouldn’t , take back what you said. Even though you’re lying, it feels good knowing that he at least doesn’t know you have a massive one-sided crush on him. It gives the illusion that you’re in control, and you’d like to keep it that way.

Eddie’s features soften. He looks so hurt, and you can’t bear to look at him for more than two seconds. The room is silent again, though it’s lacking the comfort that usually comes with it. You slowly sit up, and start grabbing your things. Before you leave, he pulls your wrist back. His eyes are pleading.

“It’s still early,” he begins. “If you want to stay longer.” You look sparingly at his face, mostly darting to his bedsheets or the walls. His grip tightens. 

“I—um, I’ve got some overdue homework I need to work on.” 

He knows you well enough to know that if there was one person he knew that always had their shit together and done on time, it was you. But he lets go, and your heart stumbles because if he had asked you one more time, you would’ve stayed. You guess some things are just not written in the stars, and tonight was one of those things.

He only purses his lips and exhales, “Alright.”

He doesn’t walk you out the door today.

The next time you see him ends up being the following night. He had called the morning of, asking if you wanted to come over for more “guitar lessons.” When you didn’t reply quickly enough for his liking, he simply said, “See you at eight. Sharp, okay, sweetheart?”

Your heart twinges, so you agree. 

Eight sneaks up on you before you know it. The night air engulfs you as you rap your knuckles against the Munsons’ trailer door. It rattles violently, so you stop, fearing that one more would completely knock it off the hinges. You hear a familiar voice ring out, welcoming you in.

When you’re inside, you spot Eddie running around chaotically in the small kitchen. Various snacks are being crushed by his arms clutching them close to his chest, and he nearly slams into a table (not without cursing) while tossing them over onto the couch. 

He finally sits down among the mess, accidentally on a bag of chips, and it crunches. He makes a butt-shaped hole with the snacks next to himself, then affectionately pats the area and looks at you. 

You scooch around and pop open a bag of gummy bears. “We’re starting the movie early today, huh?” 

“You gotta return it tomorrow. We can’t have any more distractions now, can we?” He fiddles with the remote, pressing buttons here and there. There’s only static on the TV. He groans and gives it a good few smacks. 

“Wow,” you drawl. “Eddie Munson himself, actually remembering due dates, and not even his responsibility? That’s new.” He turns around to retaliate, but is hit by a gummy bear straight to the face. “Bullseye,” you laugh.

He only sighs and walks towards the kitchen. His hand squeezes your thigh on the way and, with an exasperated voice, says, “Be good ‘til I get back.” 

The movie ends without another hitch, and it’s not long after that both of you are back in his bedroom.

“So,” he says as he claps his hands together dramatically. “It’s time for lessons by Mr. Munson himself.” He picks up the acoustic guitar and seats himself down next to you on the bed. “Wanna show me what you’ve learned so far?”

“To be honest, not much. Sorry to disappoint, Mr. Munson,” you shrug, taking over and strumming out a few test chords. He wets his lips absentmindedly.

“Well, you seem to remember the C chord, at least,” he nods. “But—” He cups your fingers and shifts them downward. “You’re a bit too high there, sweetheart.”

The touch burns through your skin and sets your mind, body, and heart aflame. It takes you a second to answer. A second too long, is what Eddie thinks. 

“Okay…what about my G?” you ask quietly, not trusting yourself to breathe.

“Your G what? G-string or G chord?” 

You blink.

He winks.

And your body is at war. The rope inside you tugs between choosing violence or letting yourself melt in his arms. It’s close to betraying you, until you choose fight-or-flight’s third sibling: freeze. 

Eddie cackles as he shakes you awake. You feel your consciousness slam back into your body with full force. Your mind is going insane. What did he mean? Does he want to do something? Does he want me ? You’re about to open your mouth, to say Yes! Yes, Eddie, I want you!

“Bad joke. Sorry.”

You wish the moon would become unlatched from whatever science-y, physics-y thing that’s keeping it in orbit and hurl towards Earth and just crush you to death right then and there. How does one recover from this?

Except you do. He spends the next thirty minutes teaching you an easy song that includes the whopping four chords you’ve learned. It goes as smoothly as you hope, until the heat radiating off of Eddie and wafting onto your back is making you uncomfortably sticky. 

When you had left the house earlier, you wore tank top with a denim jacket to cover your arms. It wasn’t your best look, but you weren’t trying to impress anyone (more of a self-persuasion, but who’s really checking?). The decision feels like a huge mistake now, because you are definitely not comfortable enough at the moment to let him see your skin like that.

Each touch, each movement, and each breath of Eddie’s fanning over your neck so deliciously gives you more and more confidence as the night moves on. He’s pressing all the right buttons, as if knowingly, and your barrier begins to crack. 

You carry on with full composure, as you always have . He gives you a simple task: play at least halfway into the song perfectly. When you do, he leans in, lips slightly brushing your earlobe, and whispers, “Good girl.”

Your face begins to heat up at a rapid rate. Your body, on the other hand, isn’t sure whether it should tense up or relax. Eddie notices and places his hands on your shoulders, giving you quick squeezes sympathetically. It only makes it worse.

Not sure how you did it, but you were able to get the guitar safely on the bed before jumping off of it entirely. 

“Wow,” he exhales and simpers. “I just wanted to see if you had a praise kink or so—”

He’s cut short by your glossy eyes and trembling lips. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out, so he waves his hands uselessly. 

“What, so I’m just a joke to you?” Your voice betrays you, as much as you attempt to conceal your vulnerability. It sports a matching look on your face. This is it , you think. You lasted only a couple of months after making your first friend at this stupid school, and thinking about it makes you feel ashamed. Somehow, this feels worse than a real break-up. 

“I’m—Hey, look at me, please. I’m so sorry.” He’s scrambling to fix his mistake, hands all over you, and eyes frantically searching you for a hint of forgiveness, even if he knows it’s futile. 

“Eddie, I need to go. It’s fi—”

“No!” he cries, causing you to flinch. His grip softens on your shoulders, but is still unwaveringly attached. “It’s not fine.”

Even through the thick material of your jacket, the knowledge that he’s still touching you has you squirming painfully. “God, please , stop touching me.” 

Now, Eddie’s heart is breaking into a million pieces, and you know it well. Since the first day you met him, you could tell what his love language was. From the way he’d ruffle your hair affectionately after a campaign win, or how he’d pull you into a bone-smashing hug whenever you brought his favorite snack to school, to simply the way his eyes would twinkle right before giving you a first bump every time you parted ways. In a sense, this was a real break-up to him. 

His arm slowly slides off of you, with a pained look on his face. He then stares at you expectantly. When you make a move to the side, he reaches out towards you, though not close enough to touch.

“Please don’t go yet. Just—” He closes his eyes and groans against his palms, and you’re sober enough to know it’s not directed at you. If you hadn't felt so terrible, you’d laugh at the way he was repenting. You stare slack-faced at him, and while it’s not the reaction he was hoping for, he takes it as a second chance. “I don’t know why I said that.” 

“Like how you don’t know why you said, ‘g-string’ or why you just messed with me all night?” you nearly shouted. It takes a lot of energy to force the sass through your pain, but it shows enough to cause Eddie to shrink within himself. You can’t even feel bad anymore. Maybe this was an overreaction on your part. He’s always been like this, so what is different now? In a way, there is still a part of you that actually does feel bad, but only because you let yourself waste away in your feelings without ever bringing it up to him. There is no way for him to really know how you feel about him without communicating it. Even then, normal friendships aren’t like this. Friends don’t whisper dirty things into each other’s ears. Friends don’t playfully flirt with real sexual tension. So it’s not fair that you have to endure this while he’s the only one having fun. 

Eddie, on the other hand, wants to stuff his mouth with his fist. He wants to pull his hair out, he wants to scream into his pillow, but most of all, he wants to hold you and apologize over and over until he’s completely lost his voice. For you, he would grovel as much as you want him to, and to him, that would be nothing if it meant you’d take him back.

His voice cracks when he manages to find the courage to speak again. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable with my behavior.” He looks at you intently, eyes roaming your face, searching— begging . 

You look away, and it scares him. He’s never seen you cry like this, and it’s even worse since he’s the reason why. His arms twitch, and he realizes that that was the last time he’ll ever be that close to you again. 

After a million years (according to Eddie), you sigh, “That’s not the issue.” There’s a fierceness to you now, surprising the both of you. You jab a finger at his chest viciously. “My issue with you is that you keep taking my feelings lightly.” His brows furrow, and it only pisses you off even more. 

“I like you, you asshole!” There was no point of return. All of that was out the window the moment he crossed a line. Instead of feeling scared or sad, like you thought you would, you were instead enraged with an addicting fury. “And you .” You make a point to jab him especially hard for emphasis. “You have the nerve to mess with me all night long—not to mention even whining about how I should spend every waking moment with you when I already do…and you know what the kicker in all of this was? I did wish I was at the mall with you! I did wish I was on a date with you!”

His forehead is creasing, eyes wide, and mouth pursing. When it finally opens, he breathes out an Oh. And he suddenly he knows how to make things right.

In your complete, utter mess of a breakdown, you don’t realize that you had balled your hands tightly into a fist until you let go, and the searing pain from your nails digging into your palms lets up. 

Maybe you were okay with destroying this friendship before, you try to convince yourself, but the regret starts pooling into your belly along with nausea. You’re too ashamed to look at him, yet you also don’t have the courage to move from your spot. So once again, the room is just filled with the sounds of labored breathing and bated breath, both standing in a face-off.

And then you will your legs to move, to run far, far away. But Eddie catches you first, and his face is sloppily smashed against yours as he pulls your lips into his own. Certainly, this is bold, the boldest thing he’s ever done, he’d argue. Still, he’s unable to withdraw because once he has you—your scent, your soft skin, and your gasps keeps him wanting more and more. 

It only ends when both of you come up for air, foreheads still glued together as you laugh mirthlessly. “This whole time?” you murmured. 

You can feel the smug grin on his lips as he attacks the junction of your neck. You melt against him. “Yeah.” He continues down to your shoulder after pulling your jacket off, his mouth never leaving you. “So, was I right?”

“Hmm?” You couldn’t trust yourself to speak anymore. Somehow, Eddie has gotten you back to his bed, and you feel his necklace glide across your chest coldly, sending little shivers along your spine. 

“‘Bout you having a praise kink,” he mumbles. He’s taking his time on a particular spot near your collarbone, making sure to really mark you well. 

You’re too embarrassed to reply, so you hope he moves on from it. He doesn’t—worse, he stops. He’s holding himself up with his arms, caging you in, and looks at you mischievously. “Sweetheart, I asked you a question. Don’t go shy on me now. ” 

You reach up to press a kiss against him, but he easily flicks you back down like a fly. His brow arches, though he’s still grinning arrogantly. 

“Fine, yes, yes, yes, I do.” 

“That’s my girl.” 

You moan into him when he’s back on your mouth, tongues slow dancing. You still feel hot, but it’s different this time around. It’s more freeing—like you’ve let something go, and now you’re finally able to enjoy it. 

Eddie is a much better kisser than you imagined. You’ve thought about how he’d taste and how it’d go, oh absolutely, but this is real . You memorize the way his tongue darts around as if mapping out every part of you, mixed in with the faint smell of cigarettes and pure testosterone. 

He’s gripping your chest as he makes his way down and massages it to Hell and back. You can’t help but love how primal you’ve got him, which only turns you on even more.

“I’ve wanted to do many…many… many, ” he accents each word with a wet kiss down your arms. “...unholy things to you since I laid my eyes on you.” 

You strip off your top and bra, tossing them to the side with urgency. He only chuckles at your brazenness before giving both of your breasts a firm squeeze. You push him onto the bed and straddle him. “C’mon, Eddie, your turn.” He looks at you incredulously, then his stare turns dark after a blink of an eye. His hands run up and down the sides of your waist, leaving little goosebumps in their wake. 

“My, my, who knew you were so forward? All of that innocence…just an act.” He reaches out and captures your chin, firmly holding on as he angles your face around. The cold air drifts against your chest, causing your nipples to perk up. You release a shaky breath and close your eyes, suddenly feeling timid. “No, no, open them for me, sweetheart.” 

When you do, you feel him twitch under you, provoking you to ground back down on him. Your eyes are half-lidded, hips rolling. A guttural groan expels from his throat, and he grips you to a standstill. 

“Get—ugh, take it off already!” you whine, clawing at his t-shirt. 

He’s looking at you with so much lust, yet it’s filled with tenderness; his hands rubbing circles into your own only reaffirming that. After a moment of silence (in which Eddie is aggressively admiring your beauty), he licks his lips and speaks.

“I want you to know that if we continue, this won’t be the last time. There will never— ever be ‘going back to being friends’ or ‘acting normal.’ Because to be frank with you, princess, I can’t do that.” His eyes take in your silhouette, wandering slowly and deeply, because he’s so afraid. So afraid that this will be the last time you let him see you again. He wants to memorize as much of you as possible in case it gets taken away. He takes a deep breath. “So, if we do this. I want more of you—not just the sex, but I want to take you out. And… I won’t do this if you don’t want that. I don’t want this to be a one-and-done deal. Got it?”

You’re unsure whether it’s the adrenaline running through your veins or the sexual tension you feel for him snapping, but you run your hands under his shirt and over his bare chest. For whatever reason, his thoughtfulness turns you on even more than you thought you could be. You ache for his touch, and the desire builds into a searing pain. He wants to stop you, but he can’t; you’re too mesmerizing. 

“Eddie,” you moan out. He whimpers under your touch, and he bucks up into you. The muscles in his hand flex against your hip, fighting against his vices. Who knew having a pretty girl on top of him would have him become such a mess?

“Sweetheart,” he breathes out. “You’re not helping me here. I need you to tell me you—” He flips you under him, knee wedged conveniently between your legs, pushing barely enough against your core. He’s frustrated in more ways than one. His eyes implore of you, with the addition of his voice being much deeper. He lets you rub against his thigh for a moment before pulling back. He pins your hands above your head and hovers closely over you just enough for you to hear his harsh whisper. “Now, now, you’re not being very good, are you? Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” you beg.

“Understand what?”

“Fuck, Eddie, I want you to be mine. My boyfriend, my heart, my soul, and—” You slide your fingers down his body. “Your cock .”

“Shit,” he grins cheekily. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” He moves to unbutton your jeans as his tongue sticks out in concentration. You don’t understand how he could still be so cute during an activity as sinful as this. Once the garment is off your legs, you return the favor, nearly ripping his shirt off his back. 

He quickly pulls you back onto his lap. You continue running your hands down his chest as one of his fingers hook into the hem of your underwear, rubbing the skin of your hips with the pads of his fingers. His other hand swipes teasingly down your cunt through the fabric, causing the thick wet line to fully soak your panties immediately upon contact. You rut against him, despising the barrier that is his jeans. You need to feel him now . 

“Patience, sweetheart,” he says hoarsely, right before pulling your underwear off completely. “There’s something I wanna try first.” He pulls your hips up to his face roughly, and your hands land on the wall above him for support. You giggle.

“Sounds like you’re the one who needs to put on the reigns.” Your heat is right above his mouth; you can feel his hot breath fluttering across, making you drip even more. His soft lips target your core, making sure to run his tongue over your clit from time to time. In the meantime, his hands continue roaming your body, starting from the bend in your knees to your quite indulgent thighs, all the way up to your chest. As you’re stuck in his maze of pleasure, he catches you off guard and pulls on your nipple. You yelp in surprise and arousal, the electricity of it aiding you in the roll of your hips against his face. He smiles against you, easily lapping up any juices that come out. 

It causes you to release your most lewd sound of the night so far, and this man is soaking it all up. He loves that he’s the one to make you feel this way and no one else.

“Bet Harrington couldn’t make you moan like that for him.” 

You roll your eyes. “Shut up, I wouldn’t have even let him.”

“Careful with those eyes, I don’t want them rolling to the back of your head unless you’re bouncing on my cock.” He continues suckling at your clit and your eyes squeeze shut, enjoying the sensation. You’ve played with yourself before, but it was never like this. You could only get so far with just your fingers rubbing idly as your mind sneaks off somewhere else. Just the way his tongue moves around you so languidly has you close to your climax already. 

He abruptly palms both your ass cheeks and pushes you deeper down into his face, to the point where you’re terrified you’re going to smother him—but he keeps it there, firm and steady, and darts his tongue in deep .

Now, you’ve seen this man’s tongue countless times before. Whenever pure concentration is necessary, that one time he provoked Jason Carver in the cafeteria, and the many periods of time when he merely wanted to make funny faces at you to cheer you up, like a child. Have you thought about what they’d feel in your mouth and inside of you? Naturally. But what you failed to understand was the sheer strength and length of each thrust. When you look down at him, you expect to see multiple appendages because there is no way he could work on so much of you all at once. Oh, it is so much better than you thought.

The thin sheen of sweat on his skin has his bangs sticking to his forehead. The rest of his hair falls nicely around him, like a halo under your thighs. The tip of his nose is bumping wonderfully against your button, bringing you closer and closer to your release. He’s looking straight at you, cheeks slightly hollowed out from the sucking motion. He squeezes your ass and gives a single slap. Your arms fall from the wall and land on the sheets next to him. Unable to hold back any longer, you start tweaking at your nipples. The sight has Eddie groaning into you, sending heavy vibrations straight to your folds.

“ Fuck , Eddie.” You want to scream, but you’re afraid that the neighbors might hear. You stifle a few more moans to the depths of your soul, until you feel your climax inching towards you. He answers incoherently into your pussy, but you know what he wants. His hands grip you tighter, helping you grind against his face. With one more hard suck around your nub, your orgasm comes crashing down on you. Your center pulses with each high, and you swear you’re seeing stars. You topple over, body limp beside Eddie as he licks his lips. His face is drenched with your cum. 

“Was it that good, princess? I didn’t even get to finger you yet.” He waves his fingers humorously in front of your face. He’s leaning on one arm, admiring the work he’s made of you. Your chest is still heaving from the intensity, and you fan yourself.

“God, yes, it was so—I don’t even—have you done this before?” 

“Oh, but of course,” he replies without missing a beat. You looked at him in surprise, then at the mess he made out of you. “What, do I seem like a virgin?” Your eyes are half-lidded, and you feel the embrace of sleep coming over you, but you’re able to muster out a yes and a few chortles for good measure.

Eddie had gotten up in the meantime and wiped his face with a towel, then used another to wipe you down. You croak out a “ Thanks” as he places a kiss on your forehead. He’s about to pull his covers over you, but you grab his hand with a frightful ferocity, alarming the poor man before you. He looks at you in question. 

You fight the sleep in your eyes, and yank on his belt loop. He falls over you, quickly catching himself with an arm next to your head. He chuckles. “What is it, sweetheart? Haven’t had enough?” 

You palm him over the jeans, and he hisses, but keeps steady. It was the most overwhelming orgasm you had ever experienced in your life, and as a result, your body’s energy levels are depleted. You feel guilty, wanting to return the favor, especially since he still has a hard-on, but it was getting more difficult each second that passes by. He notices and moves to the side of the bed.

“Maybe next time,” he says.

“Next time,” you whisper.

And the world fades to black.

[corroded-hellfire]

Continuing on with my baby fever I came across videos of parents "laying" (softly hovering) on their babies lap to see their reaction. Some babies are gentle with one parent and push of the other parent. But I wanna see how Eliza would react to the entire Munson family doing this. Thank you!

Baby fever you say? 👀 Step into my office…

Honestly, looking up reference videos for this fic was the most heart melting thing ever and I thank you for bringing that into my life. I hope I have done this justice for you!

Words: 3.1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Ugh,” Luke groans as he flops down on the floor of Eliza’s nursery. The Minnie Mouse shirt and pair of toddler jeans he’s holding smack him in the face as his dramatics bring him down.

Eliza sits on her miniature butterfly couch and watches her brother, face stoic as the two-year-old is used to the theatrics he’s inherited from their father. 

“What is taking so long?” Ryan strolls into the room and leans against the door jamb. He crosses his arms over his chest and arches an eyebrow as he clocks his brother on the ground. 

Flinging the articles of clothing behind him, Luke huffs and turns his head to meet Ryan’s questioning look.

“Every outfit I pick out she doesn’t like!”

Heaving a loud sigh, Ryan saunters over to the closet tucked into the corner of the pink room. Curious as to what he’s doing, Eliza cranes her neck in an attempt to see past her oldest brother. Try as she might though, she doesn’t have x-ray vision and has to wait for Ryan to turn around to see the black and white striped dress and pastel green sweater.

“Eh?” Ryan raises his eyebrows as he holds the items out towards the toddler.

Keeping her chin high, little Eliza looks over the proposed outfit before nodding her affirmation once. 

“What?” Luke shouts as he bolts upright. “The Minnie Mouse shirt is way better!”

Ryan throws a smirk over his shoulder at his younger brother as he helps Eliza get changed into the winning look of the day. 

“She must love me more.”

“Uh, no,” Eliza hums as her head pops free from the confines of the dress. “Better clothes.”

Luke cackles with laughter, arms crossing against his stomach as he falls on his back once more.

“Oh, that’s too good! Please, we all know I’m her favorite,” Luke says.  

At only two-years-old Eliza is already used to her brothers competing in almost every aspect of life. She rolls her doe brown eyes and allows Ryan to help her into the green sweater before leaving the two boys alone in her room. 

“I seem to recall us having this argument before and Grandpa somehow coming out the winner,” Ryan says, following the little girl’s lead and heading towards the door. 

“Well,” Luke says, stretching out the word as he scrambles to push himself up into a standing position, “then this time we don’t allow him to be part of our bet.”

The older Munson brother shakes his head in amusement as he walks out into the hall and to the right, towards the rest of the house. Luke is right behind him though, practically nipping at his heels as he waits for some kind of response. 

“What bet?” Ryan asks, stepping into the kitchen.

“Yeah, what bet?” Eddie echoes, eyeing his two sons over his “#1 Dad” coffee mug where he leans against the counter. 

“Seeing who Eliza’s favorite is. And not Grandpa this time,” Luke informs his dad as he slides into a chair at the table. 

“I believe that would be me,” you say with a proud smirk, traipsing in from the living room with an empty sippy cup. “I just turned on Rolie Polie Olie for her.” 

“No one can compete with the Rol,” Eddie jokes, giving you a playful wink and a smile. 

“She definitely loves that show more than she loves any of us,” Ryan says. He yanks the refrigerator door open and stares inside as if something new is magically going to appear before his eyes. 

“I bet I could interrupt it and she’d be okay with it,” your husband says. “And will you either grab something out of the fridge or close the damn door?”

“So, you’re saying you’re the favorite, Dad?” Luke asks, eyebrows disappearing into the curls that are getting too long for his liking. 

“Isn’t that old news?” Eddie asks with a smirk as he walks over to grab Luke’s box of Lucky Charms. 

“Everything about you is old,” Ryan says.

The joke has your hand slipping, causing the apple juice you were refilling Eliza’s sippy cup with to spill all over the counter. Avoiding Eddie’s eyes, you try to hide your snort of laughter as you grab a towel to mop up the mess. Once the sippy cup is successfully filled up, you turn back towards the living room—Eddie’s eyes still firmly burning your back—and go to give your daughter her drink. 

“Didn’t we already do this? I feel like we played this game before,” you say. “Eliza picked Wayne over all of us.”

Eddie shrugs and takes another sip of his coffee. “No beating the old man. The actual old man.” Eddie narrows his eyes at Ryan, who just chuckles in return. 

“No,” Luke says. He shakes his head as he lets the marshmallow cereal fall into his bowl. “We have to know who her favorite in the house is.” 

“Any ideas?” Ryan asks, plopping down in the seat across the table from his little brother. 

“Hmm,” Luke hums as he chews on a bite of his breakfast. “I’ll brainstorm at school today.”

In the end, it’s you who comes up with the idea that sets the competition into motion. Once Eddie heads out to work and the boys to school, you realize how much you’re able to get done around the house because Eliza is thoroughly hypnotized by her favorite show. It’s not until the hour of Rolie Polie Olie is done that Eliza is running around the house, wanting to play with every toy under the roof. 

After dinner that night, and once Eliza is in bed, you bring your idea up to the boys.

“So, like, we take turns? One person a day?” Luke asks.

You nod in confirmation.

“Right. Because if we all did it one after the other on the same day, she’d get cranky and it wouldn’t be fair for whoever goes last.”

“What, we like, pick straws?” Ryan asks. “Then someone goes Tuesday, then Wednesday...?”

“I’m game,” Eddie says. He lifts one flannel-clad arm and rests it behind you on the couch, giving you the perfect opportunity to snuggle into his side. 

“So…” Luke muses as he walks over to the couch and takes a seat next to you, on the opposite side of Eddie. “We just put our heads in her lap like this?” The younger Munson boy demonstrates by laying his curly head on your thighs, staring up at you with wide blue eyes. 

“Exactly,” you say, reaching down to boop the tip of his nose. “See if she cuddles you or pushes you off. And then we’ll see who she has the best reaction to.”

“I like it,” Ryan says.

“Me too,” Luke agrees. “Ryan, go get straws. Cut one short!”

With an irritated eye roll, Ryan does as his little brother says, feet shuffling along the carpet as he goes. 

The plan springs into action the next day. According to the laws of the straws, Ryan was up first. Followed by Luke, you, and then Eddie rounds it out. 

Tuesday morning starts off like every other weekday, everyone running through their routines to get ready for whatever lies ahead for them that day. Once Eliza is dressed in her purple long sleeve shirt, pink overalls, and her morning apple juice is finished, it’s time for the games to begin. 

You, Eddie, and Luke watch as inconspicuously as you can from the kitchen entryway as Ryan approaches the couch. Your daughter’s eyes never leave the little yellow robots, even as her oldest brother kneels on the dusty-brown cushion next to her and keeps scooting closer. 

Eliza’s leaning back, her legs out straight in front of her, and Ryan takes advantage of the open space to lay his head right down on her little knees. The two-year-old just seems confused at first. She looks down at Ryan, back up to Rolie, down to Ryan, up to Rolie, then back down to Ryan again. After staring down at her big brother for a little while, Eliza reaches for his head and begins to card her tiny fingers through his golden-brown locks. Her hands continue the movements even as she turns her attention back to the television screen. Ryan can’t help but smile; it actually feels really nice. She keeps up the motions until there’s a commercial. Then Ryan rolls on his back to look up at her and she giggles down at him in return, not sure what he’s doing, but happy to have his attention. 

“Do you want me to stay?” Ryan asks.

Instead of answering verbally, Eliza wraps her arms around her big brother’s neck and settles back against the cushions. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Ryan says with a chuckle, before adding under his breath, “and as a win.”

Wednesday, it’s Luke’s turn. Once Eliza’s got her favorite show on and a cup of apple juice in her, he makes his move. It’s clear from the moment Luke’s head hits her lap that Eliza is in a feistier mood today. Whether she woke up like that or Luke brings it out of her is anyone’s guess. 

“Ow,” Luke groans as two small hands beat down on the side of his head as if it’s a drum. The boy winces, face scrunching up, but as you watch him alongside Eddie and Ryan from around the corner, you can tell Luke is trying to stick it out and see if he can somehow salvage a win. There’s a brief glimmer of hope when Eliza stops percussing on her brother’s head. However, it’s short-lived. 

Short, stubby fingers make their way up to Luke’s curls and the youngest Munson boy breathes a sigh of relief, seeing as how gentle the toddler was with Ryan’s hair the day before. The problem, they discover, is that since Luke’s curls are far tighter than his older brother’s, Eliza’s fingers quickly get caught in them. 

“Oh, please no,” Luke murmurs, but it’s too late.

Eliza tries to yank her hands free, frustrated that her fingers can’t run smoothly through his locks like she did for their eldest sibling. She pulls Luke’s hair while letting out her own whine.

“Ouch! Why are you whining? I’m the one who’s about to be bald!”

Next to you, Eddie lets out a snort of laughter. 

“Bald?” Eddie says. “Wayne? That you?”

Giving a roll of your eyes, you gently swat at his stomach. Luke also hears his dad’s remark and gives him a glare from the couch as he tries to wrestle himself free from the toddler’s grip. 

Finally, Eliza is able to slip her hands free from the rat’s nest that’s become of Luke’s hair—thanks to her. She’s thoroughly annoyed now and grumbles a few low groans, giving up on words completely. If she were old enough to know swear words, she’d definitely be using those.

Luke breathes a sigh of relief and raises a hand to rub at his sore scalp. Before he can make contact though, both of Eliza’s hands splay flat on the back of his skull and she gives a hard shove. The implication is clear: get off my lap.

Not willing to risk any more of her tiny wrath, Luke rolls off her and off the couch altogether. He lands with a thud on the carpet and gets the chance to rub at his head at last. His eyes narrow as he looks up at Eliza, who is no longer paying him any mind. She’s immersed in Rolie Polie Olie once again, the rest of the world forgotten. 

Your youngest son pushes himself to his feet with a huff. He shuffles back towards the kitchen, back towards the rest of you.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” he mumbles as he passes, heading straight for the fridge. 

To Eddie and Ryan’s credit, they do both stay silent as the three of you turn to watch Luke yank a Yoo-Hoo out of the refrigerator and pop the top. He chugs down half the bottle before wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand. 

“Ugh,” Luke says with a sigh as he heads toward the hallway. “It’s not even 8 am yet.”

With both of the boys’ attempts out of the way, you’re up. You debate going in straight for the lap when you give her the purple sippy cup of apple juice, but something tells you that you’d end up with a wet and sticky face though. Instead, you wait until most of the beverage is gone and she’s let the bottle roll out of her hand onto the cushion next to her. 

“Good luck, babe,” Eddie says, giving your ass a pat before you walk out into the living room. 

As soon as your knee touches the couch, the television show your daughter is so transfixed on goes to commercial. She turns her head to look at you, large brown eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

You freeze, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. It’s odd to be struck still and silent by your two-year-old, but here you are. Rolie Polie Olie being on a commercial break could either make or break this for you. 

“Mama!” Eliza chirps.

A breath loses from your chest, and you give her a grin as you move to lay your head on her little legs. The moment your body makes contact with hers, Eliza’s arms encircle you as much as they possibly can, and she leans down to rest her head against yours. Her cheek smooshes against yours, her chin bumping into the corner of your eye. 

Warmth floods through you, your heart growing three sizes as she lays all her body weight against yours.

“Hold on,” you hear Luke mutter from the kitchen, “wait to see what happens when the show comes back.”

There are only about forty-five seconds until just that happens. 

Eliza’s skin brushes against your cheek as she adjusts her head to get a better view of the television, but otherwise stays where she is. In fact, it feels as if she cuddles into you even further as she settles in to watch her favorite show. 

“Oh, come on,” you hear Luke complain. The twelve-year-old is clearly not happy that he is losing this competition so far. It’s not as if Eliza could be bribed, though. Luckily, toddlers haven’t been corrupted by life yet. 

Luke walks into the room and stands at the side of the couch, hands resting on his hips. 

“Comfy, are we?” he asks. 

It’s evident your daughter is quite cozy as she doesn’t look up at her brother or move for the rest of the episode. 

“All right,” Eddie says, rubbing his hands together. “Saved the best for last.”

“Debatable,” Ryan says as he chomps on a granola bar. 

Your husband flicks Ryan’s black-rimmed glasses so they slide down his nose. With a huff that sounds far more sophisticated than one coming from a fourteen-year-old, your son shakes it off. 

“Ready?” you ask, slipping your arms around Eddie’s waist. 

“Always up for snuggles with my girls.” 

A wet, smacking kiss is placed on your cheek, and you let out a soft giggle.

“Gross,” Luke groans.

“I know you are, but what am I?” Eddie taunts, proving he’s as mature as his adolescent sons. 

You let your arms drop from around his middle and you cup Eddie’s cheeks. 

“Go get her,” you say.

He pecks your lips before heading out into the living room.

Eliza is as entranced as always in her cartoon and Eddie takes advantage of that by silently sidling up to her. She doesn’t even realize he’s there until the couch dips next to her and her empty sippy cup rolls until it meets Eddie’s jean-clad knee.  

He moves the cup aside and slowly lowers himself until he’s able to rest his head in his daughter’s lap. 

At first, it’s as if Eliza doesn’t even notice. She’s watching her show, letting her dad just lay down on her. But after a few seconds, her stare breaks from the television and her brown eyes meet matching larger ones. Her head tilts to the side, inspecting him, and her curls bob with the motion. Eddie smiles up at her and a slow grin grows on her face in return. 

One of Eliza’s tiny hands splays across Eddie’s forehead, some of his bangs getting pushed to the side, and some getting caught under her warm palm. Her other hand lands on his chin, delicate fingers curving around his jaw and rubbing against some stubble. 

Eliza stays like that, looking down at her father, not moving. It takes everything in Eddie not to laugh as he just stares back at the inquisitive little face that reminds him so much of you. 

Quickly, Eliza leans in and presses a kiss to the tip of Eddie’s nose. Gone is his urge to laugh, replaced by the most adoring grin as he revels in her affection. He’s about to thank her for the kiss when she leans in to do it again. This time, however, her mouth is open, and she ends up enveloping his nose in her small mouth.

There’s no way Eddie can hold in his laughter this time as he feels her drool dribble up his nose onto his face. The giddiness is infectious because Eliza pulls her mouth off only to begin laughing alongside of him. 

“You might just be as weird as I am,” he tells her, which makes her laugh even harder. 

That night at dinner, the results are discussed.

“So, who wins?” Ryan asks as he spears some green beans with his fork.

“Not me,” Luke grumbles, slouching down in his chair. 

“Oh, relax,” Eddie says, reaching over and clapping the younger boy on the shoulder. “It’s not like this was scored or anything.”

Luke drops his fork onto the plate with a clang and raises his hands up in front of him.

“My hair ruined it for me! That’s not fair!”

“You know, she can talk now,” you point out, looking at Eliza happily eating in her highchair next to you.

“Good point,” Ryan says. He clears his throat and leans across the table towards her. “Eliza, which of us is your favorite?”

The little girl pops a grape in her mouth and chews, looking like she’s thoughtfully thinking over the question.

“Me,” she finally says.

“No,” Luke says with a shake of his head. “Which of us?” He emphasizes his point by gesturing to the four of you around the table. 

Eliza nods her head once, with finality. “Me.”

Eddie huffs a laugh and shrugs his shoulders.

“Her Majesty has spoken.”

“I don’t think it counts,” Luke laments, looking back down to his plate.

“Yeah, her vote doesn’t count,” Ryan agrees.

You and Eddie share a look of amusement across the table. With these three around, life will never be boring.

[wandasaura]

TOO IN LOVE TO THINK STRAIGHT

summary — when you mention to your dominants that you want to further explore the dynamics of your relationship, they’re all for it

warning(s) — established relationship, married wandanat, dom/sub dynamics, exploration of non-sexual bdsm, purposefully triggered subspace, implied mommy kink (never said), implied daddy kink (also never said), brief mention of sensory overstimulation, literal fluff to the fullest extent possible, men/minors dni

authors note — i committed to the lyric titles too hard, but wonderland perfectly describes this fic! daddy nat lovers, i see you

you are in love universe

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff ✧

“Are you excited?” The soft vibrations have become a fond sensation as you peer out of the car window and admire all of the buildings that you pass. You’re not in the best area, one of the worst actually, but you find something so calming about the construction crowded roads and graffiti covered storefronts. You’ve been stuck in bumper to bumper traffic for the last half hour, a plethora of detours and u-turns standing in your way of where you really wanted to be, but every time Natasha eases her foot back onto the gas and shoots between lines of cars that don’t have the balls to make the move themself, you hum in contentment. You’re okay with being stuck if you’re stuck with them. 

They’d been promising you this day for months, and although it had been canceled two weeks ago when you came down with an unexpected cold that left you miserable and bed-ridden for three days, it was finally here. There was no time left for another extenuating circumstance to push the date back farther. You hadn’t stopped bouncing in the backseat since Wanda had affectionately buckled your seatbelt, your fingerprints are smeared against the backseat window from how you point out the exit signs that mean your destination is growing closer. Natasha had long since stopped asking you to refrain from touching the glass she kept spotless, looking back at you through the rear-view mirror with fondness whenever a lull in speed occurred. Now was one of those moments. The line of cars all waiting to merge back onto the Garden State Parkway kept the car still, the break was applied heavily and wasn’t going to be let off soon. Unlike the other times she had looked back at you, she craned her entire body now, and you grinned at the easy way about her expression. 

Your fingers left behind the glass of the backseat driver side window to press firmly against the tip of her nose, wanting to see it scrunch up in annoyance like it always did when you poked it. Natasha was less compliant with your need for physical touch then Wanda was, but she allowed you small victories every once in a while. Today was one of those days where everything seemed to fly. You had eagerly pulled her around the house all morning, sat in her lap at breakfast, and all but forced her to help you dress when you decided picking the perfect outfit was too hard to do on your own. The women had immaculate taste in fashion, you supposed it was something that needed to come with their high-profile occupations, but you’d never complain about them making your old clothes look fresh and new without adding anything tasteless or unnecessary.  You hadn’t wanted to be apart from her since your eyes had peeled open at seven, the excitement in your belly too strong to ignore despite Wanda telling you that you wouldn’t be leaving the house until eleven. You were so beyond grateful that Natasha had been serious about taking you out when her and Wanda’s schedules allowed, that it didn’t matter to you if your earlier than usual wake up time meant having a full four hours to merely sit around and wait. 

You nodded your head at her simply asked question, bearing a smile that compiled a list of words you’d be happy enough to use in a sentence if she so desired. She didn’t though, you knew she was well aware of how excited you were and was merely pulling your leg because she herself was bored. There was no way she could be oblivious to your hyperactive movements when your feet kicked the back of her seat every handful of minutes, but she’d not asked you to stop only rolled her eyes in fond exasperation and murmured to Wanda about the copious amounts of fingerprints and scuff marks she’d have to tend to later. Natasha and traffic were not things that should exist in the same sentence. For as patient as the woman was, she quickly lost her composure when ‘assholes in black hondas don’t know what the fucking speed limit is’. The first time she’d bellowed in annoyance you’d shook your head and giggled into your hand, your eyes connecting with Wanda’s who had glanced back at you in a silent threat to not egg Natasha on further. You’d tried to keep your amused reactions to yourself after that, but it was hard not to laugh at Natasha’s annoyance for anyone going under eighty miles an hour; especially considering the speed limit was only sixty-five. 

The drive wasn’t meant to be any longer than an hour and a half, Wanda had meticulously gone over each and every available route before she’d loaded you and Natasha up in the car, but construction hadn’t been something to consider while she was planning your departure. It seemed every major highway and backroad was under construction lately, even the roads that led down to the shore in Westview. You didn’t mind it, occasionally pointing out the names of the yellow vehicles as you passed them, but you worried how little time you’d have to explore as the second hour of driving came and passed. When your legs grew restless, you settled for sitting cross-legged in the backseat, your elbows pressing firmly against your knees as you craned your neck to see between the head-rests on the couples seats. The sky was open and blue, no trace of clouds but apparent wind. The trees on either side of the road rustled with the flow of the breeze, and if you stayed just quiet enough, you could hear it howling outside of the windows. The sight of wind was a ploy to get unsuspecting people out of their houses. The weather was hot and humid, temperatures climbing into the low hundreds, but your destination was indoors, so thoughts about how you’d melt beneath the sun didn’t have valid reasons to come. 

Wanda’s eyes locked on yours when Natasha eased onto the gas again, pulling off the exit ramp like a bat out of hell and dodging oncoming traffic that honk and scolded her boldness. You giggled when a particular car just to your left raised their hand at her, a single finger pointed toward the sky. She was unaffected, returning the gesture with passion. Your smile fell off your lips when your gaze shuffled over to meet Wanda’s, and the Sokovian looked at you with displeasure. “Feet on the floor.” Wanda reprimanded when she knew she had your attention, and you sighed but complied with the request. “We'll be there soon. Why don’t you tell me about what you're most excited to see?” 

That had inspired a full tangent of thoughts that were only half complete to spill from your lips like rushing water off a cliff, but neither Wanda or Natasha had tried to interrupt you and get the full version of your story. They were happy enough to listen to you ramble nonsensically, your fingers twisting together in your lap out of pure elation that you had no other way to express. Wanda was simply content with knowing that should Natasha crash, you were sitting properly in the backseat. It wasn’t another half hour before Natasha was grabbing a ticket from the machine at the entryway of the parking garage and pulling into a reserved spot on the very first level by the exit. You’d known they would go all out for today, they always did, but it never failed to make you feel incredibly special to be getting such attentive treatment from two of the most willing and powerful women in the world. You flew out of the car before Natasha even had the engine off, feet not even hitting the pavement beneath you entirely before you raced around the back of the Stingray so you could pull Wanda’s door open for her. You bounced excitedly on your toes throughout the entire exchange, grinning up at her with an expression of complete innocence. The Sokovian smiled down at your adoringly, capturing your face in her gentle hands and pulling you just close enough for your forehead to fall against her lips. 

“Such an excited little duckling.” Wanda mused with gentle laughter, her breath warm and thin as it fanned across your temple and shot sparks of pleasurable admiration through your belly and across your spine. You would’ve stayed permanently fixed on her tender expression had you not heard Natasha’s door swing closed. Your eyes trailed over the top of the car until they met the sight of her, dressed casually in a white t-shirt and jean shorts, her red locks had been pulled up and away from her face in a fleetingly worn ponytail that swung behind her head with every subtle move her body made. You could drool over the sight of her, but there were other priorities at the forefront of your mind. 

“Can we go now? Please?” You bounced eagerly beneath their transfixed stare, your hands grabbing eagerly at Wanda’s who still had a soft grip on your cheeks. You knew the rules of walking in busy parking lots well, and although they’d made you feel like an incapable child at one point, you adored and craved them now. The lawyers reminded you so often that just because you are a capable adult, doesn’t mean you have to act like one when they’re there to take care of you. You let them take control easily now, no willingness to fight left to linger in your instincts, even in something as simple as finding your way through busy parking lots. 

A smirk splayed across Natasha’s lips as she approached you and Wanda, her hand shoving her phone and wallet into one of the back pockets of her denim shorts. You should be ashamed for finding the simple action so attractive, but you didn't. You'd stopped letting yourself feel embarrassment for merely noticing their beauty long ago, and greedily your eyes trailed over the muscles in her shoulder and bicep that flexed as she reached toward her back. Natasha chuckled knowingly, sending a wink in your direction before she purposefully flexed her biceps. You wanted to roll your eyes and tell her to knock it off, but Wanda had beaten you to the punch and sent her wife an exasperated hit to the gut. “I don’t know, malyshka. Can we?” Natasha answered your earlier question, letting her feet carry her impossibly close to Wanda’s side. You wanted to groan aloud when the Russian’s hand slid comfortably into the back pocket of the Sokovian’s denim shorts, but you were too excited to dwell on the fact that Wanda’s ass had definitely just been squeezed roughly and possessively. 

“Yes.” You made the executive decision with a curt nod of impatience, already setting your pace toward the exit, dragging Wanda behind you with rushed steps. It was the exact opposite of what she intended to happen when she’d first implemented the rule of wanting you to hold either her or Natasha’s hands in busy spaces. You were now the one leading her around by the hand, and quite blindly if she wanted to put it nicely. You’d hardly noticed when you led her body straight into a traffic cone, her feet just barely able to avoid tripping over the bright orange safety measure. Natasha had to stifle her laughter as she followed, her hand still in Wanda’s pocket and effectively pulling the Sokovian in two different directions as she remained a couple of steps behind. 

Wanda placed a firm hand overtop of your wrist, catching your attention as you looked back at her with a whine of impatience toward the back of your throat, ready to be unleashed if she didn’t make whatever she needed quick enough for your standards. You were almost there, almost to the long line of parents and children that wrapped themselves around the building in an unruly line. You could see the electric blue sign on the top of the structure perfectly, the artwork on the sides of the building visible but intercepted by bobbing heads and tall bodies. Her abrupt stopping when you were so close to where you desperately wanted to be was the cruelest thing that had ever happened to you. “Why don’t you leave the dragging around to me, lyubov’. Unless you want me to end up in the infirmary before you even get to see the sharks.” 

You groaned at her teasing, a fierce blush crawling up your neck that couldn’t be blamed by the unforgiving heat. You didn’t let her words sink beneath your skin however, deciding that pulling at her hand was effective enough. “Will you hurry up then?” You groaned, smirking victoriously when Natasha laughed at your antics and placed a kiss on the top of your head. 

“Yes, milaya. We can go.” Wanda rolled her eyes but agreed with your demand, already beginning to set your pace at a significantly slower speed before the rest of her sentence even lingered in the air for your ears to pick up on. You practically skipped beside her, a broad smile on your face as you once again droned on and on about everything you couldn’t wait to see and have. Natasha had promised you a stuffed animal from the gift shop, knowing that you’d never had many in childhood. You’d decided that today would be one of the first times you explored your dynamic outside of the house, and the Slavic women were sparing no experience in giving you the purest taste at reclaiming your lost childhood. It felt too good to be true, to just surrender your conscious mind and let them take control, but you found yourself submitting to them easily. They wanted to do this for you, they enjoyed playing up their roles in this aspect. It was still hard to grasp that something that could be so kinky in bed could also be so pure outside of it, but they were allowing you to learn at your own speed, and selfishly they loved how inexperienced you were. There was no former training to unwind from your beliefs, there was no burned skin around your heart that had been failed by somebody else. You were fully theirs to shape, and they intended to show you the purest sides of this dynamic. 

You frowned when Wanda began to lead you toward the front of the building, getting farther and farther away from the long line of people waiting their turn to enter. Toddlers pointed at you and tugged on their parents arms, not so quietly wondering why they couldn’t follow you and go around the line. A blush settled onto your cheeks when a little girl, no older than six, tugged at who you assumed was her fathers hands and boldly declared that you were ‘cutting’. Natasha and Wanda were in their own little world it seemed, laughing and talking with one another in quick Russian that you couldn’t comprehend, not batting a blind eye to the whispered accusations that were being pointed at you. 

“The lines back there.” You whispered albeit a little self-consciously, not wanting to draw attention to yourselves anymore than the redheads adoring your waist already had. The sight of you together dripped with wealth. The diamond studded Chopard watch on Wanda’s wrist dazzled in the sunlight, the yellow gold Tiffany hoops in Natasha’s first piercing swayed when the breeze caught them. You looked properly out of place amongst the parents and young children all waiting in line. 

Wanda stopped walking at your timid statement, looking down at you with a look that could only be described as dominating. It wasn’t hard, wasn’t demanding, but rather apologetic and soft. You felt entirely small beneath her sage green stare. “What did you want to try today?” Wanda reminded you softly, her body language not portraying the suggestiveness behind her quiet words. To any of the parents standing feet away, it looked like she had simply paused to ask you a well-intended question, which you supposed was true, but it wasn’t as innocent as it appeared.  

You deflated slightly, leaning into the touch Natasha had placed on the small of your back minutes ago. You were becoming fuzzy, a feeling you’d associated with rough sex, but there hadn’t been any of that today. The closest thing to having their bodies had come when Natasha pulled you into a bruising kiss before you left the house. “Letting you have control.” 

Wanda hummed, content with your answer, knowing that once again she had full control. Her fingers that always seemed to be perfectly polished ghosted over your cheek, and you could assume she’d attempted to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear like she always did, but today your hair had been tied back into two french braids that Natasha had suggested. “So let Mommy worry about where the line is. That’s not something for little girls like you to be concerned about.” 

You nodded softly, unable to help the rush of something sweet that further propelled the dizziness in your mind forward at the Sokovian’s dismissal. Although you didn’t resume your skipping like you had been doing when Wanda guided you across the street, your footsteps came lightly and with a bounce as you became lost in the simple action of counting the many cracks that adorned the sidewalk as you stepped over them. At some point, your hand had grabbed Natasha’s, and you swung your arms back and forth absentmindedly. The day was hot, unforgivingly so, and the natural flush across your cheeks was becoming annoying. You were ready to start vocalizing your discomfort when Wanda guided you inside of the aquarium, saving her the headache of listening to you whine about something she couldn’t control. 

You gawked at the sight of light blue painted walls and elaborate glass tanks that held any color coral you could imagine. The front desk was a giant fish tank, and little orange and white clownfish swam around the enclosure blissfully. You were practically vibrating beside Natasha as you looked around at the little details that had been incorporated into the entrance of the building. The ceilings were high, and painted across them were sharks and whales and every kind of fish you could even imagine. There was no embarrassment when you pulled at Natasha’s hand and let your own little finger shoot up to the ceiling, excitedly pointing out a boesemani rainbow fish that swam beside a hammerhead. Wanda had gone to check you in for your reservation, or at least you assumed that was what she was doing as she stood closely to the front desk and nodded at the teenager behind the counter. His eyes briefly flashed over to you when he noticed your head craned toward the ceiling and overheard your loud exclamation, but Wanda must’ve said something that made his attention snap back to her just as quickly as it had left. 

“Inside voices, dorogaya.” Natasha smiled sweetly at your excitement, having no real issue with the volume that you had spoken at before, but she knew it would bother you if you caught onto the lingering stares of judgemental adults who couldn’t possibly understand that not everything was meant solely for children. You had just as much of a right to enjoy these little things as the toddlers who ran free, but she couldn’t change everyone's opinion even with her deadly glare. 

Your cheeks flushed pink, and not because of the blistering sun, but you nodded to her request and tried not to let it sting. You’d been told all your life that you were too loud, reprimanded by your mother until you’d just fallen silent. You knew she hadn’t meant it in any particular way, but some things still struck a chord in your heart. The crushing feeling hadn’t lasted long, too comfortable in Natasha’s presence to dwell in self-consciousness. Your eyes went back to trailing all of the open space that you could see, and when they landed on a particular tank beside the single hallway that led into the larger room that veered off in several separate directions, you attempted to jut off. A whine rippled through your chest when your hand was squeezed and Natasha didn’t follow you forward, cemented in the place where you’d been instructed to wait for Wanda. 

“Seahorses!” You tugged at her hand, earning you a disproving expression complete with a single raised eyebrow. You sulked back toward her, giving the tank one last sad glance before you focused down on your shoes, a frown on your lips.

“What are we meant to be doing, hm?” Natasha didn’t allow you to keep your gaze transfixed on your shoes, one of her slender and ring adorned fingers guiding your chin upward until your eyes flickered to hers. Her heart clenched at the sad frown that clung to your features that had been so happy not even seconds ago, but she didn’t let your pout sway her decision. After all, Wanda had given you a clear direction, and she expected that you follow it. “Can you tell me what we’re meant to be doing?” 

You sighed, glancing back over at Wanda who looked to be wrapping up whatever conversation she’d been having with the teenager behind the counter.  “Waiting for Wands.” The words slipped past your lips softly, your eyes trailing back over to Natasha’s. “But there’s seahorses.” 

“And the seahorses will still be there when Wands is done. We’re gonna have our listening ears on today, aren’t we?” Natasha was really laying it on thick, even she knew that, but it was hard to help herself when you looked so soft and pliant standing in front of her dressed in an outfit that she picked out. You nodded your head, shuffling into her embrace, sadness still tainting your features. 

Natasha kisses the top of your head, wrapping her arms around your torso as she lets you have your feelings against her chest. She knows they’ve been guiding you into a stage of subspace all day, it had been perfectly intentional, but how you handle it is still a wildcard. Much to your misconception, subspace wasn’t always brought on by getting railed, as you liked to refer to it as. Any form of submission could send you down that rabbit hole, including following instructions; which you’d been doing all day. Subspace wasn’t about the weight of the scene or how badly your body ached afterward, it was just about trust and the right amount of guidance. They’d been doing something right, and Natasha could recognize the glassy sheen over your eyes as you peaked up at her and then over toward Wanda who was finally, finally, walking back toward you. 

The Sokovian had three brightly colored bands in her hands, her lips curled into a bright grin that crinkled her eyes. She stopped just in front of Natasha, effectively blocking you from view as she felt the eyes of the teenager behind the counter try to burn into your form. “What’s with the frown?” 

“Seahorses.” You pouted up at her, much to Natasha’s amusement. The Russian’s hand ran over your back soothingly, though she couldn’t fight her bright smile when you again tried to wiggle out of her arms and rush over to the cylinder tank now that Wanda was back in sight. 

“She wasn’t very pleased that you asked us to wait for you.” Natasha filled in the gaps, your explanation rather vague and rushed; if you could even call the one word response you gave much of an explanation at all. “Why don’t you tell Wands what kind of fish you found on the ceiling?” Natasha nudged you, prompting your attention onto something other than seahorses. You beamed at the excuse to ramble again, your finger pointing up to the ceiling like it did the first time, and even if Wanda couldn’t follow your finger to the specific fish she was meant to be looking at, she smiled encouragingly. 

“It’s a boesemani rainbow fish! They get brighter when they get older!” You laughed, your pouty face no longer a visual that filled the entrance of the aquarium. Wanda had not the slightest care in the world for the fish you were pointing to, but she praised your knowledge either way. She’d pretend to care about anything if it meant seeing that bright smile linger on your lips even after the words stopped coming. “Can we see the seahorses now?” 

Already anticipating how the rest of the afternoon was going to play out, Wanda laughed at your eagerness but nodded her head. You were just out of Natasha’s grip when she captured you in hers. This time, you did whine, sad eyes stuck on the tank in the corner of the room. Neither redhead could blame you for your distress when you’d been intercepted on your way to the seahorses twice now, and so neither scolded you for the sharp sound that reached their ears. “What are the rules if you’re not holding mine or Natty’s hand?” Wanda quizzed softly, her voice taking on a tone that had made you weak in the knees too many times. It was a voice Natasha called her ‘Mommy Voice’, which usually led to the Russian getting slapped upside the head when Wanda overheard. 

“Stay where you can see me.” You bounced on your toes, still pulling at Wanda’s hand and glancing between her and the seahorses with a desperate plea in your wide and glassy eyes. “Please!” 

She nodded at you with encouragement, smiling fondly when you raced over to the tank, carefully not to place your hands on the glass though it was already smudged with little fingerprints and what could only be assumed to be saliva. You marveled at the seahorses that bobbed in the water, illuminated by an electric blue strip of lights that made the gradient of colors on their bodies pop. You would’ve stayed staring at the seahorses all afternoon had Natasha not been the one to softly guide you away after five minutes of soft oohing and awwing. There were so many more tanks and creatures to see, she didn’t want you wasting any more of your time on just one tiny tank. You’d been upset about her gentle hands guiding you away until you’d turned a corner and spotted a tank of hippos in the distance. Your eager hand had pulled her through the crowd with Wanda following hot on your heels. 

You showed the same level of excitement at every tank and exhibit, which neither lawyer thought was possible. There was no lull in your squeals and shrieks, and both of their wrists hurt by the time they sat you down for a late lunch. You’d abided by their every rule, including the ones that seemed stupid to you, what was so wrong about falling into the penguin exhibit, it was an easy enough climb back over the thin glass barrier? They’d expected lunch to go smoothly, you’d been so well behaved that they’d even considered buying you ice cream first, but unfortunately for them, the small cafe in the heart of the aquarium was directly beside the shark exhibit. 

“Milaya, we will see the sharks after we eat.” Wanda cooed sweetly for the umpteenth time, trying not to let her face crack as she contemplated just giving into your pleas. Their firm voices and whispered praise had guided you into what Natasha referred to as the ‘sweet spot’. You weren’t so blissfully fuzzy that you couldn’t comprehend their words, but you were beyond the point of making a rational decision, and listening seemed to fall into that category as you struggled against Wanda, eyes fixed on the large sign that comically had a massive bite mark in the side. It was the little things that lingered throughout the building that made it more immersive, like the stickers on the floor in the shape of penguin footprints that lead to their enclosure, and the bite mark in the sign that led to the sharks. Your eyes searched to find every little detail that anyone else would overlook. 

“I want to see them now.” Your crestfallen face was enough to weaken the reserve both redheads had been putting forth since your little meltdown had started. They hated to think that had you not been so high on endorphins and adrenaline, you never would’ve expressed how much you enjoyed all the little things that the aquarium had to offer, but they were still working to earn this level of trust from you when peptides weren’t at an all time high. With your head firmly planted in subspace, there wasn’t a single insecure feeling prickling beneath your skin. You were utterly free, control sitting in their hands and they had to force themselves to remember that. 

“Not now, detka.” Natasha stepped in, guiding you toward the only empty table in the cafe. Your lips were turned downward in a persistent frown, but by some miracle, you’d actually sat down on the chair and let Wanda name out the options on the menu. It was no surprise to either of them that you pointed toward the chicken tender basket, but it was good enough for them to fulfill your request immediately. 

Wanda left to order the food while Natasha kept you occupied at the table, ensuring that you didn’t start to fall out of the state they’d been working you into all day. She offered praise when you answered her little questions about the fun facts you’d been reading on all of the displays, and she tutted disapprovingly when your fingers ripped apart a napkin that some other family had left on the table. When Wanda came back with a tray of three chicken tender baskets because it felt wrong to eat any of the seafood that was offered, you were firmly engaged in a conversation about the stingrays that had been yet to be spotted. You’d explored more than half of the aquarium, finding out that the pink band around your wrist was a pass to all of the activities that lingered around. You’d fed the penguins, given the seals high-fives, and watched a 4D movie that made absolutely no sense, but had dispensed bubbles and sprays of water that were fun enough. All that was left to do was walk the roped path overtop of the shark exhibit, but that didn’t sound like something you wanted to put your faith in, even if hundreds of people did it every day. You, nor Wanda, would be walking across a shark infested tank, though Natasha had plans to do it herself. She’d always been the more daring of the couple. 

When your lunch was finished, or when your lunch was picked over enough for Wanda and Natasha to set you free again, you wasted no time in grabbing both of their hands and zipping through the families that stood in your way. You’d been too distracted with the bamboo sharks to hear Wanda mutter to Natasha about how your crowd direction was just as bad as her driving, but you’d turned around in time to watch Natasha roll her eyes and whack Wanda’s bicep. 

In your fuzzy headspace, their rules engraved in your mind, one of them being to show respect to others, you frowned and settled both hands onto your hips. “You broke rule number six!” You stated rather angrily, stalking up to Wanda with long strides that didn’t match the innocence in your eyes. You kissed her arm softly, the place where Natasha had hit her engraved in your mind. 

“Yeah Natty, you broke rule six.” Wanda’s amusement wasn’t so easily hidden in her tone as her lips curled into a smile and she pulled you into her chest, settling a kiss onto the top of your head as you both sent glares toward Natasha. Yours was littered with a protectiveness that almost outshone the glassy gleam that had settled, Wanda’s however, was riddled with enjoyment and humor. “What should she do, detka?” Wanda giggled, leaning down to whisper in your ear though it was loud enough for Natasha to hear, and the redhead was just barely keeping the smile off her face as she watched you and Wanda conspire against her. 

“She’s gotta say sorry!” They’d noticed that in your fuzzy state, you’d shied away from the bigger words that slipped into your vocabulary normally. You weren’t yet at a point where communicating your needs was impossible, but you weren’t actively fighting to clear your head and search for words like apologize and blasphemy either. Natasha would never forgive Yelena for throwing that word around so often you’d started to pick up on it.  

“Well?” Wanda jutted out her hip, placed a perfectly manicured hand just above where her bone rested. You mimicked her stance, though you were significantly less threatening than Wanda with your french braids messy from the humidity that drafted in from windows, and your baby blue colored corset shirt that was adorned with intricate lace patterns and ribbons that tied the back together. 

“Ona razob'yetsya v mashine.” Natasha hummed, and although you knew enough Russian to know that wasn’t an apology she had uttered to Wanda, no, it was a very true statement that you’d crash in the car on the way home, the Sokovian had accepted it and laughed. 

Despite your excitement to see the sharks, you didn’t hang around the exhibit for long. There were too many people and you seemed to become overstimulated more easily when you were flush full of endorphins, so Wanda had been the one to lead you away toward tanks of lobsters and jellyfish. She started walking down the hallway, leaving you with Natasha, wanting to find a sign that could lead the three of you toward the stingrays because she knew you wouldn’t enjoy the aquarium for much longer. It had been hours, and in your sensitive headspace, the bright lights and sounds were quickly becoming too much to handle. You’d been so brave, trying this out with them and trusting them fully, but Wanda wasn’t about to compromise your happiness for a few more hours of mindless walking from room to room when you’d already seen everything that interested you. All she cared about was making sure you had a good time, even if she thought aquariums were savagely overpriced now. 

Wanda frowned when Natasha found her way over to her without you. Her eyes flickered around the long hallway, searching for your blue top that stood out brightly against the sea of other colors that adults and children wore. It was such a specific shade that even if seventeen other people all crowded around to watch jellyfish bob had blue on, you stuck out like a sore thumb. “Where’s Y/N?” Wanda questioned and Natasha frowned. 

“I thought she was with you.” The Russian quickly realized that no matter how many times she spun around in circles, you weren’t anywhere in sight. She distinctly remembered you telling her that you wanted to go with Wanda, so she hadn’t questioned when you walked off and toward the direction that the Sokovian had gone in. Natasha was properly panicked when thirty seconds went by and she still couldn’t spot you, but Wanda at least had the thought to check the next hallway before she let herself spiral too. 

The stingray exhibit turned out to be in the next room over, crowded by kids and parents who talked about the sea creatures with excitement in their quiet tones. The occasional toddler bellowed in disgust when they realized how slick the back of a stingray was, but for the most part, the room only vibrated because of the sheer number of voices that occupied it, not because of volume. You were hunched over the edge, elbows deep into the shallow water when Wanda and Natasha spotted you. Each let out a sigh of relief, but nothing was going to stop them from marching over to you and pulling you away from the water. 

“What were the rules, milaya?” Wanda asked you, her voice not as soft as it had been all day, but not hard either. They’d never been out of the house while you were lingering in subspace, and though they never wanted to lose you, it hadn’t been something that never crossed their mind. You wandered away even when your head was clear, your lack of impulse control only heightened that need to trail off.  

“Stingrays!” You beamed at Wanda, not taking into account the thin line that settled over her eyebrows as she peered down at you. Your excitement was cute, a telling indication that you really hadn’t meant to wander away and give them the scare of their life, but it wouldn’t get you out of the scolding Wanda had ready on the tip of her tongue. 

“Not stingrays, utenok. What were the rules?” Natasha laid heavy emphasis on the last word of her question, and though your eyes were more glassy then she’d seen them all day, she could see the wheels turning as you tried to process her words. 

“Oh.” You mumbled when you finally came to the conclusion, your shoulders deflating as your head dipped down and set your gaze on your shoes. “Sorry.” 

Wanda, who had been prepared to dig into you, sighed softly and dropped the topic. She may be a stickler for the rules but she knew it would only cause further damage if she laid into you about listening. Your disappearing hadn’t been intentional, and even she could see the tears threatening to spill over as you brewed in your own feelings of disappointment. 

“I want you holding my hand, dorogaya.” She instructed firmly, “No more walking by yourself. We don’t wanna lose such a sweet little duckling, huh?” Wanda lifted your chin, smiling reassuringly down at you. Her rings caught the light, glimmering like a million little stars that cried to be released from the gold adorning her fingers. It was over after that, you’d fallen too deep into the sea of bliss to want anything other than her. You shuffled close, all thoughts of stingrays forgotten as you breathed in her scent. Sensing your loss of interest, Wanda shared a silent conversation with Natasha who nodded. 

“Why don’t we go check out the gift shop?” Natasha claimed one of your hands, engangling you from Wanda before you could sink any deeper. They needed you coherent enough to get back into the car, and then you were free to settle deeply beneath the blanket of comfort they’d slowly been laying over top of you all day. Natasha held back on delivering any further praise, knowing it wouldn’t help you coming closer to the light. 

She guided you through hallways and crowded rooms, occasionally squeezing your hand when you winced at crying babies and strong fishy odors. She herself was over the aquarium, but she’d been holding out for you. She was glad she didn’t have to fake her enthusiasm anymore, though Wanda was certainly getting a kick out of all the exasperated eyerolls the Russian hid from you. 

The gift shop was practically empty when you shuffled inside, clinging to Natasha who didn’t mind the contact. She led you through rows of toys and puzzles, some not having any connection to the aquarium while others quite boldly sported the name in a thick black font. You found interest in none of it, which she couldn’t blame you for. Everything looked tacky and far too cheap to be as expensive as the prices on the shelves said, but still she guided you around encouraging you to pick something out. She’d promised you a stuffed animal, but when you finally reached the back wall where all the cuddly toys were lined up in rows, neither of you liked any. They were all filled with stuffing that was too stiff to cuddle, and you retracted your hand quickly when you reached out to touch one. Whatever had been used as fuzz was scratchy and coarse, and you hated it with a passion. Eventually, when Wanda came up to you holding a soft gray crewneck with an embroidered whale shark and the name of the aquarium on the front, you agreed to let it be purchased for you, and although it was still in the highest temperatures that New Jersey had seen all summer, you wore it out of the aquarium with a smile. 

When you reached the car, there was no keeping you afloat any longer. Natasha had uttered the first bit of praise in minutes, and you surrendered fully to the warmth in your mind. Wanda smiled, usually the one who you attached to when you fell over the edge, but Natasha had been your chosen pick today. 

“Just get in the back with her, Talia.” Wanda rolled her eyes after three minutes of Natasha trying to detach you from her arm, each attempt ending with whines and stomped feet as you tightened your grip. 

Natasha sighed, able to count the number of times she’d let Wanda drive her car on one hand, but she wasn’t getting away from you right now, and she didn’t really want to anyway. “If you so much as leave one fingerprint on my radio you won’t be getting laid for a week, Maximoff.” 

Wanda rolled her eyes, snatching the keys from Natasha’s outstretched hand and opening the driver's side door more aggressively than needed. If anyone was going to be leaving fingerprints it was Natasha, who could never decide which type of music she wanted to listen to. Seeing that you had gotten your way, you smiled up at Natasha with a grin that was only right to describe as cheeky. The Russian rolled her eyes and settled you into the backseat, shushing your protests when she strapped the seatbelt over your chest and made sure your feet were planted firmly on the floor. 

She pulled you into her side when her own seatbelt was clicked into place, gently releasing your hair from the tight braids that had been twisted together all day. At the first pass of her fingers across your sensitive scalp, you all but melted into her chest and let your eyes flutter closed. It wouldn’t take six minutes before you were asleep against her chest, clutching desperately to the white t-shirt covering her torso. With the absence of your questions and excited statements, the car settled with silence, filled with only the sound of the engine revving when Wanda stepped on the gas. 

“Did you have a good day, moya lyubov’?” Natasha asked, extending an arm to run over fingers over Wanda’s shoulder. She couldn’t see the Sokovian’s face, but she knew there was a satisfied smile settling over her lips. 

“I did.” She breathed out softly, flicking the right blinker on when she merged onto the parkway, thankful that all the construction seemed to have been paused for the day and the road, though filled with typical traffic, was clear of any major dead stops. “Did you ever think we’d be here?” Although Wanda hadn’t been specific, Natasha knew she was referring to you. You were practically the sun in their own two planet universe, everything they did revolved around you now, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. Things got boring when it was merely her and Wanda in a universe void of endless light and warmth. 

“I hoped.” Natasha kissed your temple softly, glad that she hadn’t stirred you awake. 

When Wanda pulled into the driveway, you were still sound asleep and the sky was dark with nightfall. It was early to call it a night, but the couple did so without complaint. You settled into Natasha’s chest with only the aquarium crewneck on your body, and Wanda had shuffled into the space in bed where your body typically rested, laying her head down on Natasha’s shoulder and placed a heavy hand on the small of your back. 

“Goodnight my little utenok.” She whispered into the thick stretch of silence before sleep overcame her too, and although the night carried on outside of your small bubble of peace, none of you had any idea.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

JOHN WICK WIPS (INSPO FROM THE BRILLIANT @scarlettspectra) ; READ TW 🕊️

──────── #1 SAVE ME, JW

“You want me to leave you alone, don’t you?” You’re willing to let this one slide, despite the trouble you’ll get in later for it. Maybe a few bruising slaps, nothing you can’t handle. 

“You can’t now.” 

You look at him strangely. “I can.”

“Your boss is expecting you to deliver.” 

You wonder how he knows all this, how he can be casual about it. 

“Look at me.” You grin, unbothered, only a little frightened of consequences and repercussions. “You think I’m not used to losing?” 

He does look at you, really, and it makes you shudder. Underneath all that grief is slaughter. Bodies piled and burning. Your mouth runs dry and the grin falls. “What are you here for?” 

He wipes alcohol from his bottom lip. “Your boss.” 

You prickle. “Please.” He betrays no sympathy, so you try again. “Please don’t. I need to protect them.” 

“Den mother?” He asks.

You look over your shoulder to the oblivious family you’ve grown to love. Men and women in scantily clad outfits just trying to live in this fucked up world.

“Yeah,” you nod, taking a huge drink of alcohol to numb the future.

It doesn’t help. 

He puts his hand on your arm, steadying the shakes. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You find yourself laughing despite the gravity of the situation. “You’re one man. He’ll have you killed, and we’ll get caught in the crossfire.” 

He tips down the last of his drink. “Get them out.”

“And then he’ll come looking for me,” you hiss, leaning on the table with your head in your hands.

He says, without a crumb of doubt: “no he won’t.” 

──────── #2 NONCON ; DEAD DOVE ; DARK DARK DARK JW

There’s black hellfire in his eyes, a dark promise to make you sorry for your miserable little John-free existence, and, for a second, you resign to the notion that he is going to keep his iron grip around your suffocating throat until you pass out. Your vision is already blurring and darkening, claws scratching pitifully at his arms. A little woodland creature in a big bear trap. 

But, he lets you go, dropping you right on the hard floor, and you land on your ass, gasping for air, face soaked from tears, dress ripped down the middle. He jams his pointy shoe in between your legs, pressing the tip into your cunt, hurting you. 

“John, please,” you whimper through gritty teeth, trying to push his leg away and only getting a big black dress shoe crushing your pussy as reward. 

Your head flips back, neck craning just enough to put agonizing tension on your scalp and spine. His fist nets what feels like every tearing hair on your head, and you can’t help but screech in pain. 

“Please,” he repeats, voice eerily calm even as he’s shoving his fingers down your throat and making you choke. He pulls out and leaves thick white spit dripping onto your pouty lips and chin. He smears the excess on your cheek and smiles down at you - almost lovingly - “you’re begging already? Fucking pathetic.” His foot digs deeper into your sensitive pussy and you let out a cry, proving his point. 

“Oh, I missed this tight little cunt,” he sighs and closes his eyes as if talking to himself. “Thought about her every fucking day.” 

“John, I’m sorry, I-“ 

“Shut up.” He slaps you on the cheek, hard enough to leave a big red welt, then lugs you up by your hair. He doesn’t bother to move his leg, so your bare skin scrapes raw on the rough fabric of his pants. “The only thing that’s gonna come out of that pretty mouth from now on is ‘yes, John.’”

He spins you around, manhandles you onto the counter, presses his cock into the cotton of your panties and slaps your ass harder than he had done to your face. He watches your plump jiggle and retract, wets his lips, grunts. “Did you hear me, baby?” He slaps the same spot, and you yelp and claw at the counter. 

“Yes, John.” The phone is right beside your head, you see the screen light up with worried texts from your friends, asking if you’re home yet. You could try and pick it up, call someone, dial 911, but this is John, and you know there’s not a chance in hell you could touch that phone without him crushing it in one grip. 

“Oh?” He sees where your eyes are, of course he does. He’s a fucking lethal predator, and you’re just a stupid girl. “You wanna call somebody to come save you? Do it. Call them. But you’re gonna watch attentively while I kill them all, I can promise you that, honey.”

──────── #3 HOUSE PET

The cute baby blue collar around your squishy, bruised neck - and how can he help but mark you up? It’s so easy to dig his teeth into your skin and latch on.

The cream-pink cheeky underwear nestled tight to your flesh, hidden under a mid thigh denim skirt. 

The delicate bralette, useless in caging your heavy, bouncing breasts - even with the aid of the tight pink camisole.

Just for him, an opaque, creamy white, mock garter hugging your thighs and making the fat bulge and jiggle over the snug tops. 

John wants to lap at that flesh like you would with melting ice cream from the cone. 

He tugs on your little leather leash. The one accessory on your body that’s not pastel and sickly feminine. This shiny lead indicates that the tether between your neck and his hand belongs solely to him.

Adorable cuffs around your wrists and ankles - color made to match collar. 

His hands, so steady and thick, inching up your inner thighs and making you giggle and twitch. 

He knows you’re so very ticklish right in the crease of your thighs. So adorable trying to squirm away from him even though you know it’s completely useless. 

“Johnny, stop it,” you gurgle, slapping at his plucking and pinching fingers. 

His mouth contradicts his rough hands, giving you tiny, loving kisses all over your hot face. His smile melts you into a pliant doll, ready to be played with.

At his total mercy - eager to be at his total mercy - not one vulnerability he doesn’t see and latch onto, yet so completely safe and sheltered under him. Like standing in the eye of a tornado, or being a sucker fish on the side of a big great white. 

You card your hands through his silky hair, pushing it out of his face and pushing your caged cunt up into his teasing thumb. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” He licks at your lips and you open for him, ready to be devoured and left breathless from his mouth.

──────── #4 THAT FUCKIN WHITE HENLEY

“Good boy,” I say, “good boy. Who’s my good boy, huh?” 

The tiny Italian greyhound bounces high enough to kiss my face, and I’m giggling in delight. “Yes! You’re my good boy. Go get it!” I throw the ball and he’s gone in a flash, fast a lightning, legs moving so swift I can’t even see them under his little body. 

I turn back to the house, where John is situated on our little deck and fixing the grill up.

Instead of coming to me, Oz runs to Dad, and drops the ball at his feet. 

My husband picks it up, shows it to Oz, then shows it to me, still leaning down, the upper half of his torso partially obscured by porch rails. 

He smiles at me, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, yeah,” I call over, giggling, “you throw better than me!”

He looks back at the dog. “Don’t be mean to your mom, Oz. It’s not her fault she sucked at gym class.”

Ozzie barks, uninterested in our banter, all eyes for his toy, and I laugh, mouth popping open in mock offensive gesture. “I’m sorry we can’t all be built for high impact sports.” I stick my tongue out at John, and earn a soft chuckle.

He stands up, brushes his blue jeans off and - oh - I haven’t seen this shirt before. 

It’s just a damn shirt, and I’ve seen this man at least more than a couple times completely naked, so why am I salivating while he saunters up to me to hand me the ball. Oz, blissfully ignorant to the tension between us, happily trots after him.

He puts the ball in my hand, grins at me. “Thought you’d never wake up, sunshine.” 

“I-uh-had a long night.” My cunt gives a diabolical throb. The thick fingers handing me the toy were the same ones scissor fucking my sopping cunt only a few hours ago. 

“Poor baby,” he tsks, leaning down to kiss my head. 

That fucking shirt. White, marled Henley with the v cut out so his chest can wink teasingly at me. Something about it makes me pulse in more places than my loving heart. 

“Wear’d you get this shirt?” I ask him.

“You like it?” He says, twisting around so that I can see the taut bend in his waist and the way the fabric rumples and clings against his sinew and tendon.

I feel the urge to chomp down on my knuckle to avoid screaming. 

“You look good,” I say, treading carefully, salivating. Jesus Christ to lord 

His smile is all knowing, mischievous, awful, going straight to my pussy.

“I’m thinking barbecue chicken for lunch,” he says. “Would you like that?”

I’m not crazy, that last sentence is 100% dipped in sin and low toned. My cunt puckers. “Sounds good.” 

He goes back to fixing the grill while I play with Oz. My throws are even worse now that I’m entirely distracted by watching his muscles move under creamy fabric.

Before I know it, he’s got my back pressed up against his front again, big body engulfing me. “Bad news, baby,” he murmurs, kissing my neck.

I giggle as his beard tickles my skin. 

“The grill is out of commission. Let me take you out.” His smile is warm against my shoulder. 

My stomach gives a little growl. “What’d you have in mind?” I ask.

“Whatever you want,” he tells me. 

“Want you,” I tell him, reaching around to feel for the hard bulge under his denim.

He grabs my hand, spins me around, kisses my fingers and then sucks them into his mouth while I make an absolutely fool of myself and moan involuntarily. 

“So impatient,” he tsks, “do I have to spank you again, needy little girl?” 

This isn’t fucking fair.

[cher-rei]

afterglow pt- 14 [ T.A.A ]

pairings: trent alexander arnold x fem!reader

summary: young and aspiring marketing and business major jamie carter (you) is privileged with working alongside the liverpool marketing and public relations team while also getting entangled with their star player and right back, trent alexander arnold.

genre(s): friends to lovers, workplace romance, fluff, slowish burn

[wc: 4.8k] masterlist

notes: time to meet the in-laws heheeh

previous next

the sound of his parents chatting in the kitchen caught trent's attention. he didn't expect them to still be at home seeing as it was a saturday. they were often out together, shopping or just taking a drive to a museum just to get some fresh air.

and judging by their expressions when they saw their son come downstairs fully dressed as if he had somewhere to be, they thought the same. diane set down her coffee on the table and nudged her husband as well.

trent stood frozen for a moment, unsure of the reason for their looks of shock. "what's wrong?" he asked, checking himself to see if it was an issue with his outfit.

michael, his father, stifled a laugh and turned his attention back to his breakfast which left the stare off to diane who had the faintest idea of what the occasion was. it's been like this for weeks now, the same routine of trent coming home late or leaving early in the morning.

sure he was a grown man, but diane knew her son and it was out of character. "do you mind me asking where you're off to?"

trent shrugged his shoulders, shoving his phone back into his pocket. "jamie has some errands to run today, so I'm tagging along."

the familiar name made diane smile. she craned her neck to get a better look at trent who had just blatantly lied to her. he could of just said that you were going on a date, there was really no reason to hide it and he knew that.

it's just that you weren't official yet so he didn't know whether to properly call it a date, or mention to his family that you were possibly the best thing that's ever happened to him. during supper he always had to refrain from gushing over something that you said, or making it obvious that he had feelings for you.

he was merely being careful and didn't want to give himself and his family false hope. was it eating him up on the inside? definitely. but he kept it up, and tried to mellow his emotions until you were ready.

"you know what's funny?" diane said, causing trent to shake his head. "I keep on hearing about jamie but--" she looked around the kitchen and made a gesture to the empty space. "--I never see her."

trent couldn't hold back his groan, his frustration mixing with the sound of his father's amused laughter. "mum, there's no reason for you to see her." he said honestly, a hint of apprehension slipping through his tone.

diane pulled a face. "since when am I not allowed to see your girlfriend?"

trent's heart dropped, his immediate reaction being to cover his face in embarrassment. "she's not my girlfriend, how many times--"

"oh wow." she threw her hands into the air with an exasperated laugh. "it's dua lipa all over again."

the mention of the pop star sent trent into a spiral, his words lodged into the back of his throat while his mother complained to her husband who was trying his best to stay neutral.

"remember dua lipa, michael?" she hit his arm. "we had to find out about her through an article."

"we've been over this, I've never even met dua lipa." he leant against one of the cabinets and rubbed his temples to calm himself down.

it was a few years ago when the rumour began to spread out of nowhere. a few of them said that he was dating the singer, but the vast majority were convinced that he rejected her. where they got that information from? he had no idea.

"so is she better than dua lipa?" michael spoke up, a ghost of a smile hiding behind his coffee mug. he loved to tease his son like this, usually he was the neutral party but not today.

a few muttered words left trent's mouth, incoherent as he tried to figure out what to say. his frustration was on the brink of boiling over and it was evident in the blush on his cheeks. he felt cornered, trapped even though he could just leave. but he didn't.

maybe this is what he needed. enough pressure to finally make the girl he'd been head over heels to light. "I mean she's..." he awkwardly scratched the nape of his neck. "she's nice."

diane's eyebrow quirked. "nice? that's something you say about a dessert, not your girlfriend."

this prompted trent to roll his eyes, not being able to find the words that were resting on the tip of his tongue. "she's a lot of things, okay? a lot of good things."

"oh," it was his fathers turn to lean closer. "so she is your girlfriend?"

"what? no I--"

"yes, you did."

"why don't you invite her over for lunch tomorrow?"

so many things. so many things were being at the same time and it felt as if his head was about to explode. here he was— a grown man being interrogated about his love life. it was all too much and be was beginning to feel overwhelmed.

bring you over for lunch?? with his entire family being here?? INCLUDING HIS BROTHERS?? what were they thinking?

the last thing that he wanted to do was make you feel uncomfortable or rushed and as much as a small part of his softened at the thought of you meeting his family, his logic knew what was right.

so before he burst into tears in front of his parents he covered his ears and darted out the front door straight to his car. he was sure that they were still calling out for him but he needed to be gone. away from all that apprehension.

"are you sure that it's okay for us to be going out in public like this?"

that question had been sitting at the back of your mind ever since he picked you up, and now that you were nearly at the café it only worsened. ever since the efl final, you've felt a little more cautious about your presence— not just with trent but with the team in general.

your question made trent frown. "I mean it's bound to happen eventually." he watched from the corner of your eye and you fiddled with the clip of your hand bag, a soft "uh huh" leaving your lips.

"are you okay?" his hands caught yours for a gentle squeeze which only managed to supply half of the reassurance you needed. "you've been awfully quiet lately."

your pulse quickened at his observation and managed to bring a small but noticeable smile to your lips. "yeah it's just--" you let out a heavy sigh. "--you know how people are and I don't want this to cause a scene."

almost as if it were planned, trent parked the car not too far from the café, and immediately unbuckled his seatbelt to face you properly. he searched your uneasy expression for answers while you shuffled in your seat, your cheeks growing warm.

"jamie," he said softly, gaining your attention. "is this about the interview last week?"

your expression depicted an ease you didn't necessarily feel, uncomfortable with his ability to figure you out so well. you could have lied and said no, but trent's gaze was intense in a way that you couldn't bring yourself to hide anything.

your composure was under attack, so you simply nodded. trent's expression grew still and serious, not having thought that the post match interview a week ago would've gotten to you, and neither did you.

you were headstrong, the type to not let the words of others cut deep enough to fracture your demeanor but this gnawed at your confidence.

it happened for the past few days, where you'd find your thoughts trialling back to that evening as you stood in the press room not too far from the back as jurgen and virgil were interviewed respectively. it was going as per normal until your name slipped from jurgen's mouth.

you weren't paying much attention until then.

"she was rather rowdy today from the bench," the reporter prompted and your shoulders tensed, not catching the way that jurgen's brows drew together in an angry frown but the reporter continued. "this happens often. what is it like having her around during matches? she's not a part of the team so does it cause any issues?"

issues? was there a line that you crossed?

jurgen was quick with his answer but the hint of anger in his tone was clear despite his chuckle. "jamie likes to be part of the action, she's always standing on the touchline with me and asking questions. she's very passionate about the sport and it's nice to see that she cares."

the reporter opened his mouth again to further his question but jurgen cut him off, his gaze intense which contraindicated the smile he adorned. "If I had the choice I'd say she should take after me when I resign."

that wasn't even the worst, the entire press conference you felt targeted as if everyone was watching you with more criticism than usual. you were used to the attention but this was suffocating— and it had gotten to you unfortunately.

trent's gaze softened, cupping your chin. "you did nothing wrong. they were just prying for something and didn't get what they wanted."

"they said I'm too intense." you stiffened with a heavy sigh mimicking the weight on your chest. "I think that I need to take a few steps back, trent."

"well you're thinking wrong," he said, his voice raising a bit at your absurd idea. "we love you when you're screaming on the touchline, we love you when you're dragging us to do stupid tiktoks for the supporters, and we sure as hell love you when you give us the energy we need."

you bit your lip to stifle a grin, letting trent's lecture settle in the air for a moment. "you think my tiktoks are stupid?"

an easy smile played at the corners of his mouth and he leant forward, his lips grazing yours as he spoke. "very."

the feeling of trent's lips gently melting into yours lifted an immense weight from your shoulders. the sensation sent your thoughts spinning, any doubts vanishing almost immediately until you pulled away, breathless.

when the two of you finally entered the café— the whole reason for this entire trip, you were pleasantly surprised to see that there were fewer people than you expected. trent casually took the liberty of ordering, happy to know that you trusted him enough to know what you liked.

you picked out a spot at the back of the café, a few tables away from the window so you weren't spotted too easily. just in case. as you settled, trent couldn't help but notice the way that the soft light from the window and how it danced on your features.

he smiled. feeling grateful for the moment of peace despite what happened in the car. he knew better than anyone than this being a dangerous idea, that no matter how well known that you were, it was only bound to ruin your image if certain people saw you together.

trent has had his fair share of crazy or delusional fans that took it a step too far on more than one occasion, and it was one of the main reasons that he kept his social life as private as possible. but not with you. it was impossible in every way.

but that didn't mean that he was going to back off.

his attention was drawn back to you began uncontrollably giggling from the seat opposite him.

"what's so funny?" he asked, trying to peak over at your screen.

you teasingly held the phone out of his reach, a playful smile etched on your lips with the twinkle in your eyes. "just sofía. pablo walked in on her changing."

trent raised an eyebrow. "they're still living together? I thought that they would've killed each other by now," he joked and you nodded your head.

"alex says that they're bound to crack under pressure any day now."

your comment had trent fighting back his laughter, mostly agreeing with the statement seeing as their personalities classed and complimented each other's in the best way possible. he didn't know much about them, but with the stories that you've told him, they needed to get a room.

when your desserts arrived your eyes lit up immediately and almost instinctively your hand reached for your phone and opened the camera. trent was just about to taint his cake when you slapped his hand away.

his eyes widened at the harsh act, looking to you with his lips parted. "what did I do?"

you rolled your eyes and continued to take pictures of the food, making sure to get every angle possible. "it's like you've never had a girlfriend before," you muttered in slight irritation.

trent on the other hand couldn't let the comment slip by, his lips tugging up into a smile. "oh? so you're my girlfriend now?"

your body tensed immediately, unable to look him in the eye as he held your flustered state under his playful gaze. the heat rushed to your cheeks quicker than you expected and to save yourself the embarrassment you remained silent to prevent stuttering.

it hadn't even been a month yet but you were definitely ready to jump into whatever he wanted. you couldn't bring yourself to say it though and decided to wait until he brought it up. which was now apparently.

after a bit of forced laughter, you scoffed. "nobody said that I wanted to cancel my trial. yet. you haven't done anything to chase me away yet either, so at least there's hope."

he rolled his eyes at your quip and watched as you continued to eat your cake, your mouth moving as you talked to him but nothing registered. instead his mother's voice sounded through his mind.

it was now or never.

"would meeting my parents be enough to chase you away?"

spamjam._.

liked by trentarnold66, sophiaamelia and 3 292 125 others

spamjam._. girlfriend core ☕️💍

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user my girlfriend core

→ user watch sofía spawn out of nowhere just to tell you stay in your lane 😭

→ fía.messi stay in your lane.

→ user I'm howling 🤣😭🤣😭🤣😭

trentarnold66 free trial coming to an end core 💍

→ spamjam._. stfu 😃

sophiaamelia if gorgeous was a person 🎀

→ spamjam._. have you seen yourself??

saffiekhan we were supposed to go to that café together!! you absolute traitor 😃

→ spamjam._. well I'm sorry that you had a date with your BOYFRIEND

→ saffiekhan this isn't about him!

→ curtisjr I don't even know why I try at this point tbh 👎🏼

"no way you got my mum flowers," trent said in awe when you got into the car, the vibrant colours of the assorted bouquet set on your lap.

you buckled your seatbelt and gave him a knowing look at the absurd remark. "of course I did. what do you take me for? an animal?"

the footballer didn't bother responding to the question and scoffed, leaning forward to kiss your cheek before heading back to his house, where his family were gathered for sunday lunch as usual.

at the café yesterday, he wasn't sure what overcame him when he asked you to join them as his mother suggested, but something swelled in his heart when you happily agreed. there was a glint of excitement and disbelief in your eyes that he couldn't help but reprocicate.

and even if you were anxious (which you definitely were) you hid it well enough for trent to feel at ease too. the two of you shared one last look of reassurance before getting out of the car and leaping head-first into something that would either be a mistake or just what you both needed.

you felt his hand slip into yours and give it a light squeeze to ease your nerves, finally opening his front door. you were familiar with his house, just not when there were other people besides the two of you inside.

a wave of nausea washed over you when you stepped into the foyer, trent's hand not letting go of yours even when his mother caught you both before you could walk any further.

the woman adorned a gleaming smile at the sight of you st her son's side, even better that he was holding onto you for dear life. "hello, jamie sweetheart," she greeted with her arms out for a hug. "it's so good to see you again."

you let go of trent's hand and gave into her embrace with an even bigger smile knowing that she was actually happy to see you. "hi, diane. it's good to see you too."

from a few steps back, trent watched with lovestruck eyes and his heart pounding in his chest at the exchange between the two of you. the look on his mother's face was so familiar— the same glint of comfort and adoration she had for him and the rest of his family.

he watched as you handed her the bouquet with diane nearly bursting into tears at the kind gesture. trent couldn't tell if he was overwhelmed or simply in love, ready to get down on knee right then and there. but it was only when the two of you walked further into the house and he was left behind in the foyer that his mother's greeting registered in his mind.

it's so good to see you again.

he didn't have time to ponder on it however and made a beeline for the living room where the rest of his family were. tyler and marcel were standing in front of the television, playfully arguing about something that didn't matter. his father was sitting on the sofa beside tyler's girlfriend olivia who had her daughter resting on her lap.

it was nothing out of the ordinary but trent couldn't find the words lodged in his throat, only managing to watch you greet the rest of his family members who were more than delighted to meet you.

you were familiar with tyler and marcel after having run into them a few times at matches, but this was your first time meeting olivia. the happily handed her daughter over to her father-in-law to stand up and properly greet you with a hug, complimenting your outfit before you could compliment hers.

"and this angel must be aura," you cooed and bent down slightly to tickle her stomach earning a slight giggle from the infant. "there's not a second that goes by where your uncle isn't talking about you and I can see why."

you look up at olivia with a smile. "I love her name. it's gorgeous."

she waved her hand in front of her face at the compliment again. "thank you. it's been in my notes app since I was in year 10."

your lips parted at the familiar answer and you immediately reached for your phone. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours..."

"shut up, deal. tyler watch aura, jamie and I are heading to the kitchen to help with lunch," olivia said hurriedly took you by the hand and led you to the kitchen without further discussion.

you didn't even spare trent a final look before you were swept away, the comfort finally setting in around the family. trent was still stood silent in the archway of the living room, watching as your figure disappeared further into the house as your laughter rung through the air along with olivia's.

"ew, he's in love," tyler commented with a face of disgust, completely disregarding the fact that he had a girlfriend and a daughter.

the afternoon progressed smoothly with you and olivia helping diane in the kitchen (you spent a good 40 minutes talking about absolute nonsense). it got to the point where you forgot that trent was somewhere in the living room.

"you've never been?"

olivia shook her head at your question and sighed. "I haven't had the time. aura is literally all I see 24/7."

a small frown took place on your lips. "leave her with tyler for a few hours. I'll tell you when I'm free and we can try it out. I'll make it my mission that you see the light of day again."

the rest of the afternoon was filled with laughter and getting to know each other. your main fear was that you were going to be interrogated about every single part of your life, but it was nothing like that. instead, the questions were out of genuine intrigue.

"have you always wanted to venture into sports marketing?" michael asked, from one end of the dinner table and you eagerly nodded.

"I wanted to work in the industry one way or another," you said with a genuine smile. "I wasn't too keen on journalism, so when I started gaining a following online I thought that I might as well put it to good use."

michael hummed in acknowledgement and looked at trent with a smile from beside you. "well if you hadn't then I'm sure you wouldn't be sitting here right now."

diane laughed at her husband's comment, taking notice of the blush on her son's face as his brothers teased him. the entire afternoon she couldn't help but watch in awe at how he acted around you.

it made her heart ease knowing that he acted comfortably around you, how he could joke and tease you with you doing it back with just as much playfulness. even at the dinner table, when you spoke he couldn't keep his eyes off you and listened attentively.

a blush rose to your cheeks at marcel's question about when you started to develop feelings for his brother. trent shot him a glare from across the table but you waved him off, giving him a moment to think even though you knew exactly when it was.

you leant back in your seat casually and nudged trent's arm. "he kicked me with a ball during training. it hit my arm and there was this huge bruise for two weeks."

"trent john alexander-arnold!" diane gawked in shock, turning to him with a disappointed look, causing him to raise his hands in defence. "how could you do that??"

"it wasn't on purpose!" he defended and looked at you beside him, the smile etched on your phase because you knew exactly what you were doing. "jamie, you said it didn't even hurt."

you shrugged your shoulders. "I didn't want to make you feel bad. you were already bummed over the injury."

tyler laughed at the memory of his brother's hamstrings injury last year. "I remember that. he was so depressed, ugh take me back. life was so good back then."

"tyler don't say that, you know how upset it makes him," olivia scolded her boyfriend, slapping him on the arm but he had no regrets and let the comment stand.

trent sent her a grateful look, but you couldn't help but laugh. "you think that was bad?" a laugh escaped your lips. "you should've seen how he waddled down the stairs at the training center."

the rest of the dinner table burst into laughter, except for trent of course who was covering his face in embarrassment. not sure of who's side you were on in this case. and it only got worse when you showed them the video of you and dominik shutting the elevator door before be could make it in.

the cheeky laughter of both you and his best friend brought back the memory, the video perfectly showing just how pathetic he was when trying to catch up, but obvious didn't make it.

it was a bit before 5 p.m and aura had just woken up from her nap when you all gathered in the living room. the saudi arabian grand prix played as a form of entertainment as you sat with trent's head resting on your shoulder while aura sat on your lap, occupying herself with the rings on your fingers.

"oh, come on these mercedes drivers are going to be the death of me," michael said in frustration, gradually bringing the conversation around to the mechanics of the car and how the season hadn't been too good so far.

you were fairly quiet for bit, watching the rave with immense concentration until you were pleasantly surprised. "oh my gosh!" your excitement made both aura and trent jump up, but you were too busy taking pictures of alex on the screen to bother.

"sorry, you know how I get when I see alex show up at races," you apologised and trwnt shook his head, resting it back onto your shoulder.

"you talk to her every waking moment of the day, you're insane," he said, still not understanding how you could get so giddy just by seeing her on screen.

olivia looked at you with her eyes widened. "you know her?"

you nodded with a proud smile. "she's one of my best friends. just haven't seen her in a while."

"oh, so you're famous famous," marcel added. "how did trent even manage to catch your eye??"

after the race, you found yourself helping diane with the dishes. well that was until trent decided to interrupt the moment to which his mother happily leave you two be, a fond smile on her face as she left the kitchen.

the two of you didn't exchange any words for a few minutes and instead packed away the dishes in silence, your bodies moving in a familiar motion that happened quite often at your own home when he helped you with cleaning.

you took a moment to breathe, leaning back on the counter as trent finished up the last of the utensils. a fond smile formed on your face for some reason but you didn't fight it and kept your attention on him even when be caught on.

he quirked a brow in confusion. "why are you looking at me like that?" he took a few steps towards you.

"looking at you like what?" you teased and he eventually stopped in front of you, casually draping his hands around your waist as if there was any sort of privacy.

you didn't fight it though.

the footballer rolled his eyes jokingly, unable to believe that you still had the energy to joke with him after outing him multiple times today. he was sure that at some point his face was unable to remain any other colour besides red with the way that he was blushing.

"you know what?"

your question raised even more confusion but he nodded slightly, allowing you to carry on with whatever you wanted to say.

"I think it's time to clear up the fog," you said and took a deep breath. "I like the way that we work."

trent's lips parted and he went immobile for nearly a minute. the words that came from his lips made no sense, to the point where you had to pinch him. suddenly he let go of you and walked to the other end of the room, purpose in his stride as he shut the kitchen door and locked it.

oh, shit.

he was frantic with his movements and you were struggling to keep up until he took your hands into his and gave you a look. "are you sure?"

"100%." you retorted with so much confidence, making trent's smile widen in excitement, the twinkle in his eyes nearly losing you.

"jamie," he started softly, gaining your attention. "would you like to--"

he didn't even get to finish his sentence before your lips were on his, ever so thankful that he locked the door so that you could cherish the moment properly.

your body melted under his touch, the feeling of his lips tugging into a smile having your heart pounding harder than it ever had before. all those months of uncertainty led up to this moment— late-night drives, weeks without talking to each other, advice from your friends. everything led up to this feeling of bliss and relief.

when you pulled away you were both breathless, with childlike smiles and laughter sounding through the room that you felt your tension drip away in.

spamjam._.

liked by landonorris, fía.messi and 2 224 937 others

spamjam._. spot my girlfriend 🤭

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landonorris help. HELP ME (you look good but please answer my messages)

→ spamjam._. security!!!

trentarnold66 spot my girlfriend

→ fía.messi bro stfu that's my line. get a life or something! [liked by spamjam._.]

user @trentarnold66 UHM WHAT DID HE SAY??? HE'S KIDDING RIG&/??

→ user I THREW UP

→ trentarnold66 I was talking about the car 😭

→ user oh... OH

→ user he's just a man fr 😔

alexandrasaintmleux I was smiling at the camera because I knew you were watching ml xx [liked by spamjam._.]

→ spamjam._. I love you ❤️

charles_leclerc please stop stealing my girlfriend 🙏🏻 [liked by spamjam._.]

[pictureinme]

hcs for taking care of cillian charcters when they’re sick & when you get sick in return?

thank you thank you for this! i decided to put a few more characters for this, i love the concept LOL

patricia 'kitten' braden

» she is the epitome of 'woe is me' when she's sick - pillows upon pillows, tissues everywhere, a hand upon her forehead as she wears her most extravagant nightgown... she has appearances to keep up! » she requests you to dote on her every need - spoon-feeding her soup, putting on her favorite records and lighting the loveliest of candles when the overhead light is just too much to bear » once she recovers, you've fallen just as ill - she apologizes PROFUSELY for making you kiss her constantly, but how could she abstain from you?! » she cooks for you, making sure you're getting every single nutrient to heal fast - picture soups full of veggies, assorted fruit, and, frankly, disgusting smoothies because she read about it in cosmo

neil lewis

» honestly pathetically arrogant, let's be real - swears he's just fine, tries to keep running the store but he sneezed on a copy of 'dr. strangelove' a customer was trying to rent and lucien kicked him out (for everyone's benefit) » once you have him at home, he wears three masks and gloves, spraying everything down with lysol for fear of getting you sick - the only thing he accepts from you is little snacks and the meds he forgot » you somehow get sick despite his best efforts ... even though he did make you throw out all of his various tissues - he immediately goes to webmd with whatever symptoms you present & definitely micromanages your meds schedule » asks marcia and her husband for advice, but only kind they've got is related to their little bundle of joy - they do, however, send him back home with a fuck ton of goodies for you to wake up to from your sickly nap

emma skillpa

» hides her sickness from you as long as possible, to the point of her passing out mid cleaning - luckily you catch her, and she is beyond embarrassed. "oh, please don't worry, i'll be back on my feet in no time!" » you carry her up the stairs, laying her on her bed, and she can't help but swoon at your control of the situation - she tells you exactly the things she needs, sometimes attempting to get out of bed herself to get them. she already has some soup frozen in the ice box, so all you have to do is thaw them » she goes full emma mode when you've fallen ill after taking such good care of her - calls your place of work, telling them you've fallen deathly ill and need a week off (what a gem she is). makes sure you drink every last bit of soup, no ifs or buts » genuinely does not let you leave the bedroom for the entire week, even if you've already recovered by that point - spends time with you, of course, but she has lots to do around the house! maybe being held captive by emma wasn't so bad, hm?

jackson rippner

» cannot STAND being sick, especially with the delays in his job that could occur - however, he very much enjoys you doting on him like his little caretaker. he can't resist playing house » makes sure you attend to his every need, especially while wearing a cute little outfit (nurse costume unnecessary, but not out of the question) - "come on, do a little spin for me, it's the least you can do. i'm a sick man who needs his meds from his oh so sexy wife!" » you falling ill was not in the itinerary, but he loves how cute you look bundled up in the sheets - he pokes fun at you, but still gets you all the stuff you need » if he has to leave for a job in the middle of your sickness, he leaves you with a nest of items you could ever possibly need, as well as an on-call doctor he knows for... reasons - "i'll just be a few states away, but if shit gets serious, don't hesitate to call my burner. yes, i need it for this job, i don't know why. please stop asking so many questions."

jonathan crane

» you can barely tell he's sick for the first few days, but you notice the redness around his nose - when you bring it up, he immediately shoots you down. "darling, if i was sick, i couldn't be doing my job, now could i?" » meanwhile, the next time you see him, he's passed out in his office chair with tissues stuffed in his pocket like a lapel. you bring him back to your place so he can properly rest - he wakes up confused, but silently grateful for the glass of water and medicine you placed on the nightstand next to him » having him stay at your place got you sick pretty fast, and you couldn't believe how he was surviving with the level of congestion you're having - he stays home from work enough to dote on you in his own special way, taking note of your symptoms to properly take care of you » he only goes to the office a few times to bring you back some high doses of medicine you couldn't get over the counter at a cvs, so you could heal as fast as possible - "i know the pills are bigger than normal, but you only have to take them once a day for the rest of the week. don't be such a crybaby."

[inthemytdl]

Teenage Dream

Summary: Jack prepares for his first date (with a girl)

Note: she/her pronouns

“Are you sure?” Jack brushed down the black shirt and army style jacket Dean gave him.

The sleeves went a couple inches past his hand, so he had to roll them up to fit properly. The shirt, on the other hand, fit well. 

“Trust me, chicks dig the bad boy look,” Dean said. “A little dirt, a little grime. Works every time.”

Jack had never been on a date before, but he imagined dressing nicer than this. Wearing his FBI suit, maybe. It was the nicest one he owned and the sleeves fit perfectly.

He turned to Sam. “Is that true?”

“Sometimes,” Sam said, without looking up from his computer.

But Jack had seen a good amount of romance films and couldn’t imagine Sam as the bad boy in any of them. In his mind, he was always the nice guy. The hero.

“Did you think you’d go in your FBI suit?” Dean laughed. “This is a date, kid, not a case.”

“I like that suit. Cass says blue is my color.”

Cass nodded. “It’s true. And that”—he pointed at Jack—“is horrible.”

“Hey!” Dean shouted. “That’s style. Army green, simple tees. That’s in right now. It’s all over the mags.”

“Mags?” Sam said.

“Magazines. God, you guys are old.”

Jack watched the scene unfold. Dean was doing that thing where he pretended to be young again while Sam groaned and Cass filed his nails against the wooden table. Usually, he’d let it go on, but there were just thirty minutes until his date with you and he still didn’t have an outfit.

“I don’t have time for this!” Jack shouted. His skin was hot like when he used his powers.

“Woah. Relax. It’s just a date,” Dean said.

“He’s never been on a date before, Dean,” Sam countered.

“So? Neither has Cass and he’s doing fine.”

“Dating, love, relationships. Those are human things,” Cass said. “Trivial.”

“Trivial?” Dean craned his neck toward him and the pair erupted into yet another argument as Sam approached Jack.

“It doesn’t matter what you wear,” he said. “Just be yourself. Girls can tell when you’re faking.”

“They can?” Jack felt more nervous than before. It was all too human. And he was only half of that. He wasn’t used to having sweaty palms or a butterfly-filled stomach. He thought he was sick the first time he felt their flutter before Sam explained that it was normal.

“Uh, yeah. Sometimes,” Sam coughed. “But you’ll be fine.” He gave him those puppy dog eyes he gave families when working a case: his attempt to take half of their pain. It worked sometimes. Jack was grateful it worked now.

“Okay,” he said, leaving to change. 

He hurried to his room and put on a white button up paired with a brown suit. That blue tie he loved. He stopped for a moment to look in the mirror, did an awkward smile, then made his way back to the command center.

The chaos had died down by the time he arrived, and all three of the boys sat around the table listening to Sam. Jack overlooked the scene from the head of the table. This was one of the few times the bunker was quiet: when one of them was talking and the others listened. And that was rare. Most days, they talked over each other.

“Woah. Look at you.” Sam was first to notice him. His dimples pinched his cheeks as he smiled.

“Much better,” Cass rasped.

Dean scrunched his face and made his way over to him. Jack wiped sweaty palms down his blazer. Dean was never all that nice to him, but a couple months in the bunker and they had become somewhat of a family.

“You’ve got to learn how to properly tie a tie,” Dean said, and he adjusted it for him. “There. Not as good as before but… decent.” He nodded, then fished in his pocket and produced silver keys. “Here.”

“You’re letting me drive the impala?” Jack said.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

Sam clapped. “Alright, go get ‘em, tiger.”

A rush of energy overcame Jack, though he couldn’t tell why. It might’ve been confidence or nerves or something entirely different—he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t used to feeling this way. He had grown accustomed to fear and adrenaline. Love, even. But never romantic, and never like this.

This would be the first time he went on a real date, and one where no one tried to kill him. He felt prepared; he knew what to do. Once he got to the restaurant, he would pull your chair out for you, you’d talk, and then you’d fall in love with him.

There was only one thing he was unsure about.

“What should I say when I get there?” he asked. 

“I read in a Teen Vogue magazine it’s custom to talk about your interests,” Cass said.

“Zombies?”

“No—no zombies!” Dean said. “For the love of god, no zombies.”

“Just follow her lead, okay?” Sam said.

Jack nodded, making a mental note of all the advice he’d be given. But if he wasn’t allowed to talk about zombies, what would he talk about? 

“Uh, kid.” Dean laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not moving.”

“I’m not?”

“No,” Cass said. “You’ve been standing in Dean’s beer puddle for thirty seconds now.” 

“Oh.” He felt the liquid squish below his feet.

“Here, I’ll walk you.” Sam placed a hand on his back and led him to the door.

“You’ll call me if you need help?”

Leaving during a case felt wrong—like when he finished a box of cereal and it didn’t have a toy in it or when he waved at someone and they didn’t wave back—but Sam insisted he go.

“Yeah,” Sam said, opening the door for him. 

Jack lifted a slow hand and waved goodbye. 

Sam smiled and waved back; gave him that look that took half his nerves, half his pain. Then the door shut and it was time for his date.

[lily-radiance]

Random fic headcanons and ideas:

TWD season two Daryl Dixon with an S/O who's in trouble

Both loners

MC is not from Georgia

Early 20s MC dating mid-30s Daryl

She knows how to shoot archery bows but not crossbows

Touch-starved

Andrea considers MC like another younger sibling

Everyone advises Daryl not to go for you and vice versa

When Rick, Hershel, and Glenn go to the bar, MC accompanies them. Daryl only goes when Lori tells him that you are in danger.

Carol gives him advice

Andrea and Lori warn him if he breaks your heart, he's a dead man.

RE4 Leon with a high school best friend who became an Umbrella Scientist.

MC was initially training for the force with Leon but dropped out to find another passion

She wants to help people but gets pulled into Umbrella’s dark research

Leon caught a glimpse of her at the end of RE2 but couldn't be sure if it was her.

Ashley doesn't trust MC, but Leon ignores it

Both have combat experience and have undergone physical conditioning

MC does not have Las Plagas

Krauser spars with MC, causing Leon to jump in.

Krauser asks Leon to choose between you and Ashley.

IDK if Leon would be sweet here or a Yandere.

Arkham Movie Trilogy Jonathan Crane, Harley Quinn, and Poison Ivy x Psychiatrist reader

This story is currently in progress!!!

Reader works at Arkham Asylum

Friends with Bruce Wayne

Knows about his alter ego and occasionally helps him solve cases

Reader believes Bruce should do more with his money to benefit Gotham

Combines Heath Ledger’s Joker with Margot Robbie’s Harley Quinn

The reader was in the same major as Harley in college, and the two dated briefly

Harley constantly teases the reader when she catches wind of a new crush

You try to ignore her, but eventually can't as she warns you that the doctor is deadlier than he lets on

You brush it off, too fond of your coworker to accept the notion that he can hurt you

Bruce doesn't like your new counterpart, picking up a destructive energy that screams guilty

In defiance, you decide to bring your beaux to one of many parties and get on your friend’s last nerve.

A kiss is shared in front of the crowd, some murmuring complaints while others smile. You wish to stay in Jonathan’s arms, but the moment is interrupted as Bruce pulls you aside

Naturally, two upper-class socialites fighting in front of an audience calls for bad publicity, but not on your part

“If you keep this up, you'll become a sewer rat criminal just like the rest!”

Luckily, you decided to wear a few rings to accentuate your outfit. Not only do you look stunning, but you reel back and land a brutal slap on his cheek. Yet that doesn't hurt as much as your following words.

“How dare you, Bruce. How dare you scrutinize what you can never understand. Thomas and Martha would be ashamed of you, and you, of all people, know they were difficult to rattle. Next time you need anything, ask someone who gives a shit.”

Your friend has to watch in shock as you exit the home, arm linked with a man he despises. Even in disagreeable situations, you manage to exhibit grace and elegance. It's the beginning of a new era and the opportunity to forget the complex life of the wealthy.

“Is your hand alright, (Y/N)? Better yet, are you okay?”

Never underestimate a psychiatrist to get into your head. He walks you to the car, watching your lips tremble in the darkness. You meet his stare, and one thought crosses your mind: kissing him sounds lovely. The doctor is efficient at picking up social cues, leaning down to meet your lips, and extinguishing the frigid temperature.

“As long as I'm with you, Jonathan. I can do anything with you by my side, no matter the risks.”

I want to make the reader an anti-hero vigilante with the “Grim Reaper” theme. Supernatural powers in Batman don't really occur so I will brainstorm. Most villains are the work of genetic experiments gone wrong so maybe I'll work with that?

JD(Heathers 1989) dating the reader

You are friends with Veronica and the despicable Heathers

Instead of going along with their charades, you often argue and challenge Heather Chandler

She constantly threatens your social standing but knows that the campus would easily choose you over her.

Purple color coded

JD can't help but admire your tenacity as you begrudgingly follow Veronica to the table, attempting to stop the girl from doing Heather’s bidding.

When you walk over, he seems uninterested in the girl speaking to him, instead transfixed on your disinterested attitude. Unknowingly, you lick your lips, tasting lip gloss and wiping some glitter away. When you lock eyes, you swear your heart stops beating, drawn to his carefree attitude.

Veronica says a few words to you, trying to convince you to let her administer the lunch poll

As she talks, you playfully roll your eyes, causing the delinquent to smirk in your direction. He hides a chuckle from breaking out, finding your careless joking funny given the circumstances. When Veronica walks off, it allows you to sit across from the newcomer, albeit a little too eagerly.

“Mind if I ask for a smoke? I'm dying from boredom.”

“Sure, I could never say no to a girl like you. I’m guessing you’ve been trying to break from those devils all day.”

He lights your cigarette as you take it between your teeth, enjoying the visual more than he lets on.

“It's all thanks to you, my knight in obsidian armor.”

[formulaforza]

miss americana & the heartbreak prince

—04. every finger, every sigh —word count: 6.8k —warnings: obvious sexual innuendos, implications, and mentions of sex. no smut. club activities, alcohol consumption. love, mackie... ok here's how this is going to work. if you don't read smut please feel safe to enjoy this chapter. if you do read smut, there is a link in the chapter to the nsfw cut. word count & warnings for that will be at the top of that post. I hope this works out for the majority of u guys... I want everyone to feel comfortable reading.

Chris peeks her head out around the sliding door into the bedroom, finds him sitting on the couch ready to go, scrolling through his phone and nodding along to the Carrie Underwood playlist playing from Chris’ phone in the bathroom. They’d had an impromptu dance party half an hour earlier to Cowboy Cassanova–hairbrush microphones and all–while Chris was doing her makeup. Charles butchered the chorus and stumbled to keep up with the verses, but he brought energy, and that’s all that matters. “Close your eyes!” She calls out to him. 

“They’re closed,” he says, putting a hand over his eyes, peeking directly through his fingers. 

“No, they’re not.”

“They are!”

“I’m looking at you.”

“Chris, Chris, Chris,” he laughs, closing his fingers over his eyes. “They’re closed.”

“Okay,” she says, stepping out from behind the door. The heels of her boots click across the floor with every step, coming to a soft stop a few feet in front of his seated position. She adjusts the strap of her bra and flattens down her dress, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Open.”

When she was packing for the trip, Charles had told her that they’d probably go out at least one night, that to be safe, she should bring a couple different outfits. Today, she’d settled on the most classic article of clothing in her wardrobe, a little black dress. Paired with a leather blazer to make it, as Hannah had said, “just a little classier,” she’s also got her full collection of jewelry on; from a string of pearls to her friendship bracelets. The star of the show, however, is her shoes. 

Cowboy boots. Red cowboy boots. The pair has sat in the back of her closet for years now, barely worn in because where do you even wear a pair of firetruck red cowboy boots? She’s giddy about finally getting to wear them. 

“Sacrément fille!” He exclaims, eyes trailing her entire figure as he stands. 

“Shut up,” she laughs, shoving his shoulder away. 

He grabs her wrist from the air between them on the recoil of the shove, pulls her close, almost flush against him and slinks an arm around her waist like it belongs there. It burns her entire body, him so close, looking at her like he does. She doesn’t know what to do with herself, wraps her arms around his neck like they’re going to slow dance at the senior prom. 

“You don’t even know what I said,” he smirks. 

She rolls her eyes. “The look on your face is as good as Google Translate.”

“I like the boots.”

“They’re red,” she smiles up at him, sticks her foot out to the side so he can see it without craning his neck, without having to step back from her. She knows that when he inevitably does step back, she’ll be chilled by the absence of his warmth. All this talk about her outfit, but she’s just his accessory. He looks annoyingly gorgeous, per usual, and entirely too kissable. 

He nods. “I know.”

She’s struck with the urge to just stay. To slip the do not disturb hook over the door and stay in for the night. “You know what else is red?”

“Hmm?” 

She raises her brows, smirks. Guess, she implies it all. Guess what else is red, Charles. He blushes as red as her boots, has to break his eyes from hers to roll them, shake his head and run his tongue over the front of his teeth with a chuckle. 

“You’re trouble.”

“Mmhm,” she hums, standing on her toes to kiss him. His hand moves up her back, cups the back of her head and deepens the kiss. You’d think he was starved, the way he takes control of the kiss she’d initiated, pulls her to him. To him, to him. Close enough he could build a home in her mouth. She pulls back with a breathy laugh, sinks her teeth into her bottom lip to keep the smile from growing too giddy. “Let’s go,” she says, because if they don’t leave now she worries they won’t leave. 

“Troublé,” he calls after her when she disappears into the bathroom to retrieve her phone. 

“Charles,” she hums all singsongy. “I want you to speak to me like one of your American girls.”

– – –

They uber to the club with Joris and Arthur, who Chris is pretty sure are already half-drunk by the time they’re climbing into the black SUV. 

“We got to get you laid tonight,” Arthur says, reaching his hands over the passenger seat headrest to give Joris an overdramatic shoulder massage. 

“Do you want me to ‘have you met Ted’ him?” Chris asks. She’s met with a car full of confused eyes and a deafening silence. Bombed that one, Chris. 

“Quoi?” Arthur asks. Joris shrugs. 

“What is ‘have you met Ted?’” Charles asks with a gentle smile and patient eyes. She feels like one of her students, like she’s speaking a foreign language. 

She opens her mouth to speak but just sighs. “I don’t… I don’t know how to explain it,” she says. “Just. I’ll get you someone tonight, don’t even worry about it.”

“I don’t need any of you to find me a girl,” Joris defends. “I can handle that all on my own.”

“Alright, mate,” Charles says, puts his arm around Chris’ shoulder and leans in to whisper, just for her, “Help him.”

– – –

There’s a whole group of drivers at the club they head to. Chris is still trying to learn their names, to match the names with the faces. She follows behind Arthur, walks  in front of Charles, guided by his hands on her shoulders through the crowd. He calls out greetings to the drivers as he passes, until she’s flashing the stamp on her hand and being ushered into a section with even more drivers. Pierre and his girlfriend, Kika, Charles makes the introductions. Lando, Carlos and Isa. “Esteban et Elena arrivent,” Pierre relays to Charles with an eye roll. Charles smiles, pats Pierre on the shoulder. 

“Vous pouvez être gentil,” he quips. 

Little time is wasted in getting drinks in their hands, in running the bill of whoever’s paying for the table. 

Chris is a puppet and her whiskey sour is the strings, sipping from a glass that never empties, the bottle girl’s ratio caring less about her sobriety and more about racking up the bill. The strobe lights are half-blinding, liquor erasing the threat of a headache. 

She moves with Charles and his fingers splayed over her hips, the force of him a greater pull than the soul-shaking beat could dream of being. He’s hot. Hot and sweaty and half of it has to be hers. The blazer and bag are long abandoned on a chair over there, or maybe it’s over there, who knows anymore? The straps of her dress barely conceal her bra strap and she’s paranoid about it the entire time they’re dancing, constant adjustments with every clap of the men huddled around the DJ booth. 

One of the girlfriends, the young one, Chris can’t remember her name, steals her away for a round of shots. She doesn’t ask what it is, downs it without a chaser and it’s smooth in a way only the expensive stuff can manage. 

“I love your boots!” Kika speaks. Kika! That’s her name. Kika, Kika, Kika, remember it, Chris, remember it. Her accent is thick and unplaceable over the music, even as she speaks inches from Chris’ ear. 

Chris laughs. “Thank you!”

“You have to send me a link!”

“I’m so sorry!” She apologizes directly into Kika’s ear, the two girls with a gentle hold on each other’s forearms while they speak, anchoring each other in place amongst the packed section. “I have no clue where I got them.”

When Chris does turn back around to make her way back to Charles, he’s nowhere in her sightline. There’s not enough room for him to have vanished, he’s got to be hidden by someone’s body. Maybe he’s found her blazer. She sits with Kika for a while, the two girls exchanging compliments every time the conversation needs to change topics. They go on like that until more people, the other girlfriend’s she’d been introduced to… Elaine and Emma? She knows she’s not close. 

“We’re going to the bathroom,” one of them says. “Come with?” Her eyes dart between Kika and Chris. Both girls nod and join the train to the bathroom. On the way through the group–I’m going to find Lily, someone says–Chris spots Charles again. 

They brush past each other with a shared smile, a wordless exchange that he still manages to slur, blown pupils boring into her. If Chris thought she could stop and talk, she’d be asking Charles what the girls’ names are. There isn’t time for that, though. Someone really needs to pee. Elena. Elena really needs to pee. Elena, Elena, Elena. 

“Isa!” Elena calls out to the other. Isa, Isa, Isa. Good,  now she knows everyone’s name again.

“I’m getting Lily!” Isa responds. 

Chris has no idea who Lily is, much less where she is, so she continues following behind Kika and Elena to the bathroom line. There’s eleven people ahead of them in line and Elena looks like she might have to pee on the floor. 

The line moves quickly, though, and before they know it they’re bursting through the door and giggling at the speed of Elena’s heels on the floor. “Dio mio,” she says, the stall door clattering shut. 

“So, Chris–it’s Chris right?” Elena asks through the plastic of the stall. 

“Yeah.”

“Chris,” she laughs. “How did you meet Charles, anyway?”

She checks herself out in the vanity mirror. Her lipstick is smudged. She wonders where on Charles she lost it. “Uhm,” she hangs on the sound, making a half-hearted attempt at fixing the smear. “We met at COTA,” Chris explains, going into one of the stalls and grabbing a shred of toilet paper. “At the grand prix.”

“Oh, my God!” Elena exclaims. “You’re the girl Isa heard about!”

“What?!” Chris laughs. People are hearing about her. Stay cool. You’re so cool, Chris. 

“Yeah,” she says, and the toilet flushes. She resumes her sentence when she re-enters the bathroom. ”Carlos told Isa about some girl Charles was fucked about.” 

Simultaneously, Isa, and who Chris’ master deduction skills lead her to believe is Lily, enter the bathroom, the latter flipping off someone in line. “I told you, my friend is throwing up in there!” She yells and the group already in the bathroom goes cricket silent. Lily’s demeanor instantly changes when the door closes behind them. “Anyways,” she smiles. 

“Well,” Kika says, laughing and turning back to Chris, “I knew all about you,” she says. “Charles and Pierre love gossip.”

“Oh my god!” Lily exclaims, “you’re Charles’ girl?” Chris can feel herself blush, hopes that it can be masked by the flush of the sweat and the liquor. She’s not his girl, but she doesn’t hate the way it sounds. No, she doesn’t hate it at all. “Wait. Are you guys like together, together?” Lily asks. 

“No,” Chris smiles, but you can keep calling me his girl. I won’t stop you. “We’re just… hanging out? I dunno, it’s weird because it’s all long-distance.”

“But you like him a lot?”

“Yeah.” Blushing. Harder. “A lot.”

“Ugh,” Isa groans. “Charles is such a sweetheart, you guys are adorable.” Chris thanks her meekly. 

“He’s not looking at you very sweetheart-like tonight,” Kika quips with a silly giggle. “He can’t keep his eyes off you.”

“Or that dress,” Elena adds. 

“Fuck me eyes, for sure,” Lily says, bursting into laughter. Chris is redder than her boots now, surely. 

“Guys, guys,” Kika breaks through her laugh. “We’re embarrassing her.”

Lily complains the entire walk back to their sections that she can’t stay with them. She’s with Alex, in Max’s section, in the Redbull section. She makes Isa and Elena promise to text her about any and everything exciting that happens. They get back to their table just in time for the show, for the bottle girls with their lights and sparklers and thousands of dollars worth of liquor and their giant signs. Chris can hear Pierre’s laugh over everything, can hear Charles’ Fuck you, mate, followed by a laugh of his own. When the girl holding the sign finally turns, Chris chokes on a giggle. GET ‘EM NEXT YEAR CHAMP, the sign reads. 

She can feel eyes on her. Charles, she hopes. Charles, she can’t find in the chaos. When she does spot him, half-dead sparkler still in his hand, head drunkenly bobbing along to the beat, he’s looking right at her, grins a stupid grin and winks. 

They go on like that for some insufferable amount of time, catching each other’s eyes across the crowded section, never once managing to bump into each other. She doesn’t know about him, but every time she decides enough is enough, becomes all too aware of his eyes and the way that they never seem to be off her, chooses to take matters into her own hands, she’s stopped short by someone who wants her to take a photo of them or take a shot with them or sit and chat with them. 

She finds her blazer and bag in the mess, turns around and is finally running into him. “Qu'est-ce que ç'est?” He asks, pointing to the glass in her hand. She’s almost positive that even if she did speak French, she wouldn’t be able to make out his question. 

“Wh…” she takes a shot in the dark, makes an assumption with the point to the glass and the quirked brow. “Water.”

“Water,” he sighs out into a pout, snaking his arm around her waist, swaying drunkenly with her. She laughs at their differences in sobriety. He laughs when she does. “No fun.”

“You should drink some,” she says, “if you’re plannin’ on getting any tonight.” She’s just as bad as he is, just tipsy enough that her accent gets thicker, her annunciation fading away into the thump of the bass. 

“I can’t hear you,” he shakes his head, dropping it down to her mouth in an attempt to gain some clarity. Chris rolls her eyes. Must she do everything? 

She pulls him impossibly closer, hand on the back of his neck, undoubtedly leaving a lipstick smear on his ear. “Do you want to have sex tonight?”

His head whips up quicker than she thought the liquor would allow. He’s looking at her, looking into her, lips so close she can almost feel them kissing her and she’s supposed to not kiss him? 

He tastes like his drink and laughs into her mouth, digging his fingers into the fabric on her hip. “Yes,” he says, crystal clear. 

“Then sober up, Bud,” she says, gives him a solid pat on the chest. He nods, swallows hard and stands up stick-straight to salute her. She laughs like it’s the funniest joke she’s ever been told and pushes him away, off into the direction of the table itself and the water that sits atop it. 

It’s forty-five minutes and three glasses of ice water later that she’s telling him to order the Uber, another ten before they’re abandoning Arthur and Joris somewhere and leaving the rest of the group with an Irish goodbye. Chris never does fulfill her promise to get Joris laid. Fifteen more minutes of Charles and his roaming hands in the backseat of the car, Chris somehow finding the restraint to giggle each time, to tell him with every kiss, every touch, wait. Wait until we’re at the hotel.

“Do you want people to know you’re here?” Charles asks.

“What?” She asks, instinctively following his eyeline to a group of men waiting outside the hotel entrance. They’ve got their phones out, one of them with a Ferrari cap on, the others decked out in different team merch, and their eyes dart around like a driver is going to manage to teleport past them. “Not really.” 

She sinks into her seat while Charles chats with the Uber driver. They speak in English, but Chris doesn’t hear much of it. She’s too busy staring at the four boys just meters away. 

“Are you alright?” Charles asks, and she’s back in the car. 

“Sorry,” she says. “What are we doing?”

“I’m getting out now, he’s going to take a lap and then you’ll get out,” Charles explains. “Are you alright, though?”

She nods. “Yeah.” It’s a reminder to her, and a glaring one at that, of what this all is. She keeps allowing her brain the leniency to forget that he’s someone to a lot of people, that he isn’t just Charles, the guy she’s hanging out with. “I’m good.” He pauses with raised, unconvinced brows. His eyes search hers for the truth and are met with a nearly imperceivable nod, a silent, stoic confirmation that he can step out of the vehicle. 

The car is silent on the long lap around the hotel. She can hear the parking lot pebbles under the rubber of the tires, the breathing pattern of the driver, her own heartbeat. It’s the kind of quiet that makes everything else loud. 

The guys are still there when she does climb out of the car, geeking out in a language she doesn’t speak and can’t identify. She bites down hard on a smile and ducks into the building, finds him waiting for her–nervous eyes and all–leant against the wall beside the elevators. 

“Good?” He asks, standing up straight, holding his hand out to find hers, pushing the elevator doors open button with the other. 

“Great,” she lets her smile speak, interlocks their fingers like it’s her favorite thing to do. The doors ding, open, and they step inside. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I don’t,” he says. An obvious lie. 

“I like being your little secret.”

“Oh, do you?”

Chris nods, links her arms around his neck and moves so that she’s flush against him. Close, close, close. They’d spent far too much of the night away, far too much of the weekend. Nothing is close enough, not with implication in the air, not with fabric between them. She kisses him, hums the buzz of their energy. “Your dirty little secret,” she whispers into the breath between their parted lips. 

His hands slip inside her blazer, run along her sides over the fabric of her dress. “Fuck,” he mutters through a chuckle, droping his head to kiss her neck, to mark every possible space between her clavicle and her lips as his. She’s more than happy to let him, to be claimed by him. Take me, have me. Please–make me yours. “You make me crazy,” he says between kisses, with a lazy laugh against her skin that she wants to taste, to swallow up with the rest of him. He kisses her hard, stumbling until they find their footing in the middle of the elevator. 

The doors open with another ding and he jumps  back from her, stares at his shoes, scratching the back of his neck, running his hand over his hair. Chris can see the blush on his ears, a giggle escaping her lips when she’s met with two strangers glancing up from their phone just long enough to trade places.

It’s silent, dead but for the poorly choked laugh from Chris.

“Shut up,” Charles whispers as they walk down the hall. The moment the elevator doors shut behind them, she’s smacking her hand over her mouth, laughing loud and achingly into the skin. “It’s not funny,” he says, but it’s breathy and full of his own laughter. When they’ve made it all the way to their room door without quelling the giggle-fit, when Chris’ inability to stop laughing becomes funnier than what she was laughing about in the first place, Charles laughs out a simple, “stop?”

She straightens while he holds the keycard over the lock, looks at him with a forced frown, fighting hard against their own upturned corners, a quivering bottom lip holding back the floodgates of her laughter. “Make me.”Make her, he does–pushing open the door with his back, finding her wrist and pulling her inside. He doesn’t have to pull–you don’t have to pull. I’m following. He tries to swallow her laugh but then she’s the one pulling, disappearing down the short hall into the suite, a knot of giggles and implication and excitement and everything, everywhere, all at once ties itself around her insides at the sound of his feet behind her.

click here for the nsfw cut!

They sleep in late Monday morning, and Chris needs little convincing to order room service instead of trudging down to the lobby, hangover and all. Chris can stay in bed all day watching TV. Something from Netflix, English audio with French subtitles that took her eleven minutes to find. Charles, who hasn’t been mindful about keeping his things tidy, has to get out of bed earlier to start gathering his things and packing up his bags. 

She reads her book, spends half of the time re-reading the same page because she keeps getting distracted by the shirtless man walking around the room. She hopes he isn’t paying too much attention to her, that he isn’t realizing she hasn’t turned a page in fifteen minutes. 

“Do you know how long the flight is?” She asks over the edge of the page. 

“Didn’t you come from Nice?” He asks, folding a Ferrari polo at the edge of the bed. 

“No, Paris.”

His brows raise. “Why did you do that?” 

She laughs. “You’re the one who booked the flights.”

“Well,” he matches her chuckle. “Why did I do that to you?”

– – –

The plane leaves at 12:30 in the afternoon. A private charter, a full flight; Chris and Charles and his family and Andrea and Joris and Nicolas. It’s her first introduction to the last, who finds his seat at the back of the plane with Andrea. 

Chris grades papers for the first half of the flight–instinct at this point every time she steps onto a private plane. She’s sat across from Pascale and Charles, next to Arthur. Lorenzo naps, sprawled out across three seats and knocked out cold. When she finishes the geography worksheets, Pascale is reading a book and the boys are playing chess. She watches their game intently, studying the board and the boys’ moves. Charles moves his king back diagonally, leaves it hesitantly in d2. Arthur counters ,moves his bishop from e6 to d7. Charles, with the king again, is running from Arthur. D2 to c2. 

Chris is not, under any circumstances, a chess prodigy. She does, however, have a repetition-based memory system, and has watched her older sister Chandler play a million and one solo games over the years. She knows the game well enough to see something Arthur–for whatever reason–doesn’t. 

In his infinite wisdom, his fingers hover over his bishop, Chris watches on as he inches closer and closer to an error. She can’t help herself, the competitiveness taking over. She reaches over his arm, picks up his rook and moves it forward a space. He looks at her confused, but she gestures for him to come closer. “Fool's mate,” she whispers, and Arhtur’s eyes dart to the board, back to Chris just as confused as they’d started. “Promote your rook, then e1 to b1.”

Charles is looking at her with a confused smile, mouth ever so slightly open. “What do you see?”

“You, losing,” she says, sitting back in her chair to watch Arthur beat him. 

“Yeah,” Arthur nods, wags a taunting finger at Charles. “You, losing.”

Charles ignores his brother, keeps his eyes on her. “You play chess?”

“There are a multitude of things you don’t know about me,” she says, and it all feels so familiar. Familiar and familial and like finding the perfect skipping rock at the lake. 

“Please, tell me all of them.”

“Oh, mon dieu!” Arthur interjects. “Get a room!”

Charles kicks him under the table, pretends to have an itch on his face to get away with flipping off his kid brother. Chris laughs softly at the whole interaction, adjusts in her seat and looks up just in time to catch Pascale’s glance over the top of her book. “Is it a good read?” She asks, “I’m always looking for new books to add to my list.”

Pascale smiles, sets the book page down on the table. “You are a big reader?”

“Oh, yeah,” Chris nods. “Almost every night before bed.”

“That’s wonderful! I wish these boys would read more."

“I read,” Charles defends, finally making his move. King, c2 to c3. Exactly what she knew he’d have to do. 

“What do you read?” Pascale asks Charles.

“F1 gossip,” Arthur chimes in. 

“Arthur.”

“Maman.”

“Go back to your game. Chris and I are trying to have a nice conversation."

“You brought us into it,” Charles mumbles, scanning the board.

“I,” she sighs, shakes her head and shares a laugh with Chris. “Yes,” she says, “To answer your question, yes. It’s very good. You can borrow it when I finish if you’d like.”

“Oh,” Chris smiles, catching Charles staring in his peripheral vision. “I uh, I can’t read French,” she admits, and the language barrier feels so much bigger to overcome than it ever has. It’s glaring at her like an angry elephant. 

Pascale nods. “Make Charles read it to you.”

They land in Nice, France at 6:10 in the evening. Exhausted, they say their goodbyes to Nicolas, who is taking another flight to Paris. The rest of them are led through the airport’s back hallways to the helicopter pad, where they take a seven-minute ride to Monaco. 

“Have you ever been in a… one of these?” Arthur asks.

Chris nods. “My brother has his pilot’s license.”

In a parking garage beside Monaco’s own private helicopter pad, they say their goodbyes to each other. Chris lingers behind Charles, but Pascale meets her with open arms before hugging her own son, pulls her tight. Tighter than she did the first time they met. 

When she does hug Charles, they have an exchange in rapid French. 

“C’est une chérie,” Pascale says.

Charles nods, sighs out a chuckle. “Je sais.”

“Est-ce que je vais la revoir?”

“Je l’espère.” Charles’ eyes keep darting over to Chis, bouncing back to his mother each and every time Chris is staring back at him. “Est-ce que tu l’aimes elle?”

Pascale smacks Charles’ shoulder playfully, gives him two kisses on either cheek. “J’aime tous ceux qui te font sourire.”

– – –

His apartment, just like every single other thing she’d seen since touching down in the country, permeates wealth. It feels almost fake, like she’s been transported into a movie set or a plastic doll house. Everything is so incredibly perfect–the streets are without potholes, the sidewalks without cracks, the buildings without dirt. The cars are worth more than she is and all of the shrubbery is perfectly manicured. Places like this don’t exist, not in real life, and yet here she is being driven around the streets of the Twilight Zone and staring out the window like a kid in a candy store.

 The walls of his complex are carefully decorated with artwork–the abstract kind that nobody really understands but everyone knows costs a fortune. The floors are marbled and the walls are marbled and everything is so clean and shiny and perfect. So perfect it’s practically illness inducing, and he’s here. She’s here with him. 

They squeeze into a small elevator with their suitcases, one that definitely would not pass building regulations back home. More marble. More shine. A big, floor to ceiling mirror. 

She’s so exhausted. So, so spectacularly tired. She leans against him like a stiff board, forehead against his chest while he chuckles, pets her hair. “I have never been more tired in my life.”

“It’s the jet lag,” he offers. 

“I fell asleep six hours ago and woke up in a simulation.”

“You want to do nothing all night?” Charles asks. Chris nods against him. 

She’s pretty sure there is gold in the marble. “How much do you pay to live here?”

“A lot,” he mutters. She doesn’t need elaboration. 

His apartment tour is top-tier, a potential new wonder of the world. This is the bathroom, this is the picture in the dining room that everyone hates, these are the fake flowers on top of the forty thousand piano–Chris plays a couple notes as she walks behind him through the different rooms. This is the nearly empty wine fridge, all of the bottles are unopened. “I don’t drink wine,” he says. And this, this is the bedroom. 

She flops onto the mattress with a heavy sigh. It’s like being suffocated by a cloud of comfort and warmth and sleep. She doesn’t stay for long because she knows if she does she’ll be asleep until morning. 

You’d think it was an established, well-oiled routine, the ease at which they navigate the evening. Because Charles, as he tells Chris, doesn’t “really keep food around the house,” they’re stuck with takeout. He translates a menu from his phone only to scroll another couple pages down and find a menu already completely in English. 

Charles settles on Seafood Linguine and Chris the Tuna steak with a side of grilled asparagus. She showers while he gets the food, washes the travel grime and the Abu Dhabi dust down the drain. He wins the race to finish the task at hand, a quiet knock on the bathroom door before she hears it creak open. “Food is here,” he says, and she watches the last of her conditioner spin away into the drain.

They eat in the dining room, beside a off-puttingly large photograph of a man whose backstory Chris is too apprehensive to question. Charles is still in the same clothes he’s been wearing all day, and she’s sure he feels coating in a thick layer of sludge from all the altitude changes and recycled, stale air. She sits across from him in pajamas, sweatpants that she couldn’t place the origin of and a heather gray sweatshirt, RES Tigers printed across the front of it in a combination of big red block letters and black cursive. The ends of her hair stain the fabric a dark gray everytime she moves a piece of it. 

“I know what we should watch,” he says, around a forkful of her asparagus.

“Hmm?” She hums, mouth full, reaching for her water glass. 

“You cried about it.”

She chuckles. “I cry about a lot of movies.”

“You cry for a lot of things. Not specific to movies.”

Chris shrugs. “Guilty.”

“You were having a ‘movie day,’” he says, reaching across the table for his phone, his other hand, fork still between his fingers, feigns quotation marks. He scrolls quickly on the screen. “You say, ‘Jih-ordie makes me cry.’” 

When met with her puzzled look, wiping her mouth with a napkin, he turns the phone for her to see. “Oh, Gordie. You want to watch Stand by Me?” 

Chris reaches her fork over, stealing a bite of his pasta. “I do not think I have seen it, to be honest,” he says, and she thinks that’s obvious enough by the fact that he mispronounced the main character’s name thirty seconds earlier. 

“Well,” she chews, covering her mouth with her hand to block the view of it. “We have to watch it, then.”

Chris, after seven intense minutes of bickering, convinces Charles to let her do the dishes. You still haven’t showered, she argues. It’s my house, he reasons to no avail. His first taste or arguing with an Elliott and he can’t even make it ten minutes without conceding to her. 

It takes her longer than it should take any one person to wash a couple of plates and two sets of silverware, but he has a lot of kitchen cabinets and a lot of drawers and she’s opening half of them to try and find the dishes’ homes. 

Back in her Georgia home, up the long driveway and inside the purple door, if you make a left at the first doorway you’ll find a green couch, a tall bookshelf, and an antique piano. She’s been learning how to play for what feels like forever, now. What started as a housewarming gift from her grandparents that had sat untuned in their spare bedroom from a time long before Chris, it has become an annual resolution to eventually learn to play. It’s made of softwood and is chipped, scratched, well loved and well played and nowhere nearly as nice or expensive as the upright Steinway sitting in front of her now. 

She toys with the keys, looks around the instrument for any sheet music but finds none. Instead, she looks up some basic songs on her phone, sets it on the shelf and begins to play–painfully slow. Each time she tries to pick up the pace, she misses a note or her finger slips and she shakes her head softly, chuckles at her own missteps. It’s a beautiful song, perfectly tuned with keys that would never dream of sticking. It makes her sound so much better than she really is. 

“You didn’t tell me you play?” Charles peruses, his feet creaking across the hardwood floors, his presence making the room that much warmer. 

“I don’t.”

“Liar,” he says, kisses the crown of her head. He smells clean, like eucalyptus and mint the color blue and April. He reaches behind the piano, between the window and the instrument and pulls out a folder, a piece of paper ripped from a notebook, and hands it to her. “Can you read this?”

She takes it from him, reads it over slowly. It’s sloppily written sheet music, scribbled out in pencil with three eraser tears and a dozen marks on the first page alone. At the top, scribbled in what she assumes is French: la chanson de Charles. “Yeah.”

“Play it?” He asks, already moving to the dining table to get a chair, to pull it up and watch the show. She nods, moves her phone to the bench and sets the papers on the shelf and plays it. Poorly, but played through nonetheless. 

“It’s so sad,” she says. He chuckles. “Did you write this?”

He nods through a yawn, stands up to put the chair away. “It is something I’ve been working on. My brother wrote the music because I just play by ear.”

Her face contorts into a foul mix of disbelief and concern. Who the heck plays Piano by ear, she thinks. “This is really good, Charles,” she says. She flips through the pages again, reads them carefully. 

“It’s messy,” he moves past her, his fingers tracing her back, shoulder to shoulder as he walks by into the living room and lands on the couch with a soft thump. “I am going to take a nap, and you just keep playing. Work out the mess, maybe.”

He realizes quickly that he’s never going to be able to watch this movie again without thinking of the woman under his arm. For the rest of time, no matter what happens, when he thinks about this movie he will think of her. 

She makes it a whole ten minutes before she’s sniffling. They're going on about the importance of a lucky cap and she’s crossing her arms over her chest. He smiles, because sometimes watching her exist is like watching a puppy be perfectly and irresistibly adorable, and then he kisses her hair. 

Charles wishes he could ignore the parallels, but they’ve always hit like a punch to the gut–no, no–it’s always been more like getting the wind knocked out of you on the playground as a child. Like you can’t breathe for a minute, but being able to stop breathing all together is never really presented as an option, so. You just have to open your lungs again.

The main character, Gordie, is in a petrol station or market or maybe it’s supposed to be both. Anyways, he’s there and he’s buying food and the clerk is just going on and on about the poor kid’s brother; about how much they look alike and all the potential that went into the ground some time ago. 

Yeah, the Jules comparisons are a lot like getting the fucking wind knocked out of you.

She cranes her neck up to look at him like she knows something he hasn’t told her. “Y’okay?” She asks, and when his eyes snap down from the screen to meet hers, he realizes he’s been squeezing her hand. He was telling her something he hadn’t told her–silently, unconsciously. 

Chris, he’s come to learn in the past thirty-five or so minutes, talks during movies. She talks a lot during movies. Let me know if you get confused, she’s said… three times now. She seems to be a never-drying well of trivia for the film, from this is why they chose a Yankees cap to there is a Simpon’s parody of this scene, she doesn’t shut up. Honest to God, the best he can do is half-listen, especially if he hopes to understand any of the actual plot. 

He feels a wet drop hit his hand near the hour mark during what even he can admit is quite the emotional scene. She sits up shortly after to properly wipe the tears from her face. “Are you okay?” He asks through a chuckle, sitting up, flat hand rubbing circles on her back. 

She shakes her head, speaks with a fragile tremble in her tone, “No,” she bites down on the inside of her cheek and her eyes look anywhere but at him. 

Charles pauses the movie. 

“That teacher is so screwed up!” She continues. 

“I know,” he says, and his heart breaks with the shudder of her breaths. This is the first time he’s been faced with her crying. Sure, he’s got the voice memos and the pictures and the videos of her crying across the world over books and movies and television commercials with homeless dogs. He’s never sat there, though, never had to stare down her heartbroken eyes and figure out a way to fix them. 

“He’s just a kid,” she sniffles, wipes her eyes once more and takes a deep, heavy breath. She reaches for the remote, settles back into her spot on the sofa and unpauses it. “It just makes me sad.”

“I know,” is all he knows to say. Validate, even if he thinks her emotions are a bit silly. It’s what he’s supposed to do, it’s what a boyf- it’s what a good person is supposed to do. She leans against him, snuggles into him like he’s a pillow or a favorite blanket and he only hopes she isn’t embarrassed about crying, that he’d been able to be a little more emotionally intelligent in calming her down. 

You know what, no. It is a boyfriend thing to do. It is. He wants to do boyfriend things without doubting they’re boyfriend things. He wants her to know that a physical display of how much she cares for other people isn’t going to drive him away, that it’s actually horribly, disgustingly endearing. He wants this to have a label, to have the security of a title. “Chris,” he starts, and he’s surprised he isn’t going to think about it all for longer than a moment. 

“I’m okay.”

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

She whips her head to face him in the dark living room, in the soft shadows of the television screen lighting. He’s looking right at her, into those fucking eyes that are never not driving him insane. “Are you just asking me so that I stop crying?” She asks.

He shakes his head, doesn’t even entertain the idea with a laugh. “No.”

“You know this is, like, our first date, right?”

He rolls his eyes. “This is at least our third date,” he replies, feeling he’s being conservative about what a ‘date’ can be considered when you live on opposite sides of the globe. It’s definitely been more than three. 

“You’re wrong about that.”

He counts them out to her on his fingers. “COTA. Club. Right now.”

She matches his gesture. “First time we met. We were drunk. Right now. I mean, maybe if we count all the times we talk–”

“Chris.” Answer the fucking question.

“What?”

“Fine,” he concedes, even though he’s definitely right. “One date. Question still stands.”

She smiles, giggles to herself and if she would just give him an answer he could kiss her. “Yes,” she finally says, thumb on his chin. “I’ll have you all to myself, Charles Leclerc,” she whispers into his lips and beats him to the kissing punch. 

He smiles out of it, “Already had me, Christyn Elliott.”

“Oh,” she pouts. “Well, then, maybe I'll have to reconsider,” a dumb smile pulls on her entire face, illuminating it in a childish way that he can only roll his eyes at. “Kidding,” she reassures with a hand on his chest. “Totally kidding.”

last chapter masterlist next chapter

[bravevulnerability]

ooh, season 3 or 4 halloween party?

A/N: We're going with season three. Set post 3x06, 3XK.

-

"Hey, what are you doing hiding out from your own party?"

Rick glances up in surprise at the sound of Beckett's voice. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he assesses her. "You're... a pirate?"

She shrugs and snags the exaggerated pirate's cap from her head. It's the only portion of her outfit that is a costume; her slacks, sweater, and trench coat complete the rest of her typical work attire.

"It was either this or witch hat - it's all they had left at the little pop-up shop a block over," she grins, toying with the glittering gold lining of the hat's rim. "I figured this was a bit more original."

"I applaud your efforts," he smiles back at her, watching as she moves deeper into his office. She leans her hip against his desk, arms crossed and brow arched.

"Thank you. Now, back to my question."

"I'm just... not in the mood," he murmurs, craning his neck to check the status of the party past his walls of bookshelves. "No one notices I'm gone anyway, they're fine."

"I noticed." She says it a little too quickly, and he watches her cheeks tinge pink. "Castle, you love Halloween. You start planning your yearly Halloween party in March-"

"I know, I know," he huffs, spinning away from her in his desk chair. "I'm just not feeling the spooky spirit tonight, Beckett. Give me a break."

She doesn't respond, but he can hear the quiet pierce of her heels in the soft plush of the rug. They stop in front of him.

"Castle."

He lifts his gaze to find her leaning against his window, blocking his steadfast glare of the city lights. She looks beautiful as always and he wants to stand, frame her hips in his hands, tower over her body with the cove of his.

"I'm not in the mood to celebrate. Not while Tyson is still out there."

She nods, not a hint of her surprise at the admission.

"It's not your fault, you know." Her words are soft, a balm to his rattled mind. All he sees when he closes his eyes is Jerry Tyson, the women he killed. He can't write, can't sleep, not without imagining the Triple Killer's future victims. "Rick."

"I know," he sighs automatically, pushing up from the desk. "I'll be fine, Beckett. Now, let me just change into my costume and we'll-"

She catches his arm, thin fingers curling into the crook of his elbow. Staying him.

His eyes flick down to find hers, staring back at him with concern swirling dark in the browns and greens of her irises.

"I know it's easy to focus on the bad, on the what if's and the worst case scenarios, trust me," she murmurs, her thumb moving slowly back and forth along his bicep. "But you could have died that night, Castle. We'll catch Tyson, but for now, I just want to focus on the positives. Like how you are alive."

"Until he comes back," Rick hisses, something terrible and aching rising up from the depths of his chest. "He made it personal, Kate. He's going to come back and come after me, Ryan. And what if that's not enough? What if he targets my family - my daughter, my mother, you-"

"Hey." Her hands are cold when they touch his cheeks, directing his attention to her, steadying his focus on her and her alone. The heavy pound of his heart begins to slow, to ease. "No one is coming after Alexis, or Martha, or Ryan, or-"

"You," he growls, reaching for the sharp points of her hips just like he wanted to earlier. She lets him and he doesn't even pause to relish in that. He keeps having dreams of finding her with a rope around her neck and wakes drenched in sweat and grief, his throat raw with sobs scraping at his trachea. "Kate, no one touches you-"

"Okay, okay," she whispers, one of her hands drifting into his hair, fingers curling behind his ear. "We'll protect each other, have each other's backs. No matter what Tyson does."

His eyes flutter shut and he lets his cheek fall heavy against her palm.

"I'm sorry," he sighs under his breath. "I just... I'm having these dreams and I can't stop thinking - it's killing me, Kate."

An arm hooks around his neck and she's pulling him into her, letting him bury his face in her neck, his fingers delving beneath her coat to clutch at her sweater. She rubs his back, soothing patterns up and down the bow of his spine, and cups his nape with the palm of her hand. For the first time in days, he can breathe evenly.

He's not sure how long they remain like that, his body bent over hers, arms entangled around each other's frames, the city lights glittering behind them.

The pop of a champagne bottle, the cheers of his guests, startle them apart, but only enough to have him looking down at her, foreheads nearly touching, her eyes drifting to his mouth.

A trembling hand rises between them, her fingers dusting across his bottom lip. Her eyes flutter closed and Kate exhales heavily.

"How's Gina?" she rasps, fingers tripping down his throat to rest at the neck of his sweater.

He wishes he could say he cared to even think of Gina in that second, that he thought of her at all in the last few minutes, but it would be a lie. The only thing on his mind in this moment is closing the distance between his mouth and Kate's, pressing her up against the window and slotting every piece of their bodies into place. The only thing on his mind is carrying Kate Beckett to his bed.

Rick knocks his forehead against hers.

"She's out of town, business trip," he croaks, quickly clearing his throat. "Kate-"

"I know." Her hand falls lower on his chest, lingering above his heart. Imprinting her claim there. "Go put on your costume, Castle."

He closes his eyes for a long moment, forces himself to think about his girlfriend, her boyfriend - to remember who he and Kate Beckett are. And what they are not.

"Thank you," he murmurs, squeezing her arm and pulling away from her with great effort. "For being here. For listening."

She offers him a smile that makes him ache. "Always."

He snags her hat from her desk, plops it atop her head. "And for making spirits bright."

Her smile grows and she adjusts the pirate's cap as he starts towards his bedroom.

"Oh, and Castle?" He turns, just in time to catch a piece of candy she pulls from her coat pocket, tosses his way. He glances down quizzically at orange and black wrapper, the picture of peanuts and potato chips beneath the label. "Trick or treat."

"Peanut butter chocolate and potato chip?" he grins, looking up at her with amusement building in his cheek.

She shrugs, gives him one of those rare, genuine Kate Beckett smiles. "Made me think of you."

And then she's turning on her heel, heading back into the party as the Monster Mash begins to blast through his living room.

Happy Halloween, indeed.

[fetishfairytales2]

Happy Birthday Sissy! Pt. 2

Heather and Brandon are original characters created by @wittlesissyb4by in his fantastic series “Besties”, which this blog expands on. Please support him through his Tumblr and his SubscribeStar. ——————————————

"Oh God babe, I love seeing you handle Brandi like that! It just gets me so wet," I giggled, sashaying over to the closet. "I just love seeing Brandi being treated like the submissive bitch she is." I gathered Brandi’s party outfit from her wardrobe as Connor pulled down the side of the crib and dragged Brandi to the carpet. "Don't you dare move, you little bitch!" Connor growled, pinning her arms above her head. "And you, lucky girl," I cooed, kneeling back in between the diapered sissy’s legs and tickling her exposed belly, "you've got quite the view, don't you?" With Connor kneeling above Brandi's head, she was helpless to do anything but stare up at massive bulge of the man fucking his girlfriend.

I continued taunting Brandi as I untapped the sides of her humiliating diaper. “Oh, is someone craving Daddy's binky?" I couldn't contain my laughter as I pulled the soiled Pamper out from under her bottom and grabbed a wipe. “Babe?” I smirked at Connor, “the birthday girl is practically begging for it!” I tickled Brandi’s little sissy marbles and laughed as she started moaning behind her pacifier. “See? I think she’s really sorry that she didn't take care of Daddy last night….” As I wiped her clean, I just couldn't resist teasing the head of Brandi's dainty little pink plastic chastity cage with my perfectly manicured fingernails. I could see the desperation in her eyes as I slowly traced in between the bars.

“Shhh,” I giggled, Brandi was moaning like a true sissy slut now, it was obvious I hadn’t touched her clitty in days. "Don’t worry, sweetie, Mommy will have a special treat for you tonight if you behave like a good girl at your party. But for now, maybe Daddy will let you suck on something else..." I smirked at Connor and nodded towards him. "Open wide, sissy, don't be shy," Connor taunted, squeezing Brandi's cheeks before pulling out her pacifier. “Here comes Daddy…”

Connor, still in just his boxers, laughed cruelly and pulled his cock over his waistband, flopping it on Brandi’s face. “Kiss it slut,” he laughed, “nice and gentle for Daddy.” I shook my head, giggling as I watched my former boyfriend be further degraded. "Ugh, you sissy slut! Eyes up here, lips down there, don’t get too distracted!" I playfully scowled as I firmly spanked Brandi and taped her into a clean diaper. "I can't wait to show you your outfit for the party!" I said, rummaging through the pile of clothes next to me.

"First up, to go with your fresh diapee of yours, of course we have plastic panties!” I squealed excitedly, dangling the ridiculous things in the air. I was trying not to laugh, watching as Brandi craned her neck to catch a glimpse. The poor thing could barely see past Daddy’s massive cock resting on her lips and his balls smacking her on the forehead! “Look how adorable these panties are, Brandi! They're white and frilly, with the cutest pink trim. They're absolutely perfect for a pretty princess like you!” 

I couldn’t help but giggle as her eyes went wide and she shook her head violently. “Aww, did you notice all the details? Yes you lucky little girl, those are little pink dicks embroidered on them! How cute is that? They're just begging for a sissy like you to wear them!” I flipped the panties around, making sure Brandi could see the humiliating design. She was trying to beg now; “p…please Mommy, pleas-“ Connor quieted her down by pushing his balls in her mouth. "Do you want to know why these are called 'Worry-Free Panties'?" I taunted with a smirk. Brandi immediately started crying and trying to escape when she saw it. It was so cute listening to her try to scream and gargle on Connor’s nuts. Not only was there a convenient hole in the back for easy access to her bottom, but above it, in bright pink lace, it read “Sissy Pussy”.

“Shh, shh,” I tried in vain to calm Brandi, honestly loving every minute of how much she hated this. “They’re called the ‘Worry Free’ panties because now no one has to worry about fussing with undressing you before they use that sissy behind of yours!” Connor had a firm grip of Brandi’s long hair. “Shut the fuck up and listen to her!” He screamed, working his cock as far down the sissy’s throat as he could, pinning her to the ground and shutting her up once and for all. I could only hear a little “mmph!” as he thrusted in and out of her mouth. “Thank you Daddy,” I winked; “sometimes naughty little sissies need to be put in their place!”

I held the panties up again, though I’m sure Brandi couldn’t really see anything but Connor’s ball sack now. Tears were still rushing down the poor darling’s face. “Now Brandi, you can be a good girl and dress however the fuck I want you to dress, or you can be a naughty girl and Daddy is going to get nice and comfy on your fucking face while you rim his asshole with your tongue, do you understand?!” I squeezed her sissy nuts as hard as I could and heard the fantiest of muffled screams. “If you’re ready to be a good girl for Mommy, moan like a good little sissy porn star around Daddy’s cock!”

“Oh, she’s definitely ready to be a good girl,” Connor smirked, beginning to fuck Brandi’s face faster now. “You better not make me cum you little slut,” he warned with a growl, slapping her across the cheek. “Good!” I smiled happily and slid the panties up Brandi’s legs. "Now for your cute little party skirt!” I taunt as I reach for the outfit beside me. "I know you're too busy right now to be able to see it, but let me describe it to you, just for my little sissy. Connor, could you lift her up for me." My alpha roughly pulled Brandi up by his scrawny body, his cock still down her throat, while I laid out the skirt, unzipped and ready for my sissy to wear.

I pulled Brandi’s arms to her side; “keep them there you fucking loser or I’m going to start getting mean…” Connor warned with a growl. "I couldn't resist a smirk as I began zipping up the dress on the poor cocksucker in front of me. “This is called the ‘Suffering Sissy’ dress! It's quite the name, isn't it? I found your whole outfit today on a special site that sells the cutest sissy clothes! Trust me, it’s named that for good reason. Not only is it scandalously short to flaunt those cute panties of yours, but it also has some...special features."

I couldn't resist snickering as I finished dressing Brandi. "Oh darling, you’ll notice this dress doesn't have sleeves. But no worries, I've got you covered with these adorable built-in cuffs! That way, when I zip you up, you'll be secured and trapped inside. That way you won’t be able to stop Mommy, Daddy, and all our friends from…having fun with you! You’ll truly be a ‘Suffering Sissy’! Can you believe how freaking cute that is?"

"Daddy, could you stand up your pathetic little sissy girl for me, please? I need to doll her up before the party." Connor grunted, pulling his cock out of Brandi's mouth and roughly yanking her to her feet. Brandi was a sight to behold; her cute panties exposed under her skirt, her face covered in slobber and tears, her cheeks puffy and eyes bloodshot after being ruthless throat fucked by my boyfriend . "This way," Connor barked, dragging her over to the adorable pink vanity across and forcing her into the matching chair, gripping her shoulders to keep her still. I popped her pacifier back in her mouth for the time being, tying it around her head with the attached ribbon.

“What do you think girlie?” I asked with a giggle. Brandi's eyes welled up with fresh tears as she took in her outfit. The skirt matched the pattern and details of her humiliating panties, complete with little pink embroidered dicks. “Did you notice the theme? I laughed at her embarrassment. And to top it off, there was a pink ruffled "Sissy Cocksucker" across her chest, making her crumble even more. “There it is,” I patted her on the shoulder and whispered; "That’s all you’ll ever be. Forever and ever. Of course, all of this is a birthday gift from Daddy, so you better remember to thank him later. But first, let's show him just how much you love your final gift before he leaves you with Mommy to finish your makeup!"

I held the tiara up for Brandi to see in the mirror. She cried even harder as I placed it on her head. "As if you didn’t already know" I sneered in her ear, amused at her reaction. It was truly precious to see her crumble at the sight of such a simple little thing. The tiara was fitting for our little birthday girl, adorned with fake diamonds and silver. In the center, the words "Daddy's Girl" sparkled in faux diamonds. I couldn't resist winking and teasing Brandi, reminding her; “Don’t worry sweets, we both love Daddy and I don’t mind sharing." 

“Why don’t you go shower and get ready?” I turned to Connor, “we’re going to have some Mommy-Daughter time while I finish getting her ready for her guests. They’ll be here soon and she doesn’t even know who’s coming yet!”

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

💗✨✏️ My Writing Masterlist ✏️✨💗

Since I've written a bunch now I decided to make a proper masterlist so everything can be found a little easier and be read in order. As of right now, I'll only ever write for DD, outside of my MCU selfship fic with Bucky since Kurt's in it too, as well as my fics for Reprisal, so if his characters interest you then please have a scroll, find something you like, and feel free to send in a request if there's anything you'd like to see~ 💗💗💗

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

Readers

🤹 Abner Krill

Borrowed Time - Romantic dinner? Check. Sexy outfit? Check. His hands bravely holding you close as your back rested against his chest? Double Check. If only anniversaries came more than once a year...

🕸 Bob Taylor

Honey and Syrup (Sweet Headcanons)

I Don't Know How to Feel [But Someday I Might] (Random Bob Taylor Headcanons)

😚 Hank

COMING SOON

🦉 Jack Delroy

Amongst the Tall Trees - Once a month, Jack Delroy returns to California so he can meet his fellow members at the Grove. Once a month, you make the trip as well to meet him where they can't see.

Sugar and Spice (Spicy Headcanons)

I Found Love Where It Wasn’t Supposed To Be - You lived for her, and it was all you knew. So when you suddenly start living for him as well as yourself, she can’t let you have that.

👓 James Lewis

If I Told You - Sometimes he was too busy with work to remember how much you loved him, sometimes he felt like he didn't deserve it after everything he'd been through; good thing you planned on never letting him forget again.

Open Books (Spicy/Romantic Headcanons)

When One Restaurant Door Closes - Your handsome regular just failed his 10th date since he started visiting your place of work. That should be all the proof you need to agree with him when he then claims that he's unlovable, but there's something about him that makes you want to be his 11th despite it all.

🚬 Johnson

Feel Your Love Crush - He was always surrounded by the most beautiful people you'd ever seen, so what made him look only at you whenever you were with him? You couldn't figure it out, but thanks to him you were beginning to.

Here We Go Again - When the Phoenixes enter your bar right on the edge of Ghoul Territory it usually meant they were looking for a brawl and to prove themselves. But when a single Phoenix walks in alone with no desire to do anything but fight without talking, it makes you almost concerned for him even though he's supposed to be the enemy.

💻 Kurt Goreshter

Donuts by the Bay (Sweet/Romantic Headcanons)

Business Merger - You hated blind dates. Everyone knew this about you. So when your longtime friend claims to have gotten you a date with the hot guy on TV you don't know whether to hit her or kiss her, maybe by Friday you'll be able to tell.

Not So Typical Heist - Folsom State Prison. Once you got out you never looked back, your life of crime over for good. You said that, but then why were you answering a burner email from your former Solitary neighbour when you'd never said two words to the guy? The job must be pretty good to tempt you back into a life of crime, or is it the man himself you want back in your life?

🥺 Lester Billings

COMING SOON

🔧 Lonny Crane

COMING SOON

🔫 Murdoc

Use Your Sharp Claws to Hold Me Gently - You were alone, he knew it the moment he entered your apartment and saw only you in every inch, but you were also interesting, and that was something he couldn't let go of.

🙏 Piter de Vries

COMING SOON

⛵ Wojchek

In This Moment, We Could Crash Together - He was only with you for a short while, but maybe you could keep him if he let himself keep you.

Morning Tide - When his crew walks in, all of them garner your attention with their stories and toasts, but it's him who makes you leave your place behind the bar when you spot him drinking alone.

Wooden Treasures (Romantic Wojchek Headcanons)

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 Reader Series

🤹 Abner Krill

Summary: Even with every personnel in Belle Reve questioning why you wanted him, you kept coming back for more so long as they kept letting you touch him just out of sight.

Part 1 - Collared But Untethered Part 2 - Broken Collars, Lovingly Tethered

Summary: He was in your office again today, and you really wished you'd never have to see him sitting there ever again.

Part 1 - Please Stay a While Longer (Please Stay Forever) Part 2 - The Smile That You Gave Me (Even When You Felt Like Dying) - COMING SOON

♦️♦️ Breck Montanari

Solo fic universe: All future works will take within this storyline unless requested otherwise.

Summary: You hated the cold, which is why you weren't excited at all for the big family trip to the ski resort hours away from where you lived, but the summer heat was killing everyone else, and they were ready to risk the cold killing you for a moment of reprieve from it. The resort was beautiful, the slopes were enticing, and the mysterious man with the business card with a small black diamond in the corner might be more than he seemed when you run into him in the lobby your first day there.

Part 1 - Love Until We Freeze - COMING SOON

🦉 Jack Delroy

Summary: You spent a small fortune getting a ticket to Carmichael Haig's show on the promise of his new act showing his audience something the world has never seen before, as well as the possible attendance of one Jack Delroy, but will two hours of bullshit be worth the risk?

Part 1 - Susceptible Part 2 - Worth the Risk

Summary: 'Night Owl Co-host' wasn't the job you signed up for, and you really weren't prepared to be a TV personality when getting coffee for the real stars was what you were expecting, but maybe you could do this as long as your new friends kept cheering you on.

Part 1 - Unexpected Surprises Part 2 - COMING SOON

🖌️ Joshua Whitmore

Solo fic universe: All future works will take within this storyline unless requested otherwise.

Summary: You see him as he's being admitted to the hospital a few streets away from your home, and it would be so easy to just keep walking, but something about his sad eyes and mysterious identity draws you in until you need to see him again.

Part 1 - Breaking the Code Part 2 - Arc of a Bird Part 3 - COMING VERY SOON Part 4 - COMING SOON

🥺 Lester Billings

Summary: When your meetcute turns into a surprising but nice friendship with the handsome man at the grocery store you frequent, you find yourself not ever wanting to know what he looks like without the smile that drew you in in the first place.

Part 1 - 45 Minute Friends Part 2 - 45 Days of Waiting Part 3 - COMING SOON Part 4 - COMING SOON (end?)

💣 Simon Lynch

Solo fic universe: All future works will take within this storyline unless requested otherwise.

Summary: It's a complete coincidence that you meet him, and even though he's a little weird and there's an anger in him fueled by pain, you know that you might be all he needs to be defused.

Part 1 - Maybe I’m Not Scared of What You’re Thinking Of Part 2 - COMING SOON

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

Fanfics

You Make Me Wanna Stay - Ethan/Johnson/Matty (Reprisal)

Summary: Two years before Ethan even hears about the Banished Brawlers, the two River Phoenixes slowly fall in love and get together, creating an unbreakable bond between them. When a third Phoenix is added to their group, it starts a chain reaction of friendship, confusion, love, and betrayal as Ethan has to choose between the two men who would kill for him and the woman who sent him to them.

This series rewrites not only season 1 of Reprisal, but how I think season 2 would've gone, and includes a prequal, sequel, and a handful of worldbuilding oneshots in between. It's deviously smutty, it's angsty as hell, and it's a rollercoaster of a ride as the Phoenixes travel the river and figure out just what they mean to each other as war threatens to tear them apart at every turn.

Part 1 - Fucked / Up Oneshot 1 - Back to the Start Oneshot 2 - Phoenix of Love, Angel of Trust Oneshot 3 - Melt With Me Part 2 - Light the Fuse (ONGOING, updates Tuesdays) Part 3 - COMING SOON Oneshot 4 - COMING SOON Part 4 - COMING SOON Oneshot 5 - COMING SOON

Come What May - Ethan/Johnson/Matty (COMING SOON)

Unnamed Purge au - Matty/Johnson (plot in progress, might be multichaptered over two years?)

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

Adena Rose (Selfship Series)

[UNDER CONSTRUCTION, ABNER WILL BE FIRST]

[acapelladitty]

Whole Day Off: A Very Christmas Special 🎄

Summary: Twas the night before Christmas and all through the basement. A wicked thing happened, over a Santa hat placement. Witty Girl's stockings were knee-high and red, as she fell to her knees to give Dr. Crane hea-*gunshot*

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even the louse who remained in a hunched position over his work desk as you emerge from the bathroom of the basement. 

Well, that simply wouldn't do.

Clearing your throat, the high-pitched jingle of the bells which line the very tip of your hat finally attract his attention as he glances over at your standing position.

The Mrs Claus outfit you had bought on impulse and saved for this moment is scandalous; the sheer red babygirl-styled teddy pushing your breasts up to an obscene level as the white fluff which decorates the edges of the red lace thong tickles your inner thighs with every slight movement.

He makes a noise low in his throat, his body moving quicker than you would have suspected him capable of as he slips free of his work stool and strides across the basement to stand before you.

"As foolish as whatever you are planning is, know that the colour red is very becoming on you." He mutters, the words suspiciously rough and muted as he pushes his wire-rimmed glasses back up his nose.

"Really?" You humour him with a wicked smirk. "You think so? Tell me more."

"I can't speak much for the childish costume, but the colour makes me want to see how closely I can match it on your skin through other means."

"It's not childish, it's Christmas."

"Same thing, different language."

"No love for the holidays, Dr. Crane?"

"I'm not much of a holiday person," he purrs, unable to prevent his hands from ghosting across the sheer fabric which covers your stomach, "and I never celebrate if I can help it. Just another distraction from the things that truly matter."

"If that's true then what the hell did I buy this for?"

Pulling out the object which you had carefully hidden behind your back, you don't miss the twitch in his jaw as he stares at the lurid red Santa hat.

"Absolutely not."

"Oh well." You sigh with exaggerated disappointment. "Then I guess I'll need to take this outfit off then. Which is such a shame because it feels wonderful as it clings to my skin. It's so soft and- oh well."

You turn back to the bathroom but find your exit paused by a thin hand as it locks around your wrist.

"You'll find it very tricky to take off when I have you fully wrapped up with some of that tinsel I can see poking our from your little bag on the couch. Is that what you want, Witty Girl? To be tied up and unwrapped like a salacious gift?"

"Maybe." You purr, unsurprised at how quickly he has seen through your game. "But only if you wear the hat."

"The hat."

"Mm-hmm."

Perhaps a result of all his blood rushing south as your hands run across the pronounced swell of your breasts, he does adopt a look of serious consideration as he follows the path of your fingers with his gaze. 

"And what will you give me, in return."

Splitting into a wide grin as his inherent selfishness shines through once again, you place the tips of your fingers on his chest and guide him carefully to the nearby couch, allowing him to drop to the fabric without a hint of grace. Your hands move up to wrap around his knees, spreading his legs with clear intent as you drop to the floor and balance your weight on your knees.

"A head for a head." You explain. "You wear the hat and you get my mouth. It can be my gift to you and I think it's a pretty fair exchange given the circumstances."

"And what a nasty mouth it is." He mumbles, reaching for the hat with about as much enthusiasm as you suspected he might.

In only takes a moment before the Santa hat is perching precariously atop his head, the deep russet colour peeking free of the white fluff which rings the base of it as a grim line of displeasure settles on his lips.

Biting back a smirk at the obvious grouchiness, you drop your head to his inner thigh as you glance up at him coquettishly.

"Play along, Mr Claus, and I might even sit on your knee and you can decide if I've been naughty or nice this year."

"Naughty." He replies without hesitation. "All of your actions have demonstrated a pervasive naughtiness which even my extensive corrections haven't put a dent into."

"Then play nice and you can have your reward." You scold him gently as your fingers reach for his zipper. "Just like I'll have mine."

His cock is hot and heavy in your hand, straining against your touch, and it brings a smirk to your lips as you realise just how much of an effect your little costume seems to be having. He could bitch all he liked about not having any love for the holidays but that didn't seem to hold him back from enjoying this.

Licking a sordid line from the base of his cock to the tip, you loosen you jaw and relax your throat as you quickly dip your head forward, swallowing his entire length in one fell swoop until your nose brushes the very edges of his pubic hair.

The urge to gag is strong but it's placated by the sound of utter surprise which breaks free of his chest, the noise somewhere between a grunt and a moan as his back arches off the couch.

As your warm throat envelops him, the muscles massaging his cock while you pull yourself free, he is unable to prevent his hands flipping from their casually splayed position to claw their way into the fabric beneath his fingers.

The sheer nastiness of being on your knees before him never failed to make a hot flush of shame heat you from within, the subservience itching that little part of you which delighted in making yourself available to him and his twisted whims.

By this point, you know what he likes and you wield that accumulated knowledge like a dagger as you both your head along his length, using your hands to massage the base of his cock in a wicked pulse.

"And what about you, Dr Crane? Have you been naughty or nice this year?"

You ask the question a little hoarsely as you pull free of him, your enthusiasm making your throat feel tight even as you continue to pepper the tip of his cock with small kitten licks, the taste of his pre-cum as familiar as ever.

"I think we both know the consensus on that answer, witty girl. You're the special case who has somehow conflated my misbehaviour towards you as being something nice to enjoy."

A surprisingly teasing response and you can feel his good mood in the words and the way in which he is indulging your own whims.

"In fact-" 

Continuing, he cuts himself off as he moves forward suddenly, capturing you in an unexpected grip. 

His hands are are strong as ever as they wrap around your waist and pull you to your feet before snatching you down onto his lap; your knees spread on either side of his legs as the length of his cock presses teasingly at your sheer thong.

"I think I will alter my half of the bargain." He grunts. "Instead of that velvety mouth, I would much prefer having you wrapped around my cock so I can listen to the noises those beautiful lips make as you work for your reward."

Pulling a short string of tinsel from your abandoned bag, his torso pushes up against yours as he swiftly secures your wrists behind your back with a practised ease.

"Nowhere to escape to now, little mouse."

You tilt your head in faux-confusion.

"Who's trying to escape?"

"Not yet, maybe, but we'll see. For an alleged gift, you are lacking some decoration. Lets see-"

His hand once again dives into your bag as his long fingers secure around something and pull it free.

"Ah, perfect."

Eyeing up the familiar nipple clamps, you moan and push your chest out towards him in clear encouragement. He doesn't need to be told twice as his strong hands slips within the structured cups of your teddy to pull your breasts free, allowing them to fit comfortably in his palms for a quick, harsh grope before release.

He moves quickly, plucking at your nipple until it's peaked and reddened enough to snap the clamp on; the sharp shock of the pain taking your breath away as you arch your back and gasp. He repeats the feat quickly and you revel in the delightful ache of your chest as he flicks the left clamp with his finger.

"Hmm, you want this to be festive? Yes?"

"Sure. Why not."

He catches the end of your hat between his fingers, carefully ripping off two of the small bells which decorated the edge as he tears through the cheap fabric. Using the sharp edge of the pin which held the bells in place, he forces it through the thinnest part of the rubber edge of the clamp before doing the same to the other.

Impressed with his commitment to the bit, you reward him with a slight bounce of your tits as the tiniest movement caused the bells to jingle in a thoroughly pleasant way.

Your face must have shown your delight as the very corners of his lips tugged for only a moment before his hands returned to your chest; groping and teasing the skin there as the bells tinkle away.

"Just one more addition."

"You're enjoying this." You accuse as he dives into the bag once more.

"Your wicked debauchery has the unfortunate effect of being somewhat contagious. Particularly when the benefits are mine and mine alone." He pauses. "Still, do not be foolish enough to expect another gift from me for the holidays."

You barely refrain from rolling your eyes at him, knowing that the clear disrespect would irritate him.

Pulling another thick length of tinsel free, this one finds its home around your neck as you swallow around it with a sudden flush of anxiety. It's not the most comfortable restraint, ticklish and rough against your exposed skin, and you are forced to tilt your head back as he ties the ends around the tinsel which is restraining your hands.

Breathing heavily as you wriggle against him, the position is an interesting one. The tautness of the tinsel around your neck puts you in an interesting predicament as leaning your head forward chokes you further and forces your hands up your spine to prevent the material from tightening too much. Leaning your head back lessens the pressure but also forces your chest to push out in what you can only imagine is a delightful view for him.

The fabric of your thong is damp as you press down on his cock in open invitation, the insistent moving garnering a quirk of his brow as his right hand slips between you. His fingers are warm as they rub along your slit, testing the wetness there with an obvious rumble of approval as he lines himself up against you; his cockhead bumping against your sex.

"Let's see how nice you can be, witty girl."

Hilting himself within you with in one messy thrust, the sudden stretch draws a sharp yelp from your lips. Pained pleasure has you biting your lower lip as you roll your hips against him, your fingers pressing against each other as they remain pinned to your lower back.

Your rhythm is jerky, mostly guided by his hands as they hold your hips steady and bounce you stop him; every thrust making the bells on your chest ring out with a frantic pace as you gasp your pleasures.

The tinsel does a marvellous job of keeping your focus as you tilt your head back as far as possible to prevent the mild choking. 

A choice which he seems to appreciate as his rough lips make themselves known on the exposed length of your neck; sucking a livid mark atop the area he tended to use as an injection site as you whine and clamp down around him.

As far as your fucking goes, it's a mess. Finesse is out the window as you both press against each other like animals and allow your actions to be guided by pure instinct and pleasure. His hands are everywhere against you; groping, nipping, massaging and worshipping your body with an unfamiliar reverence which makes you want to please him all the more.

His sadistic tendencies seem muted in favour of pure enjoyment and, in this moment, it could be easy to imagine yourself as just another couple enjoying the holiday season with some festive sex.

"Am I boring you, little mouse?"

His rough, slightly panting voice pulls you from your thoughts and you stare at him. The Santa hat looks ridiculous on his head and the silliness of it is at odds with the heated expression which he is piercing you with.

"Never. I think we both know you couldn't bore me."

"Then what are you thinking about?" One of his long fingers flicks at the clamp decorating your left nipple with amusement as the bell rings out.

"Nothing as exciting as what you're doing to me right now."

The response makes his brow furrow slightly as you evade giving him a proper answer but he accepts it at face value as he instead grinds his groin against your ass, his pubic hair tickling your inner thighs as you meet his movements with another roll of your hips.

Resuming your earlier frantic pacing, the hot arousal which sits low in your stomach is almost at breaking point as you whine and mewl with every renewed thrust. Hands restrained as they are, you can't reach your clit and a growl of frustration joins the cacophony of sound as you grind yourself against him, seeking additional friction that way.

It doesn't go unnoticed and his hand slips between your legs once more as his other arm wraps around your waist to secure you to him like an anchor. His fingers move in jerky circles as they press against your clit with a torturous pressure that borders on being too much.

Chest aching and neck extended backwards, the added pleasure proves enough and you come with a full-bodied shudder; your body clenching around him to milk every last shred of pleasure you can as you hilt yourself fully atop him. The tinsel pulls roughly against your neck with every small jerk and your convulsing is enough to force him over the edge as well as his orgasm follows just behind your own.

As he comes, his cock twitching within you with his last few lazy thrusts, his lips lock around your neck once more to bite down harshly on the sensitive junction where neck meets shoulder and the sharp pain draws a fresh groan from your lips as you lean into it.

Both ruined, the only sound within the room is your paired breathing as his fingers fumble messily with the tinsel which is looped around your wrists. It takes him a good moment but eventually he releases your hands - also freeing your neck since the tinsel there is no longer attached - and you fall forward onto his chest carefully.

The fabric of his shirt is smooth and your hands drop down for a moment to release the clamps which are still locked around your nipples; the sudden blood flow returning to them forcing a grunt of painnfrom your lips as shaky fingers drop them to the couch by your side.

Sated, aching, and thoroughly fucked, you allow a slight smile to play on your lips as you inhale the familiar scent of him through his shirt- the sound of his heart beating erratically in your ears.

"Merry Christmas, Jonathan."

The chest below your head stiffens and a wash of regret passes over your heated skin at the impulsive words. It was a sincere comment and he didn't seem to mind wh-

"Merry Christmas, witty girl."

A sighed response, but you don't miss the slight incline of his head towards you as his large hands come to rest on your lower back, locking you in position and showing his lack of intent to move anytime soon. 

You would never be foolish enough to describe it as an cuddle, but it was close enough that you knew to shut your mouth and not question it.

After all, it was practically a Christmas miracle.

Also on AO3

[veinspill]

Chapter 2 - Batty

Finally rising from my coffin, I take in the faint illumination of the room - the dim reds complement my pale skin, a haunting pair. Lulling me as close as I can come to sleep, Gerard Way's soothing voice is a nightly presence. It's fun to have these little rituals, even if they don't accomplish much. Besides, how can Evanescence's discography resonate with me if I don't at least pretend to sleep for a little bit? One needs to understand waking up outside before its introspective absence is noteworthy!

Laying in a corset for hours is one of the most uncomfortable experiences I've been through, I've learned, and although enduring suffering is a key tenet of being gothic and emotional, I like to choose my battles, and besides, getting dressed in the morning is another little ritual to which I can look forward. I transform into a bat and fly to the ceiling, where a wire hangs from a mahogany trapdoor. At the end of the wire is the skull of a raccoon (ethically sourced), which has yellowed from age. Tugging the wire, the trapdoor flings down, revealing a closet of sorts. It is… minimalist. A beam supports a few garments I've collected over the years, though most of them are dusty from disuse, or have been discolored due to some blood-related event occurring. I reach for my corset.

It once belonged to an obnoxious local prep - Kaylive Kaylaugh Kaylove, otherwise known as Kayleighynn. As milquetoast as a prep could come, with her whites, beiges and denim. At best a bit of plaid and some sunglasses, or an iced coffee. Designer this, curated that. My antithesis. And don't get me started with her bizarre fixation on Taylor Swift - the only swift aspect of this obsession is my leave as it is mentioned! This corset was once a plain-white, designer garment of hers, and saw the occasional night out, but as trends shifted, she ended up discarding it alongside her other trash.

A wasteful gesture! My past as a siren has granted me expertise in swimming in all aspects, including dumpster diving, and as such, finding the corset in the trash was simple. Over the few hundred years I've been around, I've seen many trends emerge and inevitably die out, and through it all, it's easy to see the vapidness of it all, and that clarity has been instrumental in my love of the second-hand. With the corset then in my hands, I returned home, and submerged its fabrics in a cauldron of my 'hawt pink' dye. From there, it became a staple of my day-to-day outfits. I don't think Kayleighynn has even noticed, as she tends to shun every aspect of me. I can't help but wonder if she truly shuns me, or if, deep down, she's craning her neck as werewolves do in a howl, shunning the world around them in a vain attempt to garner the attention of the moon that brought them into being. It's probably that first thing!

Many goths eschew color, but I think sticking with black as a driving force is too limiting at times, and the endless, depressed evil and sorrow within me manifest in other ways - through the silky, spider-like tendrils of my hair, to my matte black lipstick and eyeliner, each painted on like leaden oil paints, to my pupils, which serve as inky mirrors reflecting the inner evils of both myself and of those who are bold enough to gaze into them...

I return to the ground, morphing back into my humanoid self. After a few minutes of fumbling, I finally put on my corset, then turn to a simple mirror on my wall. Although I can't see myself, I can see the writing across the mirror: "I get better every single day. I am loved. I am worthy. I am gothic and emotional. I am a total fucking hottie."