#Fabric Winding Machine
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Ramattra
Selfship Stimboard
With gears/robot/mechanical stims, moving fabric and a heart or two in white/purple/black
For Anon
x / x / x | x / o / x | x / x / x
#selfship stimboard#stimboard#ramattra#overwatch#doppo's edits#stim#fabric#machine#mechanical#gears#robot#heart#black stim#purple stim#visual stim#hands tw#wind stim#body stim#flowy#cloak#cape#f/o stimboard#proselfship
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A Tapestry of Dreams: A Wanderer's Tale of Beauty Across Worlds
Hark, gentle listener, and lend thine ear to a tale of love and wonder, a tale that spans the ages and traverses the realms of dreams. I am but a humble wanderer, a traveler through time and space, a witness to the ephemeral beauty that dances between the stars.
My journey began in a world of ethereal hues, where the skies were painted with strokes of lavender and gold, and the air hummed with…
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#A storm of cosmic proportions swept through the land#he skies were a steely gray#I am a traveller#illuminating their hearts with a flicker of hope#my body and soul battered by the tempestuous winds of time.#My words danced like fireflies in the darkness#our souls intertwined like the threads of a tapestry.#tearing apart the fabric of reality itself. I found myself hurtling through the void#the air thick with smoke and the cacophony of machines#We fell into a friendship as deep as the oceans
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hm. i might be reentering my sewing era
#i bought so much fabric in 2021 then i kinda got winded on projects bc my sewing machine is so weird#on the brain
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The Cast and Crew Don’t Deserve Your Hate
I know many of us feel hurt and betrayed by NATLA. I know this. I feel the same.
Please stop cursing Albert Kim and the production crew. The fact is, he inherited a huge mess that was already behind schedule. Studios nowadays want the fastest turn around possible and are willing to pour money into projects.
But not time.
I’ve said it before, but LOTR is the absolute gold standard for production. They took years of pre-production time to hand craft their costumes and props and wigs. They hired artisans to hand make tunics and chainmail by hand. They sourced and layered real human hair for their hair pieces. It was incredible.
GOT also attempted something similar though not nearly at the same scale.
That’s why both of these productions have such fantastic and realistic feeling costumes, wigs, and props.
Modern studios just want fast turn around. They’ll pour in money but they want it fast. That’s why the modern takes on LOTR and GOT (ROP and HOTD) look like mediocre cosplay by comparison. The stylists are doing their best, but there’s only so much you can do with so little time.
That’s exactly what’s happened here. You can tell in how awful all the wigs and beards look, even compared to the Shyamalan film of all things! It’s why you can see machine stitching and the fabrics aren’t thick enough to pass for animal pelts. It’s why Iroh’s beard looks like it’s going to fall off, and Yue’s hair looks like a Lego piece, and Azula’s bangs are visibly attached extensions of a completely different sort from the rest of the synthetic wig. It’s why Zuko’s scar looks like a birthmark and not a burn.
It’s why the bending, despite having impressive animation, doesn’t line up well with the actors’ movements and feels pasted on. Almost as if the artists and fight choreographers didn’t get to communicate and plan together.
It’s why the scripts are a poorly juggled mish mash of plots, with threads left to hang in the wind while others are so oversimplified that it feels like a playschool version of ATLA rather then the “adult” version it’s supposed to be.
And it’s why the the Chinese writing is grammatically a mess like they just ran it through Google translate.
I have nothing but respect for Albert Kim and the cast and crew that worked tirelessly to bring this disaster to life under these conditions.
I worry about the poor crew being put through some awful crunch time for this show…
Yes it’s bad. But it’s not only bad as a piece of media. It’s bad as an indicator of what studios prioritize now, and it’s neither audiences nor their own staff.
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Day 1904: The spread of sculk is too much to just clean. After salvaging what they could, the ranch is taken down...
Bonus short story below.
Jimmy watched as the last of the house blazed in the twilight. Around the edges of the flames Pearl and Sausage marched, searching for anything flammable that might catch. It was the beginning of winter, and the constant rains had kept everything soaked, but they couldn’t risk it in the middle of the forest. Lizzie had stayed closer as well, securing the last of their belongings to take away in the morning. It was only a few metres down the driveway, but the ranchers couldn’t even get that far.
Tango let out a low growl. His grip on Jimmy’s sleeve tightened, pulling the thick fabric further over his eyes. Puffing up his feathers, Jimmy pulled his rancher closer into his side. Tango only stayed because of Jimmy, and because he couldn’t bring himself to leave the ranch behind. It was what he’d said yesterday, before the first burning. But he couldn’t watch. He could barely help them clear it out before the sledgehammers came in. Sparks flickered through his hair in lieu of tears in his eyes as he kept his face buried.
Jimmy, though… He was entranced. Every crack in the beams that cause a burst of sparks or shift in the wind that billowed the smoke in a new direction. The smoke made his eyes water, but none fell. Maybe he’d finally grown numb. Maybe it looked too different. There was a pile of flaming rubble where his home once was, his first home, but his chest only felt hollow. All that was left with a twitch in his wing, the desire to run and keep far away.
Pity in her eyes, Lizzie approached them from the trailer. Reins were pushed into Jimmy’s hand against his protest. “Take a horse and head back to my house before it gets dark.” She said.
“But-”
“No arguing.” Despite the firmness of her words her voice was low and sad. “You need to sleep in a real bed, Sausage is going to stay here tonight. The last of your things will be fine overnight with us.”
Even after years, Jimmy was never able to argue with Lizzie when she said something reasonable, and he’d given up trying. Jimmy glanced to Tango, who was still hiding from the world in Jimmy’s sleeve. A small tug on his hem was all he got in response. “We’ll be back in the morning with more water.” He assured. They rounded up Bullseye and began the long, quiet ride to Lizzie’s.
By the time they arrived it was dark, the home illuminated from within the kitchen. Though half the house was cloaked in tarps to save unfinished work from the rain, they’d moved into the completed half already. A bit of smart planning on Scar and Joel’s part.
One of the kids must have spotted their lantern, as the door opened before the ranchers could get down from their horse. Tom came rushing up with Revy on his tail. He took Bullseye's reins from them and led him to the cow pen. It was more cramped than it should be, since the rain had flooded the rancher’s outer pastures. Revy whined and licked at Tango’s hand until he gave the dog a weak pat.
Joel shouted something after him before guiding the men inside. “We just started eating if you want to sit down.” He explained as he took Jimmy’s coat. One glance at Tango was enough to answer.
“I’ll grab some in a bit.” Jimmy tried to smile gratefully, but it came out as a grimace. Joel let them be with a nod, hand held out to the hall down which Sausage’s room awaited.
It was colourful, though the furniture was rudimentary, with a mattress stolen from Scar’s hospital. The bed so much smaller than they’d gotten used to, but Jimmy doubted it would matter for tonight. Norman and Flick waited on the windowsill, and Joel had already set up Jimmy’s breathing machine. It took some coaxing to get Tango to change out of his coveralls - which went into a plastic bag to be washed separate - and take off his arm. Even more coaxing was needed to get him to let go long enough for Jimmy to also change. When Jimmy turned back around the blazeborn had Revy wrapped up in his lap instead. The dog’s tail beat against the bed, happy to be held, but whining, nonetheless.
“Do you think you can eat?” Jimmy asked quietly. Tango didn’t respond. He grabbed only one bowl from the kitchen, unsure he could eat much either without it coming back up. Smoke still clung to their skin and hair, dragging them back to the ranch every time it filled their nostrils, but it was much too dark to run a hot bath. Still, Jimmy knew he had to eat something, even if it was in silence.
Tango migrated behind Jimmy at the end of the bed, tail wrapping around the avian’s waist. Its tuft flicking with agitation. Jimmy could feel the heat rolling off his rancher. “It’s not fair.” He rasped.
Jimmy’s wings flattened. “It was an old wood house. It would have had a mold problem eventually unless we rebuilt completely.”
“But why did it have to be sculk!” He snapped, tail sparkling in Jimmy’s lap. Jimmy tried to smooth it down, but it had little effect. “Why’d it have to make it here?”
There wasn’t an answer, not one Jimmy could provide. Maybe Doc or Zed could explain. It was probably in the well and washing into the surrounding water supply now. Would it be washed away? They should have listened to Grian’s worries back when Jimmy’s feathers had been infected somewhere. Or, maybe, back when they’d first found that infested corpse, they should have done something more. It didn’t matter now that their home was already gone. When nowhere felt safe.
His wings itched while his rancher bristled. Tango couldn’t cry, but he was made to fume. “Why aren’t you angry?”
“There’s no one to be angry at.” Jimmy shrugged.
“The stupid sculk! The idiots who let it loose! The world!” The bed creaked as Tango kicked off it to pace the small room. Revy whimpered, shifting his nose into Jimmy’s lap. “It’s been half a decade. It was supposed to get better. We live out in the middle of nowhere. And the end of the world still found us! We build our own home and make our own food and do everything we can, and it still comes and finds us!” The blazeborn was consumed in his spiral. Flames burst like firecrackers along his tail, startling Flick when it whipped past the poor cat.
“Tango…” Jimmy sighed, giving the man a miserable look. When he continued to pace, threatening to scorch their hosts’ possessions, Jimmy finally put a hand up in front to stop him.
A hiss escaped Tango, narrowed eyes glaring at the hand which proceeded to latch onto his shirt and drag him off course. Tango tried to shake it off, but Jimmy kept his hold. “It’s not fair that there’s nothing to fight back against.” He lamented, voice cracking. “I just have to sit here and hope tomorrow it doesn’t get in your wings, or start growing into Revy’s brain, or infest another basement! That it doesn’t get everywhere and take everything. At least the stupid zombie I can punch in the face!” By the end his voice was so shrill and watery Jimmy could barely understand it.
“Me and Revenge are okay. We’re right here.” Jimmy assured, pulling Tango back down beside him.
It made something finally break. Tango curled into himself across Jimmy’s lap, heaving dryly. Talons raked gently through the blazeborn’s hair. Between sobs Tango mumbled incomprehensibly while Jimmy cooed to keep himself from crying as well. There were too many things roiling just beneath his impulse control. If he let one out, the rest would follow, he was sure. So, he focused on Tango. His rancher needed him.
“I don’t think we’d win if it was someone you had to fight, to be honest.” He whispered half-jokingly as the sobs died down.
Tango stilled, then slumped further into Jimmy’s chest. “I could at least try, instead of this.”
Jimmy hummed. Even if they could, Jimmy wasn’t so sure he would in the moment, and he knew Tango wasn’t all that dissimilar. Unlike Joel or the downtowners, their talent was for running and hiding. That wasn’t the point though, Jimmy knew, so he didn’t argue. “What do we do in the spring?” He asked instead.
“… I dunno.” Tango mulled, head tilted out to look at his thoughts. “It’s not safe to rebuild there.”
“Scar has most of the grain safe, and Lizzie has our animals. We could find another plot, there’s plenty around.” Though, most of them had been stripped of their valuable supplies and building materials over the years or rotted away from lack of care. But the land was still good, and they and Pearl didn’t need much room.
Would Pearl stay with them? They’d lived with her much longer than without her – if the time before her arrival weren’t so chaotic, he might not recall so well what it was like without her – but she always seemed to keep her distance. A guest, even after she was given her own room. Having someone there to take care of things even when they couldn’t let them grow the ranch to almost thirty cattle, but without her...
That Lizzie’s family would have their own ranch soon was the only thing that calmed the nervous itch in his wings recently.
“We’d have to move closer.” Tango’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“Huh?”
He was no longer curled up, though he hadn’t bothered to remove himself from Jimmy. There was that look in his eyes, where his brain was moving far too fast for Jimmy to keep up. At least it had occupied him with something other than the sculk and fire. “We can’t rebuild around the ranch, we won’t know how bad the infection around it is until next winter, and the water probably isn’t safe. If we rebuilt we’d have to move further west down the mountains towards the city, OR-” Tango raised his hand before Jimmy could protest. “We move closer to the hospital, somewhere around here, or maybe further into the interior on the other side.”
Jimmy clamped up. They’d all had more than a few conversations about this, between them and the hospital, other settlements, and over the radio. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket. Keep spread out. Far enough that, if something happens, everyone else is safe, but close enough to reach neighbours relatively quick. Like a long chain snaking across the mountains. By now everyone had horses or bikes and access to the recap radio, and it helped them cover more resources. A farm needed land, anyways, especially to keep up with how many people there now were within the network.
That thought seemed too much right now, though. He could feel the ash in his wings turning to lead. Losing the ranch didn’t just affect them. The cattle were saved but almost all their stores were gone, including two cows’ worth of beef that was to be sent out. It would take weeks, if not the whole season, to get things back in motion, in the months they were relied on most. Would people starve? Would the sculk spread from the ranch? It was a responsibility that seemed natural and seamless just weeks ago, but now felt suffocating.
“I’m not sure-” Jimmy finally replied. “I’m not sure I can rebuild the ranch right now.” Flashes of the burning rubble filled his mind, along with that numbness he’d felt. There was at least three months before they could begin, plenty of time to get over it. But right now… “I don’t even know if I want to.”
He expected perhaps a gasp or shouting from Tango. ‘We’re the ranchers!’ Maybe. But the blazeborn, to Jimmy’s surprise, nodded. Laughed, even. “We’ve been running one for years, why’s it feel impossible now?”
It was probably just nerves. Anxiety. In a few weeks it would wear away. But for now, Jimmy leaned his head against the top of Tango’s and entertained other things. “We could move back to the hospital.”
“That’d drive you insane, and Revy would kill Grian.” Tango chuckled.
So would you, Jimmy thought. He was sure if Tango had to see more sculk every day he would lose it. “What about visiting Gem and Impulse then?” He suggested instead. “I heard they’ve been doing a lot of forestry. It might be good to learn from them. Or we could finally go to the coast.”
“We never did make it that far, did we?” Tango recalled. “… Why not both? Go back up the mountain and race back down until we hit the coast. Maybe find some more people outside the recap’s range and bring them in.”
“If they’ve survived this long then I doubt they’d want to move now.”
“They might. Or maybe we can help extend the radio range for them.”
Jimmy smiled. “Maybe we should go east, instead. Find a ranch in the prairies. Be real cowboys.”
“Never been out there, even before all this.” Tango relaxed back against Jimmy, patting his leg for Revenge to come lay across. “You could stretch your wings.”
“That sounds nice.” He admitted with a sigh.
The pair continued to chatter, naming everything and everywhere. Making plans they’d likely never use. Anything to take their mind off the ranch. Just for one night.
#solidaritygaming#tango tek#ldshadowlady#pearlescentmoon#mythicalsausage#rancher apocalypse au#team rancher#fanfic#fanart#bioppunk#spooky#character#scene#background#writing#art#sketch#colour#Hybbart
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01. ACROSS THE UNIVERSE . . . while reminiscing, dazai finds you again.
ft. beast!dazai + f!reader, pm boss!dazai, civilian!reader, dazai is a little bit manipulative, spoilers for beast light novel & manga, 1.7k w.c.
SERIES MASTERLIST
dazai knows this coffee shop.
it didn’t matter that he’d never set foot inside the building. it was all burned into his mind: the counters lined with expensive equipment and machines, perfectly washed white mugs next to paper ones with lids, the small tulip dining tables peppered around the floor and circled by wooden chairs, the scent of ground beans and homemade dough, freshly baked cookies and croissants enclosed by glass; most importantly, he remembered the ghost of your face, smiling at him from across the table.
he makes a point for his driver to go past it every day, even if it makes the route to headquarters take a few minutes longer, just to catch a glimpse of the white exterior and the fabric awning ruffling in the wind.
he never dared to go inside, until today.
he feels like an imposter as soon as he steps through the door, even more so when he takes his seat at the same table you would sit at together. the smooth bottom of the chair beneath him felt sacred. it’s the one by the window, and he can recall the soft expression on your face as you watched the people walking past in the afternoon, your knowing smile as you teased him about any dogs that trotted by. in the evening, you sought it out after a hard day’s work, tugging him with you so you could admire the way the sun’s dying rays coated his features in dripping gold.
he could see why you found such a place so comforting, the atmosphere nothing but warm and inviting. he didn’t feel like he belonged, destined to dwell in the shadows of the city.
the coffee tastes the same as he remembered, pleasantly fragrant as he brings the mug up to his lips and smooth against his throat as he swallows it down. the pastry he can still recall wiping off your cheek is plated in front of him, barely touched. it isn’t nearly as sweet without you smiling across from him, intertwined ankles swinging beneath the table, the flavor of vanilla glaze on his tongue as he kisses away the crumbs on the corner of your mouth.
he takes another sip, licking the remnants of frothed milk off his lips. his one visible eye glances to the door when he hears the tinny jingle of a bell as it opens. his mug nearly slips from his hand, tiny curved handle squeezed between his fingers desperately when he realizes who’s arrived.
it’s you.
his fantasy of you was nothing compared to how you truly looked. you’re the kind of gorgeous that steals the air from his lungs and makes it impossible not to stare. it’s in the way your hair falls down your back, his nails digging into his palm as he imagines how the strands would feel between his fingers. the smooth curve of your neck, his mouth watering as he imagines the feeling of your fluttering pulse against his lips. the cute puff of your cheeks as you politely smile at the barista welcoming you inside.
he’d only seen you in haunting memories, the lingering image of your face in his mind when he wakes up and feels for a body that isn’t actually there. he spends his time yearning for someone who he’d never had, or even known, yet here you are, within his reach.
this wasn’t manifestation; he knew that you’d be here, that’s why he came inside, after all. seeing you with his own eyes should’ve been enough to satisfy him, as if he didn’t already know everything about you, inside and out.
his gaze follows your figure as you walk to the counter when a dark something catches in the corner of his eye. it feels almost painful to look away from you, but he’s so grateful he does because that’s when he sees it: your wallet, lying pitifully on the tiled floor, right next to him. he thinks this must be some kind of a glitch, an error.
his eyes flicker back to you. seeing you may have been enough for anyone else, but he’s always been a greedy man.
the trap practically sets itself. he extends his leg, discreetly sliding your wallet over to his side with the sole of his shoe. he bends down and picks it up, safely placing it in his coat pocket, eyes never leaving you.
“oh no,” your lips curl into the prettiest pout, hand deep in your bag as you rustle through it. his legs are already carrying him towards you. “i must’ve left my wallet at home. i swore i had it. i’m so sorry, i’ll just come back later andー”
“excuse me,” when you turn to look at him, it’s like everything has fallen into place. your eyes are even prettier than he remembered, wide and blinking, eyeing his bandages curiously. he smiles, a big, genuine one that curls without his permission. “if it’s alright, i’ll cover it.”
he pulls a sleek, black credit card out, holding it between two fingers as the barista takes it silently. he doesn’t even spare her a glance, completely enamored by the girl in front of him.
it’s like the walls of the cafe are made of paper, crumbling and peeling away, the mindless chatter of the other customers fading into static. it’s just you and him, nothing else exists. how long has he waited for this moment? gathering bits and pieces of your life into a mosaic of knowledge to ensure your safety, all while he spent his days existing within the black void of loneliness that covered him like a sheet he’d pulled over his head, it was all to find his way back to you. it isn’t until the barista clears her throat, holding the card back out for him to take, that he comes back down to earth.
“thank you,” you smile at him, and his heart stalls in his chest. “i don’t know how i would’ve gotten through my day without my coffee.”
he hums. “i feel the same about something a little stronger.”
you giggle, and his face lights up in pride. he steps the slightest bit closer, smiling hopefully.
“it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“it has?” you tilt your head, eyes scanning over his face. “i don’t remember meeting you before. i’m sorry.”
“my mistake, you’re right,” he presses his lips together, smile turning bitter. “of course you’re right. we haven’t met before. my name is dazai.”
he frowns as you’re interrupted by the barista calling your name. he watches the way your fingers curl around your cup delicately, trying not to burn your hand. the realization that your conversation is already about to end makes panic settle in his stomach, unfamiliar and heavy beneath his ribs.
you’re searching around the café aimlessly now; nearly every table is occupied by another patron. he pulls the seat from his own table out, offering you the one across from him, just like he remembered. he looks at you expectantly, tilting his head.
“are you sure?” you run your finger around the rim of your mug, looking down at your drink shyly. “i don’t want to bother you.”
“i insist,” he tries to smile genuinely, but he feels the way his lips quiver at the thought of losing you when you’re so close to him. “i’d love to have the company of a pretty lady.”
he releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding when you sit down. his knuckles brush against your back as he pushes you in until your waist is level with the edge of the table. this close, he can smell the warm undertones of your perfume, and suddenly, he recalls the ghost of your fingers brushing his hair away, kissing his skin. it stirs something in his stomach akin to homesickness.
“that’s my favorite, too,” you nod to the pastry, still abandoned on the table.
“you can have some if you’d like,” he slides the plate towards you. he sits back in his seat, crossing his legs. he’s careful not to bump his knees on the underside of the table.
you take a small bite, out of politeness, he assumes. he regrets that he can’t feed it to you himself.
“do you come here often?” you ask, mug halfway to your lips. he watches as your lip gloss leaves a stain on the edge, and feels envy curl like thorned vines in his stomach.
“no,” he folds his hands together beneath his chin. “this is my first time.”
“it’s my favorite café,” you sigh dreamily, turning your head and looking out the window. “it’s nice, right? i love the view.”
you look ethereal with the morning sun peeking through panes, emitting an angelic glow around your profile. spots of light project onto your skin, and it catches on your eyes, saturating the color of your pupils. “me too.”
it’s quiet, the kind of natural lull in a conversation that would happen between two strangers, and you’re nearly done with your coffee. he reaches into his coat, fingers wrapping around the smooth fabric of your wallet as he extracts it from his pocket. “i have something for you.”
“my wallet!” he waits for you to grow angry, but all you do is smile, eyes glistening with gratitude. “buying my coffee for me and finding this…you must be my guardian angel today.”
he blinks. his mouth goes dry, but he forces his words out anyway. “do i really look like such a nice person?”
“yes,” you answer it like it’s obvious, and for the second time that day, he feels his heart stall in his chest. “i can’t thank you enough. is there anything i can do? without you, i would’ve been miserable all day.”
“that’s…” exactly what he wanted. “not necessary.”
“please?” you pout. “at least let me repay you for the coffee.”
he has the memory of big bouquets, sugarcoated words, and flustered giggles, but looking at you face to face, all of the apparent suaveness he’d once possessed is gone.
“if you insist,” his smile wobbles. “would it be too forward of me to ask such a pretty girl out to dinner?”
BSD MASTERLIST
taglist . . . @avocate-assia-dazai @annoyingpainterprincess @kentopedia @walking-simp @anqelically @seimpathyopera @pinky-99 @s1eepybunny @little-miss-chaoss @h4wkz @auraxins @chososbbg @pussydrunkfyodor @getoso @ruanais @osaemu @liliavalentine @cyndaquels @doonifox @its-vante @amnda-ft-fyodor @x-whyareyoureadingthis-x
#💌 . . . with love mai ⊹ ࣪ ˖#dazai x reader#bsd x reader#dazai osamu x reader#bungou stray dogs x reader#dazai x you#dazai imagines#dazai x y/n#bsd x you#bsd fluff#dazai fluff#bsd x y/n
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Don't Worry Darling (gr63)
↳ A/N The best part about watching movies as a writer, is being inspired to write my own spin-off of the plot. I was absolutely gagged when I watched DWD and this came of it.
↳ Inspired By Don't Worry Darling (2022)
↳ Summary: Married and thriving in an idealised community based on routine, gender roles, and arguable paradise, you and George seem to be just as perfect together as the utopia you live within - but not everything is as it seems on the surface.
↳ Pairings: George Russell x Wife!Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)
↳ Word Count: 21.7k
↳ Warnings: 18+, gender roles, smut, oral (f reciving), breeding kink to the maaaax (and the applicable dirty talk to go along with it), one or two instances of 'mommy' and 'daddy' but not in the spicy sense, unprotected sex (we're trying to make a baby here, people), some descriptions of sickness, brief mention of suicide, some mention of medical content, dark undertones.
The summer sun danced across the freshly cleaned carpeted floors, lining perfectly with the horizontal streaks from the vacuum that had been taken to it only a few moments before. The single storey house smelt of fresh linen and citrus cleaning products and the full glass windows sparkled brilliantly in the early afternoon sun. Outside in the backyard, the two rows of clotheslines were hung over pristine green grass and the crisp white sheets were hung perfectly over each line and pinned precisely on each end. The wind rippled through them in the calm breeze, wafting clean scents across the trimmed backyard and tended garden of flourishing flowers.
In your pastel blue dress, the empty laundry basket rested on your hip as you returned inside from tending to the laundry, a gentle whistle on your lips to a tune you couldn’t quite place but had been stuck in your head for a few days. Your white kitten heels walked silently across the perfectly vacuumed carpet back towards the mudroom that was tucked beside the garage and took the last load of laundry out of the washing machine to place in the basket.
The crisp white dress shirts were hung on the clothesline in the backyard beside the clean sheets, pinned delicately by their shoulders so the wind could take their freshness and dry them in the summer air.
Rain was never a concern as the neighbourhood in which you lived never had a day of spotty weather. In fact, since the day you and your husband moved into the desert oasis town, there had been nothing but comfortable temperatures and clear skies. It was just another confirmation that your decision to move out of your every-day society and into this private section of the world was the correct one.
Running your hands down the front of the final clean dress shirt, you leaned in towards it to inhale the fresh scent of fabric softener that encapsulated the fibres and filled your senses with the familiarity that was your husband. With him away at work during the days, one might think that you would get lonely. On the contrary, there were always things for you to take up your time with. If you weren’t cleaning the house for his return, preparing dinner, or tending to the garden, you had lots of opportunities to visit the shops in town, lounge by the pool with the other ladies in the neighbourhood, or attend ballet classes where you could. Life had no stress. Life was perfect.
With the laundry drying in the yard, you returned inside to begin preparing dinner. Your white apron was tied around your waist and you flipped open your recipe book to select your evening meal. Missing your husband a little extra that afternoon, you decided to make his favourite for his homecoming.
On freshly scrubbed countertops and over the sparkling clean stove, you prepared the meal for him delicately and with nothing but your utmost attention to detail. He deserved nothing more than perfection. The meat was seasoned by your careful manicured hands and laid in a bed of onions and potatoes and spices in the oven to roast, the timer set for an exact hour. With the vegetables cooking on the stovetop and the counters washed down from dinner prep, you began to set the dining table for two.
The china dishes that had been a wedding gift were set between carefully placed sterling silver cutlery and two slim candles were lit in the centre of the table. You crouched in front of the fireplace that divided the dining room from the living room and lit the flame, making sure it caught on the kindling before you shut the glass to protect the pristine home you kept from the smoke or flame. On your way back to the kitchen, you dimmed the dining room lighting down to a romantic glow and stopped by the record player to set one of your shared favourite records to play softly in the background.
When the clock struck 5:00, you had just placed the roast on the table alongside the dishes of vegetables and salad and you hurried across the carpet floor towards the bar. Your apron was pulled off and tossed under the counter and out of sight and you quickly poured a perfect amount of golden liquor into a crystal glass and took it with you to the front door. The moment you reached the foyer, you had just a second to make sure you looked your best in the mirror by the door as the headlights flashed through the frosted glass window down the left hand side of the front door.
The sound of footsteps on the front porch guided you to open the door with an eager smile, revealing your husband on the other side. In his work shoes and black jacket, his hand was tucked casually in the front pocket of his slacks with his briefcase in his other hand. He wore no tie but the buttoned up white shirt that you had ironed for him that morning was already slightly creased from his long day and would require laundering. But your attention was all focused on his perfectly gelled brown hair and his loving eyes that sparkled in the warm light that surrounded you.
George was already smiling as if anticipating your usual greeting after a long day away and he stepped over the threshold of your shared home and set his briefcase by the door without tearing his eyes away from you for a second.
“Welcome home, sunshine.” you said sweetly, offering out his drink.
“Hi, sweetheart.” he whispered adoringly, stepping closer to you and he slid his hands around your waist to rest against the small of your back and he pulled you right up against him for a swift kiss.
Your free hand easily wrapped around his shoulders as he walked you backwards farther into your house, the two of you sharing love-sick kisses after a long day apart.
“How was your day?” you asked softly, when he pulled away from you for a half second to lick his lips.
“Absolute shit until now.” George whispered back, moving right in once more and he let one of his hands raise to cradle your jaw and guide your lips back on his. He lingered on your mouth for a second before his hand finally dropped to take his glass from you.
“Then it’s a good thing I made your favourite.” you said, starting to unbutton his jacket for him as he sipped his drink all while staring at you and leading you both farther into the house and towards the dining room.
“Mhm?” George blindly set his still half-full glass on the kitchen counter with a dull clink as you both passed by briefly so he could pull you back in for more kisses.
You smiled against his mouth and your hands rested daintily against his chest as he leaned into you, expertly keeping up with the way his lips locked with yours in feverish kisses as if he had been too deprived of you. His large hands cascaded down your body and over your hips, steering you towards your perfectly set dinner table under the ambiance of the romantic music crackling from the record player and the fireplace flickering nearby.
“Cleaned the whole house for you too.” you continued between kisses even as your hands pushed his jacket from his shoulders and let it fall to the crisply vacuumed carpet.
“Yeah, it looks so good, darling.” George breathed into your mouth as his hands grabbed your thighs and he hiked you right up onto the end of the dining room table.
In all reality, he hadn’t taken his eyes off of you from the second you opened the door for him. The entire house could have been trashed and graffitied and he wouldn’t have even batted an eyelash because all his focus was on you. It had been that way for as long as you could remember - ever since he first laid eyes on you - and your honeymoon phase only followed you well into your first year of marriage. The whole neighbourhood knew that well. No one was as perfect for each other or as perfect together as you and George were.
Eyes locked, you were breathing heavily into each other’s open mouths as his hands helped themselves up your skirt and you shifted to help him tug your panties down your legs. They were easily tossed to the floor and George’s lips went for your neck, trailing impatient wet kisses down your skin until he was dropping to his knees at the head of the table.
“Oh, I missed you.” you breathed to the ceiling as he bunched up your dress around your waist and then dragged his tongue right between your legs. Your sharp inhale had him doing it again before he was wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling your legs over his shoulders.
You fell onto your back against the table with a gasp, your hands knocking the salad bowl to the floor without concern as you messily caught yourself against the wood top. The simple touch of his mouth against your cunt had your breathing falling shallow and you gasped to the peaked ceiling of your mid-century home as you laid out on the dining table like you were dinner itself.
George hummed gladly against your pussy as he warmed you up with filthy wet kisses. He acted like he had been deprived of you for weeks but in reality it had barely been twenty-four hours since you found yourself in a similar position. Your relationship really had nothing but strength in all aspects behind it.
The feeling of his warm wet tongue gliding up flatly between your lips had your back arching off the table with a strangled gasp and your hands flew above your head to try and grab onto something, only knocking off the two place settings you had so meticulously set. The carpeted floor caught them delicately and without much of a sound but you were all too focused on the way George’s mouth felt to care about anything else. He lapped filthily at your clit as your breaths turned into moans and he nuzzled his face deeper into you, having craved you all day.
“George-” you gasped to the ceiling, eyes screwing shut as he flicked his tongue over your clit in quick patterns. “Oh my God.”
He moaned up against you and let his fingers press into the flesh of your thighs as he held your legs over his shoulders hungrily, playing with your swollen clit until your toes were curling and your back was arching. The filthy slurps and smacks of his mouth and tongue against your pussy were arousing and they easily drowned out the sound of the gentle record player across the room, harmonizing perfectly with your breathless whimpers and moans that were all for him.
He was ruthless with it, eating you out like he wholeheartedly craved you until you were writhing against the wood dining table. Your hands flew down to his head between your legs and your fingers raked through his styled brown hair to tug pleadingly on the roots to feel him closer, to feel more of him. Mouth agape and eyebrows furrowed with pleasure, you peered down your body towards him but the voluminous skirt of your dress hindered your view slightly. Instead, you let your head fall back against the table, your back arching, and you let him urge the moans from your chest.
“Fuck, baby.” you choked out, pulling at his hair harder.
His tongue on your pussy had you quivering and he knew you like the back of his hand; always knowing right where you needed him and how to make you see stars. He tugged you a little closer to the edge of the table so he could get more of his mouth on you and his hands pried your thighs open wider, giving him full access to every inch of you.
Your moans grew louder, pitchier, your hips trying to grind against his face as his tongue ravaged your clit mercilessly until you were flushing warm all over and aching for release. One of your hands reached above your head to grab the edge of the table, swatting the bowl of peas and carrots to the carpet blindly as you did so but you didn’t care. You were all too hung up on him and his perfect mouth.
“Oh, darling-” you cried to the ceiling, “I’m gonna cum-”
George kept his tongue on your clit, lapping quickly at it at that same consistent pace that made you dizzy. Gasping and moaning through the romantic air, you let him take the pleasure from your veins until you were falling perfectly silent and your eyes rolled shut as your back arched helplessly off the table.
George’s deep moan against you sent shockwaves up your spine as he licked and suckled at your cunt as you came for him, soaking his mouth in your creamy liquids that satisfied his cravings just so. You completely sobbed out his name once the height of your orgasm washed over you, your fingers clutching his hair to hold him against you just a little bit longer. He pulled away with a sharp inhale and a lick to his lips, standing up smoothly to let your legs fall gently back to the edge of the table.
You brushed your hands over your once-tidy hair and peered down your body to where he stood at the head of the table unbuckling his belt with nothing but the strongest lust in his eyes. You hiked up the skirt of your dress some more and smeared your fingers through your messy cunt that was shimmering wet for him and from him.
“Come here.” George ordered lowly as he kicked off his shoes across the carpeted floor and let his pants follow before he was sitting himself down on the stray dining chair, his hard cock standing stiff and swollen with need for you.
You were still shuttering from your orgasm but you pushed yourself up from the tabletop and slid off the edge to land on your feet, your heels catching you silently against the carpet. He patted his thigh and then held out his hand to you, encouraging you over and helped you to toss a leg over his lap to straddle him. George shuffled up the large skirt of your dress and you helped him pull it over your head and drop it to the floor behind you, leaving you in only your bra and him in only his shirt as your lips found each other’s again.
His hands groped your ass, pulling you closer to him hungrily as your lips smacked wetly together amid tongue-led kisses. Your arms around his shoulders allowed your fingers to tangle in his hair and you pulled his head closer until he was leaning into you to keep kissing you, sharing moans and breaths of nothing but pure erotica together.
“Oh, baby.” you breathed out of your heated kisses, tilting your head back as his lips magnetized to your neck and your hands cradled his head adoringly.
“I want you on my cock.” George spoke lowly against your neck, “I want you bouncing on my fucking cock.”
“Yes, please.” you shifted on his lap to rise up slightly with your feet planted on either side of him and he reached down to angle his dick for you.
With your hands on his shoulders, you slowly sunk down on his dick to feel every inch of it stretching you out snugly. Mouth falling open, your thighs met his lap and you moaned shakily at the warm stretch he gave you, swirling your hips lazily to feel him everywhere.
“Good girl, darling.” George praised, resting back against the chair with his hands securely on your hips.
Right away, you began to bounce on him, using the anchor of your feet on the carpeted ground on either side of the dining chair to keep you supported. You leaned your head back with a gentle shake to get your hair out of your face but kept your hands on his shoulders with your fingers gripping onto the once ironed white fabric.
“Fuck, that’s my good fucking girl.” George praised through his teeth.
“Oh my God.” you groaned out shakily.
You were addicted to the clap of your skin together; the filthy lewd sound that was proof of your undying love and devotion to each other. How you were the pair that everyone else envied.
When your eyes met, you could feel your insides fluttering from only his stare and the stormy mixture of love and lust that settled behind his gaze. Fingers tangled in the back of his hair, you held him close as you greedily fucked yourself on his lap, completely salivating at the feeling of his generous cock sheathed so perfectly inside you. It was hard to keep your eyes open with the pleasure that surged within you but your husband’s stare was completely addictive. He stared at you like you were the world and with his hands on your hips, he helped you guide you through your bounces until you were choking out the sweetest moans.
George pulled you close by your waist so you could rest right down against his chest and your arms went right around his shoulders, allowing you to share another sloppy kiss as your bounces moulded into purposeful grinds. You moaned into each other’s mouths as your pussy gripped around his cock with each roll of your hips, your feet still tucked in your heels looping around the back legs of the dining chair to five yourself some added leverage to help yourself to his body. Grinding on him back and forth, a little faster, you broke your kiss with a soft gasp, letting your head fall backwards and his lips found your neck.
George’s hands groped your ass and he pulled you into your motions steadily, making sure you were able to feel all of each other as much as possible. His teeth sunk gently into your flesh where your neck met your shoulder and he groaned tightly against your skin as you ground down on him faster, harder, whining for more. He spanked your ass before gliding his hands up your back and he let his furrowed gaze find your face, staring at the pleasure that took over your features. Your hands gripped the back of his hair and the back of his shirt, rolling your body against his hungrily as your lips were drawn together again.
Both of you shared hungry moans and sloppy kisses as you ground yourself down on his dick and rode him purposefully on the dining room chair. The dinner that hadn’t been swiped to the ground in your initial rush was growing cold on the serving dishes but the waste of your hard work was truly the last thing on your mind. Instead, your attention was taken up by your handsome husband and the feeling of his warm skin taking you over - body and soul.
Breaking your wet tongue-led kiss with a whimpering gasp, your head fell back for a moment as your hips lead their course on his lap, fingers clutching his hair and his shirt as you swirled yourself back and forth on his dick and watched how his handsome face was stricken in pleasure. His hands on your waist urged you to shift again and you gladly moved back into steady bounces using the anchor of your heels on the carpeted floor.
“Oh my God, George.” you choked out, keeping your eyes on his. “Yes.”
His deep groans in time with every bounce of your body on his lap filled the warm romantic air between you, his hands gripping a little tighter to your hips to pull you down a little harder, a little faster.
“Good girl.” he praised lowly.
“Are you close?” you asked shakily.
“Yeah, baby.” his voice was strained slightly and he stared down his body to watch how you took him all with every ungraceful stroke, his feet planted firmly on the carpet as he stayed slouched back against the dining chair. “Fuck.”
“I want you to come in me.” you breathed shakily.
“Yeah?” George’s right hand rose from your waist to hold your jaw tenderly and his thumb slid into your mouth, “Want me to put a baby in you?”
“Fuck- uh huh-“ you groaned through his thumb, shamelessly bouncing harder on his lap until your thighs were aching.
“Mhm?” George’s eyes flicked between your face and his lap, watching you fuck yourself on him with his feet anchroed securely on the carpeted dining room floor. He had been waiting and dreaming for his homecoming all day, desperate for this exact moment. He knew all too well that you would never say no to him. You were equals but you were such a good wife.
George pulled his thumb out of your mouth and slid his hand around the back of your neck to pull your forehead against his as he groaned into his orgasm. You squeezed your muscles tightly around him, making his face screw up in pleasure as his cock throbbed within the tight confines of your cunt and you finally were blessed with that first feeling of him spurting warmly inside you. You shuttered on top of him, grinding down strongly against his lap as you held each other close and met his timing almost perfectly. Your moans together were harmonious and perfect and your heart soared with adoration for him as your souls connected in the dim lighting of your shared home.
“Fuck, darling-” George breathed out of it, holding you to his chest with his entire arms around your back, keeping you grinding against him as your orgasm tapered off.
“Holy shit.” you whimpered quietly against his cheek, your fingers gripping tightly to the back of his shirt, your thighs trembling as you sat all your weight down on his lap to take the weight off your feet.
His hands caressed your back and you moved to be able to meet his gaze as he asked cheekily, “So, how was your day?”
You giggled sweetly and leaned in to kiss his lips, “Amazing. Even more amazing now that you’re home.”
“Missed you so much.” George admitted.
“I can tell.” you smiled, scratching your fingers through the back of his hair.
George tore his eyes away from your loving gaze so he could look towards the dining room table that was left in complete disarray from his rushed entry. He leaned forward slightly to rest his head against your shoulder and you kissed his head and ran your hand through his hair.
“Sorry for, uh, ruining your dinner.” he whispered.
“That’s okay. Worth it.” you assured him, “But you’re cleaning it up.”
“Okay.” he chuckled and raised his head from your shoulder to kiss your lips again.
You took his face in your dainty hands, whispering between gentle chasté kisses, “I love you.”
George smiled peacefully, staring at your adoringly, “I love you.”
His lips peppered kisses down your jaw and your neck and his hands squeezed your ass to prompt you to get up. You moved cautiously as you stood from his lap, letting a thick drop of white slip out of you and onto his thigh and he leaned in to kiss your hip as his hands guided you off of him.
“Any symptoms yet?” he asked gently as you bent down to grab your underwear and pull them on.
“Don’t think so.” you answered with a shrug.
“It’ll happen.” he almost promised.
You stood between his legs and rested your forearms on his shoulders to lean in towards him, “Hopefully.”
“It will.” his large hands caressed your thighs.
You shared a soft kiss.
George patted your bum, “Okay, go wash up. I’ll clean this mess and slice up that roast for us. Looks like it survived the chaos.”
You kissed him once more and then slid out of his arms. Picking up your dress from the floor, you headed across the open living room and down the opposite hallway that turned towards the back of the house and led to your bedroom. You pulled out your nightgown from your dresser drawer and helped yourself to the pastel painted ensuite to freshen up, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.
Once perfectly styled hair was falling out of its pins and your cheeks were flushed from more than just the light coat of foundation and blush that you had applied earlier that day. You felt giddy and warm and yet a tinge of anxiety lingered in the back of your mind as you turned to the side and ran a hand over the flat natural curve of your stomach. You had been trying for a baby for only four weeks but you were impatient for the next phase of your perfect life with your perfect husband and with every passing day, you only got more and more ansty. George promised it would happen when it happens but you were both so familiar with things coming so easily to the two of you that not having results instantaneously was almost tortuous.
Returning to the main space of your single storey house, George was in the kitchen in only his underwear and half unbuttoned white dress shirt, tidying up the dishes and scraping the spilled food into the garbage. To anyone else, they might have been more than annoyed that their hard-work that went into making dinner had gone to unappreciated waste but it was never that serious to you. You lived to give George whatever he wanted and when all he truly wanted was you? Who were you to deny him that?
You leaned against the counter that divided the kitchen from the rest of the space and watched George putter around for a moment before he saw you. He smiled over at you and then brought over the plate of sliced meat that he had taken from the table and cut up himself. Setting it between you, he picked up one of the pieces and fed it to you from his fingers.
“Little cold now.” you chuckled softly.
“Still good.” he complimented, taking a bite for himself.
You stood on either side of the peninsula counter and shared the plate of your half-cold dinner, one of the candles from the table resting between you and still lit. Moments like that only rehashed the idea of your perfect imperfection that was you and him.
“You look beautiful right now.”
You raised your eyes from the plate, slipping one more piece of meat into your mouth as you met his loving stare.
With a bashful smile, you shrugged, and spoke through your small mouthful, “I’m just in my nightgown.”
“I know.” George leaned over the counter and captured your lips with his in a swift kiss.
You smiled against his mouth and raised a hand up to dust your fingertips over his jaw before you were gently pushing him away from your lips. He reached over to gently tug at your pouted bottom lip with the pad of his thumb before standing up straight again and kept your eye contact from across the counter.
“I love you so much.” you whispered.
“I love you more.”
The faint crackling of the record player in the living room drew your attention across the open space of your modest house and George drifted around the counter and danced his hand over your waist on his way past you. You took another bite of your makeshift dinner and watched as he lifted the needle from the turntable to remove the record and slide it back into its case. Whistling happily in his half-dressed state, George skimmed your collection of records and pulled out a new one to place carefully on the turntable.
The tune he kept was the same tune you had stuck in your head for a few days and you inquired, “My love, what song is that you’re whistling?”
George glanced up at you from across the living room, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth seeing you in the light of the kitchen behind your figure, and he looked back down to the record that he spun between his hands and then set it into its place on the turntable, “I dunno, darling. I think it’s just some random song.”
“I’ve had it stuck in my head for a while now.” you explained, leaning back against the counter.
“Mhm?” George seemed to shrug you off as he set the needle back on the record and the speaker crackled as it found its way into the groove.
The house was filled with gentle romantic music and he turned up the volume as the voice of the vocalist flooded the space around you. George’s whistling moulded into the tune of the song playing and he did a little spin as he slunk his way saucily across the floor towards you. He climbed the three carpeted steps of the sunken living room and serenaded you with his rhythmic sways and motions as he approached you. You laughed softly at his goofiness and he held out his hands to you as he whistled along to the music.
When you didn’t make a move to join him for a few seconds - just staring at him while leaning back against the counter with an adoring smile on your face - he requested of you simply, “Dance with me.”
You pushed yourself away from the counter and set your hands in his, letting him pull you close to his body as he slid an arm around your waist and let his other hand stay holding yours beside you. He was the most angelic man you had ever seen and you set your hand around his shoulder as he guided you into gentle sways along with the music.
You closed your eyes and melted into his chest, cheek to cheek, falling heavenly into the comfort of his embrace and the way his body moved with yours. His pitch perfect voice spoke right to your heart as he hummed quietly as you danced slowly in place within your cozy home, swaying to the rhythm of the record. With you in your nightgown and George in his underwear and dress shirt, you were perfectly domestic in that moment, the warmth in your heart swirling around the two of you wrapped as one.
“Someday soon we won’t be able to do this.” George whispered to you.
The ominous nature of his statement had you shifting your head to look him in the eye, “What? Why?”
George just smiled sweetly and rubbed his thumb over the small of your back, “Because there’s going to be a baby growing between us soon. We’ll have to be a good arm's length apart.”
You grinned back at him bashfully and leaned into him again so his lips pressed against your cheek for a quick kiss and then his head rested against yours. He led your gentle swaying on the plush carpet in the warm glow of the fireplace and your cozy home, only growing the adoring flutter in your heart.
“I can’t wait.” you breathed.
“Me neither.” George gave your joint hands a little squeeze.
“I love you.” you whispered.
“I love you.” George found your lips with his, kissing away any of your anxieties surrounding the unknown future with his love that comforted you always.
The ringing of George’s alarm clock woke you at dawn, just like any other weekday. He was cuddled up behind you in your spacious bed, wrapping you up in the warmth of the sheets and his embrace. You sighed deeply as you were forced into consciousness and as you shifted to stretch in George’s arms, he pressed a kiss to your cheek.
“Morning, darling.” he mumbled sleepily, his alarm still ringing from his side of the bed.
“Morning, sunshine.” you yawned, earning another cheek kiss from your husband before he was shifting away from you to reach over and swat off the alarm.
You rolled after him under the blankets and as he turned back around from shutting off his clock, you draped yourself across his bare chest to admire him happily in the faint morning light that peeked through the sides of your curtains. He stroked your hair and you tapped your index finger against his lips before you leaned in to kiss them softly. He smiled at you and met you halfway for another.
“Did you sleep okay?” you asked quietly.
“Yeah.” he lazily draped his arm around your back, “Did you?”
You nodded, still tired from your deep sleep you had just awoken from, and your gaze stayed focused on his familiar face. Reaching your hand up from his chest you caressed his cheek with your thumb and across his jaw that housed a faint dusting of hair that was in need of his daily morning shave. He moved his head slightly to press his lips against the pad of your thumb and you giggled adoringly and stretched your body out on top of his as if not wanting to let him get up.
“Do you wanna stay in bed?” George asked.
“With you?” you replied hopefully.
“No.” he smiled sadly at you and stroked your hair again, “I gotta go to work and make some money for us and our future babies.”
You bit back your smile but didn’t make a move to get off him, still staring lovingly at his face.
“Okay?” he patted your bum over the blankets.
You reached a hand up to gently scoop some sleep from the corner of his eye for him with your index finger and a soft melancholy hum and he scrunched his eyes closed and tried to turn away. You sighed dramatically and rested your chin on your hand against his chest to stare at him just a little longer before you would both have to get up.
George’s finger traced the bridge of your nose and then plopped against your lips, tugging gently at the bottom one, whispering to you once more, “Okay?”
You nodded, breathing out a forced agreement, “Okay.”
You moved off of him and let him get out of bed and you watched from your cozy spot against the headboard as he trudged across the room and pushed open the curtains to let the tidal wave of early morning sun flood your four walls. Standing in the light in only his underwear, George was almost just a silhouette to you and as he stretched his arms above his head with a waking yawn and skimmed over your perfectly manicured backyard, you nearly swooned. As the man of your house, he made you weak by simply existing. How you adored him.
Your eyes followed him as he walked across the bedroom towards the ensuite and, like every weekday morning, you let him get ready for his day without hassle. He naturally left the door open and you could see in the reflection of the mirror how he stripped out of his underwear into nothingness and then stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain shut behind him. The water turned on and then his whistle followed, waking himself up in warm water a good tune.
Now alone in your shared bed, you stretched your arms over your head and forced your limbs to wake up, the slight comfortable tension on your muscles forcing the reminisce of your evening reunion to leak out of you and into your underwear. The sheets had fallen down to your waist from George climbing out of bed and you dropped your hands to rest on your stomach with an impatient sigh, staring down at your soft skin exposed to the morning sunlight. Sleeping bare beside him to allow your skin to touch completely was your favourite way to sleep as you so easily learned after you wed and moved into your perfect home together. He always felt so close that way.
When your bare feet hit the carpeted floor and you rose from the mattress, you reached for his white button up dress shirt that he had worn the previous day and had discarded to the chair in the corner of the room. Keeping yourself modest within your empty house, you buttoned up the bottom three buttons, and then straightened out the creased fabric in the full length mirror.
You stopped by the bathroom door, leaning against the frame as you called out to your showering husband, “Darling love; I’m going to start breakfast.”
“Okay, sweetheart, thank you.” George called back through the water and patterned shower curtain.
Your bare feet patted softly down the picture frame lined hallway that was bathed in sunlight from the floor to ceiling windows opposite, and you turned into the main space of your house that had been silent from nightfall. You opened the curtains and turned on the radio to bring your house to life as you began the routine of your mornings.
As usual, the weather was bright and clear and the sun had just barely made it above the horizon, meeting you outside in the backyard with refreshing crisp air and a wash of golden light, filtered only by the neighbouring houses and your clotheslines. The laundry that you had hung up the previous day was now perfectly dry and you unpinned one of the fresh white shirts that matched the one you were wearing and brought it back inside with you as the iron was heating up. The radio announcer spoke to the news of your uneventful town where the most interesting happenings consisted of shopping centre sales or the community pool being closed for cleaning.
The ironing board was set up in the living room and you draped the clean shirt across it to be met with the steaming iron. The creases were steamed and ironed out of the fabric with ease and you found yourself humming that same mysterious tune as you worked, constantly stuck in your head. When the shirt was left neatly on the ironing board for retrieval by your husband, you continued on to the kitchen to put his lunch together and get breakfast started, letting the radio’s news mould into morning hits that livened your home with music.
George joined you in the kitchen a few minutes later, lured from the bedroom by the smell of bacon and coffee in only his dress slacks and socks with his tie draped around his bare neck, his face shaved, and his brown hair already combed and gelled to perfection. At the sight of you in the kitchen in only his shirt and your little panties, George was grinning slyly and walking over to you at the stove. He wrapped his arms around your waist and dipped his face in your neck to kiss your skin.
“Mm, good morning, beautiful woman.” he said lowly against the shell of your ear, the smoothness of his voice enough to butter your toast that morning.
“Good morning, handsome.” you replied sweetly, setting your free hand that wasn’t holding a spatula against his around your middle as you leaned back into him to welcome his lips on yours in a few lingering kisses. When he broke your kisses, your eyes shamelessly skimmed his face and chest and you reached your hand up to touch his smooth jaw, “Mm, you look so yummy.”
“Says you in this little outfit, baby, goddamn.” George tisked, giving your ass a little two handed squeeze that made you squeak in surprise and he kissed your neck again.
“You’re an easy man to please, my dearest.” you said as he drifted away from you across the space to retrieve his shirt from the ironing board.
“You make it easy.” he praised right back as he shrugged on his shirt and buttoned it up on his way back towards you.
He paused as he tucked the shirt into his pants and then stopped to open the front door and grab the newspaper from the porch.
“Coffee’s in your mug already.” you told him as he shut the door again.
Returning to the kitchen with the promise of coffee, already skimming the headlines, he answered you haphazardly, “You’re a perfect woman, baby.”
“Perfect for you, George Russell, and don’t you forget it.” you waved the spatula at him from across the kitchen and he smiled over at you as he lifted his steaming mug of coffee up to his lips for a sip.
He stood at the island with the newspaper laid out before him and he skimmed the stories and articles as he tied his tie around his neck and set his collar down neatly and flipped through the pages as he sipped his morning coffee. You cracked farm fresh eggs into the skillet beside the bacon, watching how the grease sizzled and crackled as breakfast cooked, filling the kitchen with aromas that made your stomach growl. As the pan was left cooking, you tended to the toast in the toaster that had just popped and you placed the perfectly browned slices on a plate.
“What is your plan today, darling?” George asked you, his eyes following you as he sipped his coffee and left the newspaper open in front of him.
“The girls and I are going to go shopping.” you answered casually as you buttered each slice of toast. “I’m thinking my wardrobe needs a bit of a refresher but I already have a dress in mind for tonight that I haven’t had a chance to wear yet so I won’t need to buy anything new for that today. I had my eye on this set that was in the window of the department store this week - these gorgeous blue shorts and a matching blouse.”
“Blue is your colour, baby.”
“Is that why your eyes never leave me?” you flirted smoothly.
Said blue eyes - the very ones you fell in love with - winked at you over the brim of the coffee mug. You smiled widely and cut the slices of toast in halves diagonally before delivering them to where George stood at the island.
“Make sure anything you buy is put on my card.” he reminded you.
“I know, I know. That’s all they allow us to do anyway.” you tisked and returned to the stove. “I must say, every time one of the employees greets me with a ‘good morning, Mrs. Russell’ or a ‘is that all for today, Mrs. Russell’ I swear my heart skips a beat.”
George chuckled lightly at your swooning over your shared name as he took a bite of toast and then spoke through it, “It’s been a good few months now, sweetheart. Still not used to it?”
“I’m used to it.” you assured him. “I just love it.”
He just smiled down to the newspaper.
“I might attend a ballet class this afternoon too.”
“Oh?” George looked over at you again, “Does that mean I get to see you in a leotard and a little tutu?”
You rolled your eyes at him teasingly as you plated the bacon and eggs from the pan, “Don’t push your luck, mister.”
He leaned in towards you as you joined him at the island with your two plates, promising with a quiet, “I’ll be good.”
“You’re always good.” you whispered right back, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before setting the plates in front of you both.
You ate breakfast together over the newspaper and distant noise of the radio, feeding each other bites of bacon and toast and trying not to spill egg on his perfectly crisp clothes. Soon it was time for him to leave for the day and he grabbed his lunch tin that you had set earlier on the counter peninsula and you hurried over to get between him and the door.
“Wait,” you set your hands on his chest as he nearly walked right into you, “I forgot to tell you-”
“Mhm?” George encouraged you on with a little amused smile, already knowing what was coming after this almost daily routine…only made more insistent on the mornings that came after an evening with perfect heavenly love making.
“You can’t go to work.” you told him, even as he started walking slowly towards the door, forcing you to take slow steps back in time with him.
“Why not?” he pressed, his lips grazing yours with how close you stood.
“You don’t feel well, remember?” you slid your hands over his shoulders.
“Oh, I don’t?”
“No.” you licked away your smile as he had you in the foyer now, “And you need to stay home so I can cuddle you and kiss you and tend to you and nurse you back to health.”
“Oh, I see.” George blindly lifted his jacket from the hook by the door, all without tearing his eyes away from yours, “And your shopping plans?”
“Canceled for you, my love.” you answered easily, sliding your arms around his waist as he pulled his jacket on and you leaned in to kiss his smiling lips. “So we should get you into bed.”
“We should?” George had you against the front door and you stood guard in front of it to prevent him from leaving.
“Yes.” you smiled sweetly at him with your lightly frazzled hair and wrinkled shirt of his you wore.
It would have been so easy for him to fall into your little trap and stay home with you all day - it was near impossible for him to say no to you and especially so when you looked like a golden angel in the sunlight that bathed the house. Instead, he reached a hand up and caressed your cheek and then leaned in to kiss your lips once, twice, and then lingered there for a third before pulling away.
“I got to go, darling.”
Pouted in lighthearted defeat, you slunk out of his way so he could open the front door and you followed after him onto the porch, stopping him by the arm for one more kiss.
“I love you.” you said.
“I love you.” he smiled back, his eyes glancing up and down your figure and once more across your face as if memorizing you completely, “See you tonight.”
“See you.” you let your hand fall from his arm and you watched him walk down the front porch steps and around to the drivers side of his shiny car.
The other men on your little street were also saying their goodbyes to their wives and getting into their cars like clockwork but your attention was only on your husband and the way he checked his hair in the rearview mirror before sliding his sunglasses on. He caught your gaze once more and blew you a kiss before turning the key in the ignition.
With the rumble of the engine, you took one more step down the front porch in only his white buttoned shirt and blew him a kiss back, letting your hand stay outstretched in a gentle wave as he backed out of the driveway alongside the other men. Then, like a little parade, they made their way down the street in a single file row and out of sight.
Sitting around in the comfy chairs of the classy department store, you and your friends sipped champagne and discussed your mornings and the ballet class you had just returned from.
“It was more of a workout than I had thought!” one of the ladies expressed.
“Such beautiful dancing though. Do you think they’ll have us perform a show by the end of the season? I would love to be able to show my husband all that we do!”
“Oh, that would be so nice!”
“We should put in a request.”
“My husband does not so much as care about what I do, I must admit.”
“Being one of the most important men in business, it’s fair to say he’s tired when he gets home every night.”
“Yes, but I wouldn’t mind some attention from him.”
As your friends gossiped about their husbands and their home lives, you set your drink flute on the glass coffee table and stood from your chair to browse a few of the near-by racks. In a blue floral dress that swayed around your knees with every step, you held that soft tune on your lips as you gently swiped through each clothing option with the tags labeled without prices. The women never had to bother with money, it was just one way that life was made less stressful in your little picturesque neighbourhood.
One of the ladies spoke a little louder so you could hear, “All of us seem to have things we wish to improve in our marriages and then there are the Russells who could not be any more perfect if they tried.”
With a skirt in hand that you were admiring, you glanced over to your friends who all had knowing looks directed your way. You smiled and shook your head, “I wouldn’t call us perfect. No one is perfect.”
“Oh, but you’re pretty close.” one of the ladies said before turning to the rest of the group, “You won’t believe the things I hear from even the next house over. It’s like their honeymoon phase lasts for months.”
“Okay.” you laughed to try and brush her off as you set the skirt back on the rack beside you.
Another one of your friends added smoothly, “You won’t be fitting in these dresses much longer by the sounds of it then.”
The first friend only continued, “I know! If you two aren’t pregnant soon I think there must be something wrong with the universe.”
The rest of your small group agreed easily.
“Yeah.” you added, “We’ve only been actively trying for a few weeks but-”
“More like six months by what we hear next door.”
“Okay.” you hushed her with a bashful blushing smile and you turned back to the rack to skim through some more clothes. You tried not to let their innocent excitement for you get under your skin but you were anxious and impatient and wanting a baby more than anything. It hadn’t been very long but when it was the thing you prayed for most in the world, each passing hour felt like a lifetime.
You tried on the outfit you had been eyeing in the change room - that blue full skirt and matching blouse - and although it fit you like it was tailored for you, you silently wished it didn’t fit. You craved the growth of life inside you and it never seemed to leave the forefront of your mind.
Regardless, you let your anxieties out with some retail therapy as you set your blue outfit on the cash desk along with a few more casual dresses and shoes. The man behind the counter rung up your items and folded them into tissue paper and set them in a box with a neat little bow.
“Will that be everything today, Mrs. Russell?” he asked routinely.
You glanced across the counter to him, “Yes, thank you.”
“Wonderful. I will charge it to your husband’s account.” he held out the box to you, “We hope to see you again soon. I couldn’t help but overhear that it may be in our maternity department?”
You offered a polite smile and thanked him quietly as you took your box and returned to your friends who were getting ready to leave with their own purchases. Upon joining up with your little group again, you all emerged out into the sunny afternoon to make your way towards the trolley, discussing your evening in terms of your planned outfits for the neighbourhood dinner that was to be hosted at the lavish event hall in town. Your friends spoke excitedly about the dressed they had picked out and their hopes that their husbands would match their excitement at least partially. It was always nice to have a night off when you didn’t need to have dinner ready for the men’s homecoming - or so your friends touched upon. To you, everyday meant simply looking forward to George being home, regardless of what you had prepared or not. You liked to tend to him and you did so gladly.
That day, however, you felt drained. Your physical body seemed to be taking after your emotional state in that sense and by the time the trolley stopped at the end of your street and let you off and you shared quick ‘see you tonight’s with your friends as you parted ways onto your own properties, you were ready to sit down.
The house felt so quiet and empty when you were there alone and although it never usually bothered you, this afternoon only raised that looming loneliness that had been festering inside you. Trying to calm yourself down, you hummed that same gentle tune that had been stuck in your head and walked slowly down your hallway and into your master bedroom. After your morning tidy, the bed had been already made and any laundry was put away in the hamper, leaving a spotless room for you to set your shopping box down on the pulled tight sheets. With a hum on your lips, you helped yourself to the ensuite and ran a bath in the teal porcelain alcove tub, your gaze drifting over the alarm clock on the bedside table as the water filled and you stripped out of your dress and heels. George was expected home in just over an hour and you would have to be ready for him then so all he had to do was put on his formal jacket and dress shoes and you could be out the door and on your way to the party right away.
The steaming bath water forced a sigh from your chest as you lowered into it and relaxed back against the edge. Your eyes closed peacefully and you rested your head back against the wall to give yourself a moment to ease your tensions that seemed to riddle your body that week, your hair still tied half-up with a ribbon that matched your day dress. In a few moments you would have to get up but you breathed yourself into relaxation to make the most of your quiet day.
You were woken to a gentle touch to your shoulder and your eyes flew open with a surprised gasp, the barely-warm water sloshing around your body as you startled. George was sitting on the edge of the tub still in his work clothes, his expression a mix between surprise and love, and he caressed your cheek with his thumb.
“I was worried where you were when you didn’t meet me at the door.” he chuckled softly.
“Shit, what time is it?” you asked worriedly, your features expressing your unrest easily.
“Just after 5:00.” George answered.
“Oh my- I’m sorry- I was supposed to be ready to go-“ you started to get up but he set a gentle hand on your shoulder to keep you in the water a little longer.
“It’s okay, darling. There’s no rush. We still have a whole hour.”
George dipped down to kiss your lips and your stress lines melted into a tender smile at his touch and you leaned up from the tub to kiss him again gladly. When you sat back again, he just stared at you for a few long seconds, a calm smile on his face. The intensity of his blue eyed stare always had you needing to look away and you smiled shyly down to the bath water.
George broke your silence with a soft, “You look gorgeous.”
You leaned your head back against the wall again so you could look at him, admitting quietly, “I missed you today.”
“I missed you too.” George stroked your hair before he was getting up from the wide of the tub, “I bought you something on my way home.”
Your attention was peaked, watching him walk hurriedly out of the ensuite and out into your bedroom, “You did?”
He came back in with a garment bag and a beaming grin and he unzipped it to reveal a royal blue evening dress with a straight neckline, short dainty sleeves, and a matching bow around the waist. You bit back your smitten grin at the excitement of your selfless husband and you leaned your arms on the edge of the tub to admire the stunning new dress, careful to not touch it with your wet hands.
“Sweetheart,” you breathed adoringly, “It’s beautiful.”
“Couldn’t stop thinking of you in it…I just had to stop and pick it up for you. You’re gonna look beautiful tonight.” George gushed as he hung the hanger up on the shower curtain rod. He started to untie his tie from around his neck as he talked on, “And I even grabbed myself a matching tie from the store while I was there just so we can match tonight. I know you always like that even if you might not always admit it.”
You rested your cheek down against your folded arms on the tub edge and admired him shamelessly as he stepped back into the bedroom again only to return to the bathroom mirror with a royal blue tie that matched the colour of your new dress perfectly. He draped it around his neck and popped his collar so he could tie it as he spoke to you.
“Come on, darling, come get ready.”
You always loved going out with him and especially having any excuse to dress up but the whirling of your mind was distracting and you caught yourself suddenly swallowing back tears. You dropped your face into the crook of your arm and let out a shaky exhale to try and regain your composure.
“Hey,” George’s gentle voice got closer and soon he was crouching beside the tub, reaching out a loving hand to caress your damp shoulder, “what’s wrong, my love?”
You sniffled and raised your head up again to meet his concerned gaze and you shrugged, mouthing a silent and passive, “I dunno.”
“Mm mm.” George shook his head gently, “Don’t do that. Don’t push me away. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I want a baby.” you whispered.
“I know.” George let out a faint chuckle at your obvious confession but his expression stayed serious as he took in your obviously distressed state. His hand stroked over your head and into the damp ends of your hair that had grazed the water in your bath.
“I want one now.” you continued quietly.
“I know. That’s why we’re working so hard.” he nudged your cheek teasingly with his knuckle.
You barely offered him a smile, “I’m scared it won’t happen.”
His eyebrows furrowed, “Why’s that?”
You shrugged, “Because if it hasn’t happened yet then what if it never will?”
“Oh, sweetheart.” George tisked and gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “It’s still early…it’s been barely a month-”
“But we weren’t even really being safe before that. How did it not already accidentally happen?”
“I dunno.” he chuckled, “But that’s okay. I am in no rush. We have our whole lives together and it’s only been a little while of trying and I’m not giving up yet. I’m not giving up on us or our babies, okay?”
You sniffled and nodded.
“So don’t worry, darling. Don’t stress yourself out over this because you’re just going to make yourself crazy with worry.”
“I want to give you a family.” you mumbled sadly.
“You are my family.” George promised and leaned in to kiss your temple. “You’re all I need to be happy.”
“I love you.” you whispered, turning your head slightly to urge his lips on yours in a sweet kiss.
“I love you.” he kissed you once more before he was standing up and offering out his hands to you, “Now let’s get you out of this bathtub and into that dress so you can be the most breathtaking woman at the party.”
The event hall was located near the centre of town and was decorated lavishly for the evening party that was to be hosted there. George parked on the street and even at the slight distance you were from the venue, the lights and music still made their way down the sidewalk and lured you in eagerly. With your hair curled and pinned to perfection and in your brand new gown purchased by the hands of your husband, you already felt like a million bucks, only eased more by the reassurance that he offered you only an hour earlier. He was truly all you needed and anything more was just a perfect treat.
Your hand rested daintily in the crook of his elbow as he led you both into the loud and boisterous hall and right away, other partygoers were greeting you over the music and noise. Butlers passed by with platters of horderves and George snagged you both a small serving each on the way to your table. Right up near the front, your reserved table was awaiting you, and a few of your friends were already there and in their seats, mingling and drinking.
At the sight of you, your friends had plenty to say about your matching dress and tie and the way you just looked so perfect together. Friendly cheek kisses were shared by the ladies and the men exchanged handshakes and everyone was arranging themselves in their seats that were labeled with golden calligraphy name tags. George pulled out your chair for you and helped you take your seat in your spot before he was leaning down with his hands on your shoulders to let you know he was going to the bar to order some drinks. You reached up one hand to pat over his in acknowledgement and he leaned down to kiss your cheek before disappearing through the crowd with a few of the husbands.
“Oh he is enamoured by you.” one of your friends gushed from across the table.
“And this dress is stunning!” another reached over to touch your sleeve.
“He picked it out.” you admitted - only slightly bragging, “Came home with it today and said he needed to buy it for me because he kept picturing me in it.”
The girls swooned over that, lighthearted jealousy filling the air.
“You two are too cute.” another one of the women said, “It’s a known fact that the Russells are all too perfect.”
“Yep. Makes me sick!” another joked.
The one on your right nudged your arm gently, leaning in to say quietly while still being heard over the band playing, “Did you hear that your husband might be getting a promotion tonight?”
Your eyes widened, “No. I didn’t hear that. Is it true?”
She nodded, “My husband heard at work. Apparently George has been doing an excellent job…he’s so dedicated, y’know? The mayor is so impressed.”
“It’s a surprise?” you questioned.
“Think so. But I don’t even know if it’s 100% true so don’t go saying anything anyway. I know you two have no secrets between you and all.”
You pretended to lock your lips with your fingers and throw away the imaginative key and you shared quiet giggles.
The men returned shortly after and George set your drink down on the table in front of you before he was unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket and then sitting down beside you with his own drink. His hand rested on the back of your chair while his eyes took in the party around you from the crowded tables of neighbours to the impressive height of the floral centerpieces on each, sipping his drink calmly. You set your hand on his thigh as you took to your own drink, naturally keeping him within arms reach at all times even if the attention was on the conversation at your table.
It wasn’t long before the performers were introduced to the crowd and the stage was filled with female dancers, their costumes not leaving much to the imagination other than streaks of glitter and sparkle covering them scandalously. The music guided them and the men cheered loudly as the women watched politely, you among them. But George wasn’t looking at the stage. Instead, his head was turned away from the show just so he could stare at you instead.
Cluelessly, you sipped your drink and watched the show, unknowing to the way his attention was focused all on you. A calm smile rested on his lips and his eyes took in every inch of your face as you sat at his side so effortlessly. When his hand dropped to your lap and he gave your knee a squeeze, you finally looked at him, eyes wide in surprise at seeing him already staring at you.
George leaned in towards you and you met him halfway so he could whisper against your ear behind the loud show music playing through the spacious room, “Wanna come get some air with me?”
You smiled innocently at him and set your drink back on the table as your silent agreement.
He got up first from his chair and took your hand to guide you after him, moving smoothly away from your table without wanting to interrupt the show. Your friends only shared knowing glances among themselves at the sight of the two of you sneaking off. You didn’t necessarily know you were that predictable to outsiders.
The music from the ballroom muffled as you emerged into the hallway and let the double doors close behind you, having a moment alone in peace of just the two of you. George spun you under his arm and then pulled you right up against his body, sliding his arm around your waist lovingly as his lips found yours with ease. You raised your hands up to the side of his neck to hold him there, gladly letting him kiss you deeply within the rush of escaping the crowded party.
George pulled away from your lips only to whisper honestly to you, “You really are the most beautiful woman here tonight.”
You caressed his smooth jaw with your thumbs, “All thanks to this dress you picked out.”
“Your beauty requires no thanks to me.” he corrected smoothly, taking your hands from his face to hold in his own and he started to walk backwards to pull you after him towards the washrooms.
You walked after him giddily, only pulling your hands from his grasp and falling against his chest with your arms around his shoulders as he backed into the empty women’s washroom. In the formal setting of the ballroom, the washroom was designed just as lavishly and the mirror framed lounge with a central circular sofa welcomed you warmly. Your lips found his again and he blindly locked the door behind you before spinning you both around and leading you farther into the elegant room.
You could never get enough of his lips and even as he licked his way into your mouth, you were still pulling at the back of his neck to feel him closer, moaning softly into his kiss. George’s hands slid down your body and over your hips and ass and his dress shoes scuffed over the marble floor as he guided you towards the small make-up counter across the room. Often used for ladies to excuse themselves from the party to freshen up their lipstick or blush at the built-in vanity, it was now taken as a place for George to press you up against in the most erotic way, sending your heart in your throat and between your legs in eager anticipation. Only the simplest of touches from your husband sent you spiralling.
“Oh my God.” you breathed into his mouth as your kiss broke for him to focus on shuffling up your voluminous skirt.
Both already breathing heavily, your mouths were open in lust as lips brushed tauntingly and you shared air together. Your hands held onto his biceps over the expensive material of his tuxedo jacket and his warm hands snapped the waistband of your lacey panties against your waist. You giggled and he lowered to a crouch in front of you, holding up your skirt in one hand as his other started to pull down your underwear and his lips trailed after them in slow open-mouthed kisses across your skin. His gelled hair wasn’t easy to get your hand in without ruining it completely so you settled for resting your hands on the cold vanity countertop that you were resting back against the edge of.
George stood back up and in one smooth motion, his lips were capturing yours in a filthy kiss. You let one arm toss around his shoulders as you kissed him back hungrily, pulling hearty moans from his throat at the way you melted into each other and he shoved your underwear in his pants pocket. His hand took its place under your skirt and pressed right down against your clit, making your next breath shutter.
“Fuck-”
George swallowed up your words with his mouth, tasting the way you swore at his touch, locking his pillowy lips with yours perfectly. He stroked your clit lazily with his fingertips and soon had you trying to grind against his hand as he stood between your legs and was nearly leaning into you over the vanity.
You tilted your head back to break your kiss with a exhale, “George-”
Breathing in time with each other into each other’s mouths, you held him close around his shoulders as he made you wet with ease; like he knew your body like the back of his hand. His lustful eyes were on yours, unwavering, glimmering in the warm light of the circular mirrored room you found yourselves in, companion only to the muffled music from the party across the hall.
His fingers moved a little faster against your clit and his attention was focused all on your face as he watched the way your expression changed for him, your nose scrunching up in pleasure and your eyebrows furrowing slightly with the moan that reverberated in your chest. He stopped suddenly, forcing a gasp from you, and his fingers slowed right down to rub over your pussy instead, smearing around the sweet wetness that pooled out of you by his very own touch.
“Fuck, you get wet for me so easy, my good girl.” he praised into your mouth, his body pressed right up against yours.
“I’m yours.” you promised him.
“Uh huh?” he swirled his fingers around your clit again, taunting you, “Do you want me to put a baby in you, darling?”
“Fuck, yes please.” you rushed out.
“Want me to make you a mommy? Say it.”
“Please put a baby in me, George.” you pleaded, tugging at his tie to try and pull his lips on yours again, your legs spreading wider to urge his touch where you craved him. “Let me make you a daddy.”
“God damn, you’re so perfect.” George groaned, rubbing messily at your clit again.
A pleasurable shriek fell from your throat and your head tossed back blissfully, welcoming his lips to your neck in feverish kisses that he moved right up under your ear to make you shiver. His fingers created the perfect friction against your aching clit and you ground against his touch, desperate for more. You always wanted more.
“Baby, please.” you breathed to the ceiling, “Please fuck me. Please cum inside me. I need you so fucking bad.”
George pulled his hand out from under your skirt so he could shove off his black jacket and he tossed it behind him to hopefully land on the couch in the middle of the room. Neither of you cared enough to watch where it went because then he was unbuckling his belt and you were shuffling up your skirt some more and draping your hair over one shoulder as the heat was already rushing over your body. You didn’t separate for long and even still he stood so close to you at the counter that you could breathe into each other’s mouths, eyes locked, hearts beating as one.
He grabbed your thighs and hoisted you up onto the edge of the counter as your hands pulled his lips back on yours for more kisses. George’s grip on your hips pulled you closer to him and the feeling of his fingers pressing into your hips had your body arching into him hungrily. You reached down to wrap your gentle hand around his dick and gave it a few impatient strokes, feeling how it only stiffened up more at your touch. It felt like you were in a rush, driven by lust and desire, and George nudged your legs open wider so he could step right up to the vanity, at the perfect height to let the head of his cock nudge against your sensitive clit.
“Don’t tease me, you asshole.” you giggled breathily, earning a soft laugh from your husband as he kissed the corner of your mouth. You held onto his biceps as he carefully fed his thick cock into your leaking cunt, sheathing so snugly inside you that both of your mouths fell open in unison, eyes locking.
“Fuck, you feel so good.” George whispered against your lips, sliding a hand around the small of your back to urge you a little closer to the edge so he could get as deep as possible.
“Oh my God.” you exhaled shakily, wrapping your legs around his waist to keep him close and your arms slung around his shoulders to pull his lips on yours. “Oh my God.”
You shared deep sloppy kisses as he started to thrust into you slowly and your moan against his lips had his eyebrows furrowing in filthy bliss. He broke your kiss for a moment to look at your face before dropping his gaze down between you, lifting up the hem of his dress shirt out of the way even if your skirt was still covering most of it. You tilted his head back up to look at you desperately, wanting to find the love in his eyes, and he thrusted into you a little faster as your gaze sent him spinning.
You breathed in time together, wrapped up together on the vanity counter, and as George’s feet stayed planted securely shoulder width apart in his dress shoes against the polished marble floor, he had the ability to take you as he wanted you right then and there. His lips pressed to your jaw in fleeting kisses as he held your body close and fucked you faster, desperate to feel more of you.
Your head fell back with a moan and he helped himself to your neck, holding you in place on the edge of the counter. As the seconds passed, he only got more desperate, thrusting into you faster, harder, holding your body against his in that gorgeous blue dress he bought for you.
“George-“ you cried out softly, clinging onto him, spreading your legs wider for him so he could get deeper. Your manicured fingernails grasped the back of his dress shirt around his waist, crumpling the once perfectly ironed material in your fist as your heels dropped from your feet one and then the other, landing on the marble floor with a sharp thud.
“Good girl.” George praised against your cheek, his large hands caressing your thighs and your back as he held you close to his body.
Your eyes were focused over his shoulder to the wall opposite you, hung up on the reflections that the mirror-framed room offered you of all angles. It was possessive to watch like that, how your arms and legs were wrapped around him completely, fingers of one hand drifting into the back of his brown hair as his warm breath was panted against your neck in time with his quick thrusts. It made you salivate with desire for the man you loved more than life itself.
“Oh my God-“ you moaned out for him, dizzy on the sound of his skin clapping filthily with yours as the luxurious bathroom muted the distant sounds of the loud party music through the ballroom. Your hand tightened in his hair as he fucked the whimpers out of you, igniting warmth over your skin. “Just like that, baby, please-“
“Wanna cum for me?” George asked lowly against your cheek.
“Yes, please.” you huffed out shakily. “Please make me cum.”
“Yeah?” George grabbed your thighs to spread you a little wider, making you hold your legs open by linking them over his forearms as his hands took your hips to hold you in place.
Your pleading hands pulled his lips on yours by the back of his head, sharing filthy tongue led kisses between your pants and moans together as he drew you both closer. Both of you were completely ignorant to the muffled speech going on back in the ballroom, too hung up on each other. Tossing your head back with an overwhelmed moan to the ceiling, your hands dropped behind you to the countertop and your teeth sunk into your bottom lip.
The skirt of your dress bunched around your middle and his hands were buried underneath it to hold you by the waist at the edge of the vanity, fucking you deliciously until that warmth was tightening in the pit of your stomach. Eyebrows furrowed as you stared at him lustfully, you basked in the pleasure he brought to you so easily, giving him the sweetest moans that helped him closer to the conclusion you needed from him.
“Cum inside me.” you whispered to him longingly.
George stared back at you strongly, thrusting into you steadily as he taunted you with words that sent you whirling, “Want me to put a baby in you, darling? Cum so fucking deep inside you until you’re completely knocked up?”
“Fuck me.” you groaned through your teeth, your voice wavering, “Please, George. Please knock me up. Please give me your babies. Please, please, please-“
“Uh huh-“ he spoke over your soft begging, holding you by your waist as close as he could so he could hit as deep as possible, making your toes curl in midair.
You tugged the skirt of your dress up and got your fingers on your swollen clit to rub quickly at that spot, desperate for those incredible waves of pleasure that came to you only alongside your darling husband. Your head fell back with a gasping groan, your pussy squeezing down around him snugly as your orgasm approached quickly and you mouthed his name to the mirrored room in a whisper.
So many reflections to watch your sneaky rendezvous but George was only staring at the real you right in front of him, watching how you succumbed to the pleasure he brought you, “Let go for me, darling. Take the fucking cum out of me. Take it.”
Your fingers rubbed quickly at your clit, pulling the air from your lungs as your body gave itself to him completely, pushed over the edge by the way he thrusted into you so perfectly. You tensed up around him and he groaned lowly between you as the pulsing flutters of your pussy radiated bursts of pleasurable sensations up his spine. You came for him with a cry of his name, your eyes staring back at his handsome face as your expression wavered with overwhelm.
George only fucked you faster, desperately chasing that sweet conclusion that would bring you both closer together. You slung your arms around his shoulders as you shuttered against his body with the intense pleasure that radiated over every inch of you. He shifted to get your legs back around your waist and he held you as close as possible as he thrusted into you sloppily.
“Hold onto me.” he whispered strongly, urging your hands to cling onto the back of his shirt to keep you together as close as possible. Your ankles linked together behind his waist and your heels pressed into the flesh of his bum to keep him nice and deep as his breathing grew shallower.
He was coming seconds later, nearly slumping into you as your arms held each other close and he forced himself as deep as he could get inside you. His moans were beautiful and you breathed him into your senses greedily as he was all yours. You took every drop he gave you, grinding against his body to pull more out of him with how badly you wanted it, whispering little breathy yeses against his cheek in time with his final few precise thrusts.
“Oh my God.” you breathed.
“Mm.” George dusted a fleeting kiss to your neck as he stood up straight again.
You held onto his biceps as he pushed up the hem of your dress to allow you both to watch him pull out slowly. His dick was slick in the mixture of both of your love and he was softening slowly in the warm air of the ballroom bathroom. He grabbed your thighs to spread your legs nice and wide and you leaned back on your hands with a sultry little smile as he stared down at your pussy and licked his lips at the sight of the thick white cream dripping back out.
“Keep it in there.” he ordered quietly. “Keep your legs up for a bit.”
“Mhm.” you rested back against the vanity mirror and kept your legs up, clenching your muscles tightly to keep everything in for as long as he wanted you to.
George leaned in to kiss your lips a few times, bringing a loving smile to your face at his obvious adoration that was even more apparent in the way he looked at you when you separated.
“I love you.” he whispered.
“I love you so much.” you replied quietly.
He drifted away from you to tuck himself back into his slacks and he buckled his pants up again and you watched him redress peacefully, always one to linger on the domesticity of it all. George retrieved his jacket from where he had tossed it onto the centre sofa and he shrugged it back on and buttoned the two buttons once more.
Staring at him from your spot atop the vanity, you felt your heart swell with undeniable love for him, tears brimming in your eyes with the overwhelming concept that he was yours for life and that you were aiming to make a family together. He was all you wanted, even if you wanted more of him.
Dedicated to the growth of your family, you let your legs ache as you kept them raised and spread, willing to do anything for the cause. George stopped by one of the mirrored walls of the circular room and let that same tune play on his lips as he tended to his hair and made sure it was gelled back down and away from his face, no remnants of your fingers in it. He then returned to you and situated himself between your legs, sliding his hands up your skirt that hid you modestly and he caressed your warm skin.
“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly.
“Little dizzy.” you admitted, your head resting back against the mirror, “But I’m so good.”
“Dizzy?”
“Mhm. You made me cum really hard.” you giggled.
George smiled, his momentary concern melting into a cheeky grin, and he leaned in to kiss your lips. You shared whispered ‘I love you’s before he was helping you to lower your legs and guide you off the counter. On wobbly legs, you held onto his forearms and took a second to steady yourself until you were able to stand straight on your own. George pressed a kiss to your temple and then pulled your underwear from his pocket for you to put back on. You held onto him as you carefully pulled them up your legs under your dress and then slid on each of your heels one at a time.
“Okay?” he asked.
You smiled at him and nodded, blinking away the slight dizziness that lingered. You had a party to return to after all.
When you returned to the ballroom hand in hand, the mayor was on the stage with the microphone in hand, addressing the crowd. It was otherwise quiet as if they were missing something but almost the exact moment you walked through the doors, the spotlight was on you. You raised a hand up to shield your eyes from the bright white light and George guided you slowly back towards your table as the mayor called you out by name.
“There they are! The Russells have made their return!”
Blushing furiously with the entire town’s attention on you, you clung tighter onto George’s hand and followed close beside him to your table.
On the stage, the mayor wasn’t done, “I have to admit that I am quite proud of these two’s dedication to helping our community to grow into the next generation. I’m sure it won’t be long until we can welcome another child into our perfect little paradise, isn’t that right?”
The crowd cheered loudly with applause and you nearly felt faint, the spotlight following you through the crowd. George’s hand rested on the small of your back as he helped you onto your chair again.
The mayor continued, speaking into the microphone as his other hand gestured out towards the two of you, “In your absence, George, you missed my most important announcement of the night.”
George offered him a tight smile as he sat back down beside you with a polite, “Awfully sorry about that, Frank.”
“No, no.” the mayor assured him, “I understand that you take your job as man of the house just as seriously as you take your job with us here.”
Your dizziness was only growing into a sweat at your brow and you dabbed your napkin from your place setting gently at your temples to try and tame your rising temperature. Maybe it was the warm spotlight, you assumed, or the attention of the entire neighbourhood being focused on you that made you nervous but you really weren’t feeling too well.
George was looking up to the nearby stage as the mayor addressed him directly, meaning his back was almost completely towards you. You set a clammy hand on his shoulder.
The mayor continued, “Which is exactly why I wanted to bring up your dedication to your service to us and your ability to live with the morals and values of our dear community at the forefront of your mind.”
You leaned towards George’s shoulder, whispering shakily to him, “Baby, I don’t feel too well.”
He glanced at you briefly before the mayor drew his attention with a call of his name.
“George Russell,”
Your forehead slumped against his shoulder blade, “I wanna go home.”
George shifted to let you lean on his shoulder and your arm naturally wrapped pleadingly around his, warmed by the blinding light of the spotlight.
The mayor was unphased by your obvious distress as he continued addressing your husband directly, “it is with great pride that I would like to offer you a position with some of us in headquarters. It will come with more responsibility but I’m sure the pay increase will be beneficial when it comes to any little additions to your family.”
George’s attention was torn between this surprise news of an offered promotion and the way that you were nearly limp against his shoulder. His arm wrapped around you protectively but his gaze was still politely focused on the stage.
“I really want to go home.” you repeated shakily to him.
Your friends were oblivious, too excited about the proper announcement that was now given to the man it was directed towards under the blinding lights of the decorated ballroom. You felt faint.
“What do you say, George?” the mayor asked loudly, his voice booming across the spacious ballroom. “Will you live up to the kind of man we know you can be?”
“George.” you whispered pleadingly, too out of it to even really know what was going on. “Please, can we go?”
George glanced at you briefly before looking back up to the stage and the expectant faces of his co-workers and mayor. He nodded to him quickly, “Yes, thank you. I would love to accept the offer.”
The crowd broke into applause and with the chaos that it brought, George turned to you quickly and grabbed your purse from the table before standing up.
“Come on, let’s get you home.”
He helped you out of your chair as the spotlight drifted elsewhere across the bustling party and your friends gave you odd stares at your sudden change and out-of-character distress. George, riddled with worry, wrapped his arm around your waist protectively and led you towards the exit doors of the ballroom, the cheers of the crowd echoing in your ears and you clamped your hands over them to block out the noise.
Once out in the crisp evening air, you were stumbling across the pavement and George was pulling you to a stop to look at him. Hands trembling, you pushed your hair out of your face and kept your gaze downcast in near shame.
“What’s wrong, darling?” George asked, rubbing your bare arms with his warm hands.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your night.” you said shakily.
“You didn’t ruin anything.” George brushed your apology off easily, “What’s wrong?”
“I dunno…it just…was stuffy in there and overwhelming…I don’t feel too good.” you sniffled and he pulled you in for a gentle hug. With your arms tucked around your middle shyly, he held you close and pressed a kiss to your temple. You didn’t want to complain but you were still not feeling much better and you stood back from him again, holding a trembling hand to your mouth, “I feel so gross, George, can we please go home?”
“Yes, my love, of course.” George took your arm and gently guided you towards the car.
He opened the door for you and helped you in and even buckled your seatbelt for you before he shut the door and rushed around to the other side to get behind the wheel. You shut your eyes and leaned back in your seat, the world still slightly spinning around you.
George turned the key and pulled away from the curb, “Did it come on this fast?”
You nodded, working up the courage to speak your response, “Felt really tired today and then dizzy while we were in the bathroom but…”
When your body made you lurch and you pressed your hand to your mouth, George’s wide eyes looked over at you.
“Tell me to pull over if you need me to.” he instructed gently.
You nodded in acknowledgement.
“I’m sorry.” you mumbled.
He reached over to set a comforting hand on your thigh, “Please don’t be sorry.”
The street lamps of your perfect little community whizzed past your window as George hurried towards home, his gaze constantly flicking over to you from the street ahead just to make sure you were good. It was odd the way you so quickly felt sick and it honestly made him quite nervous, wondering what had happened to trigger such obvious illness within you in such a short period of time.
It didn’t take long to get home since your neighbourhood wasn’t very large and George had barely put the car in park before you were tossing off your seatbelt and climbing out of your seat in a rush. George didn’t even turn off the car before he was hurrying after you towards the porch where you caught yourself on the white painted pillar and threw up in the garden. He was right behind you as you sputtered distastefully, pulling your hair away from your face for you as the nausea came over you again and you threw up for a second time right into your rosebush.
“Oh my-“ you whimpered, eyes brimming with tears as you wiped your mouth with the back of your trembling hand.
George hushed you comfortingly as you let out a little sob and he turned you to face him so he could easily pull you into a warm hug. You ducked your face in his neck, embarrassed, and your shaking hands grasped onto the back of his suit jacket to hold onto him comfortingly.
“Let’s get you inside and into bed, okay?” he whispered to you, stroking your hair with a gentle hand that rubbed down your back.
You nodded and sniffled and stepped away from him so he could hurry and turn the car off, gather your purse, and then return to your side to help you inside. Your spotless house greeted you warmly when George flicked on the lights but once glimpse at the kitchen had you panicked again.
“We didn’t even get to eat. You must be starving-“
“I’m okay.” George assured you quickly, steering you towards the hallway so he could take you to bed, “I can find something for us. Are you hungry at all?”
“Maybe a little.” you answered softly.
“Okay,” George pulled back the perfectly tucked bedsheets on your side of the bed and sat you down carefully, “I’ll get you into bed and maybe warm up some soup.”
“Okay.” you breathed.
He reached around you to unzip your dress and you lifted your arms up so he could pull it over your head.
“I wanted us to have a nice night.” you mumbled sadly.
“Hey,” George took your chin in his hand gently to get you to look at him, “I kinda enjoyed myself when we were there, did you not?”
A little smile pricked at the corner of your mouth at his implication and you nodded slightly in agreement, “Yeah. I did.”
He smiled proudly back at you, your dress draped over his arm, and he reached behind you again to unclip your bra. He undressed you carefully and then helped you to shuffle into one of his sweatshirts.
“I ruined your promotion.” you sighed sadly.
“You didn’t ruin anything.” George assured you, gently untying the ribbon from your hair, as his voice lowered to a whisper, “It’s just a job…it’s barely a job. You know that.”
“Yeah.” you said, “Although it’s nice that you’re being recognized. Makes this all a little easier.”
George didn’t answer you for a second, his gentle hands stroking through your hair to smooth it down over your shoulders. When you looked up at him at his lack of response, he appeared deep in thought.
“What is it?” you frowned.
“Do you think you should take a pregnancy test, darling?” he asked softly.
You almost scoffed, “What for?”
“Because you’ve been really tired and dizzy and you just threw up in our garden?”
You bit lightly at your bottom lip and dropped your gaze to your lap. George’s fingers still danced through your hair as he stood in front of you, letting you decide on your answer for yourself.
“I don’t think I could deal with it being negative.” you whispered to the carpet. “I can’t deal with that anymore and especially not here. I’ll fucking lose it.”
George’s thumbs caressed your cheeks and he crouched down in front of you so you could look at him, taking your hands in his, “I know you want this more than anything but that’s the reason why we came here, remember? To have what we always wanted? You keep psyching yourself up about this like we’re still at home that you’re not even letting yourself enjoy it and think of the positives of what could be. We have this whole opportunity for us and I don’t want anything to hold us back from living this life that has been built for us.”
You nodded.
George brought your joined hands to his mouth and he kissed your knuckles without taking his eyes off your downcast gaze and he whispered against your soft skin, “Please take a test?”
You sniffled and lifted your head back to stare at the ceiling.
“Please?” George said softly, pausing to kiss your hand again, “I’ll be right here.”
Your bottom lip trembled and you shyly met his gaze, feeling warm butterflies in your stomach by the way the man you loved stared at you. It was obvious that he loved you more than life itself and you felt the exact same right back. With a moment's thought, you nodded and breathed out a barely audible, “Okay.”
George honestly smiled and he stood up again, pausing just long enough to kiss your head before he was hurrying into the ensuite and pulled open the bottom cabinet, “Okay!”
You pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes as you tried to calm yourself down since your anxiety started to bubble up more in your chest. Still in a full face of makeup, smudging was the least of your concerns at that moment and you focused on deep breathing and keeping your tears at bay.
George returned to his spot in front of you and he held out the pregnancy test to you. You could see how excited and impatient he was - even if he tried to tone it down for your sake - and the thought of having to tell him it was yet another negative made your throat feel like razor blades. Every time it completely broke your heart. He was so strong. This was your last resort. You had given up everything for this one last chance.
You took the unopened test from him and felt the weight of it in your hands for a moment, staring down at the blank screen.
“Where do you want me?” he asked thoughtfully.
“Can you come in with me?” your voice was shaking.
“Sure, sweetheart.” George stepped to the side and let you get up from the side of the bed.
You were less dizzy and nauseous but still terribly tired and he followed you closely into the bathroom just to make sure you were steady…and for your emotional support. He sat up on the bathroom counter as you shuffled your panties down and helped yourself to the toilet, holding the test between your legs while your singular evening party drink went right through you.
You couldn’t remember what number test this was that you had taken and although it was the first since moving into this perfect little paradise of a community, the memory of your past experiences never faded. Your mind whirled with thoughts of the worst…if the alcohol in your recent drink would mess up the results, if you just had a sickness and that’s why you felt so strange all day, if you were too far lost for even a utopian community to save you and your dream.
The test was re-capped and George took it from you to rinse off while you cleaned yourself up and flushed. You wanted to be as far away from it as possible and you returned to the bedroom to sit on the side of the bed while George checked the time on his watch, test resting on the counter patiently.
“Three minutes.” George said, following after you back into the bedroom. “Do you need anything? Some water maybe?”
“No thank you.” you mumbled.
He hesitated in front of you.
“I’m going to get you some water.”
“George-”
He was already half out the bedroom door, “Be right back!”
He couldn’t sit still. You couldn’t move.
From the distant kitchen, you could hear him whistling that same tune that had been stuck in your head for ages but you didn’t have the energy to think much of it. Your leg bounced restlessly off the side of the bed, unknowing of the time, and you awaited your husband's return. He was so selfless. He was so good.
Soon, he was returning quickly and he passed you a glass of water; always one to stay busy. You sipped a bit of it to humour him and despite the fact that your mouth was terribly dry, you did not want to drink. You almost felt sick again. Not wanting to go through the discomfort of throwing up again, you clenched your lips shut and stared at the carpet, trying to keep yourself calm.
George checked his watch.
You held out your glass to him as if by instinct and started to get up.
“You should drink more, love-”
“I’m gonna be sick again.” you hurried out as you pushed past him into the ensuite.
Dropping to your knees at the toilet, you threw up loudly, struggling to hold back your tears. George set your glass on the counter and crouched behind you to comfort you by pulling your hair from your face as your body had you lurching to throw up again. He rubbed your back and your shoulders and hummed that silly little tune quietly to try and help calm you down.
“I’m sorry.” you mumbled weakly.
“Stop apologizing.” he tisked, following you onto the ground as you slumped from your knees onto your bum. You leaned back against his chest and he flushed the toilet for you before wrapping you up in his arms lovingly, pressing tender kisses to your head. “Through sickness and health, remember?”
You let a small smile come to your lips at the faint memory of the quaint English church in the countryside, the gentle organ playing, and George standing before you at the altar with his hands holding yours. It felt like so long ago as if the essence of time was skewed in your mind. In a way, it really was. Life was so different now but you both were sure this would be better…be worth the end of what once was to find your new beginning together.
“I love you.” you whispered.
“I love you.” he promised into your hair. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay.” you sighed.
He gave your hands a squeeze, “Think you can stand and we can take a look at this test of ours?”
You bit nervously at your bottom lip, “You look at it.”
“You don’t want to look at it with me?”
You shook your head.
“You sure?”
You nodded.
“Can I help you off the floor first at least?”
You permitted him to stand up and he slowly helped you up onto wobbly legs and you returned to the bedroom to sit on the side of the bed. Picking anxiously at your fingernails, you watched as he returned to the bathroom counter directly in your line of vision. He took one last glance at you before he was picking up the pregnancy test from the counter and flipping it over to read it, not giving himself a moment to second guess himself.
You struggled to read his expression as he read the result; his eyebrows furrowed and lips in a soft pout. You were waiting for the news you had grown all too used to. He wasn’t saying anything and you certainly didn’t want to be the first one to speak.
George little sniffle had your heart racing with anxiety, making you near positive that it was yet another negative. He looked over at you from the ensuite, bathed in the surrounding artificial light in his tuxedo with his gelled hair falling out of place, and his soft pout was unmissable. A single tear slipped down his cheek.
You sat frozen in place, aching for him to just rip off the bandaid, “What?”
“You’re pregnant.” he breathed, his voice breaking.
It felt as though the air was knocked from your lungs. You blinked at him, “What?”
George broke into a grin and he nodded, reaching up to wipe his eyes with the heel of his palms before taking another look at the test. He let out a wet chuckle at the result that stared back at him, “Holy shit.”
“Bring it here.” you ordered, almost panicking in disbelief.
George joined you on the side of the bed and you grabbed the test from him, almost glaring down at it in your hand. The screen revealed two pink lines, one just a little more faded than the other but still clearly visible to the naked eye.
“See it?” George pointed to it as if you couldn’t see it yourself. “It’s so clear.”
Your mouth opened as if to say something but no words came out. No words felt adequate at that moment. Opening and closing your mouth like a clueless fish, you felt dizzy with emotional overwhelm.
“You’re pregnant, baby.” George rehashed it to you sweetly with a smile as he rubbed his hand over your back, “You have a little us growing inside you right now.”
You couldn’t tear your wide eyes away from the positive test in your hand, stumbling over your next breath as you struggled to hold back the sudden wave of tears that threatened to overtake you. The air felt lighter and you gasped for relief, letting it out with a sob to your bedroom walls.
“Oh God.” you cried tears of joy, your trembling hands clutching the positive test in your two handed grip and you pulled it to your chest.
George embraced you right away, pulling you close with happy tears of his own. You turned towards him lovingly and rested your head on his shoulder with your face tucked in his neck, letting him hold you just like that, basking in the relief that was felt by the both of you. Your tears dripped onto the fabric of his tuxedo jacket even as you held open your palms again to get another look at those two pink lines. George kissed your temple proudly.
“I love you.” he whispered shakily.
“I love you.” you sniffled and finally turned to look him in the eye.
Through your tears, you shared quivering grins and he reached a hand up to caress your cheek and then pulled you in for a wet chasté kiss. Both of you were smiling into your kisses but you couldn’t get enough and the love that swelled in your heart was almost overpowering, forcing you to grab onto his tie and really hold his lips on yours. Your tear streaked cheeks pressed together moistly and your kisses tasted faintly of those salty tears you shared but the warm happiness that burned within the two of you was enough to overtake even the darkest of days.
You broke your kiss only to stare down at the confirmation you held in your hands, your palms delicately supporting the proof of your destiny. Sniffling as your tears slowed, you leaned against your husband who never once left your side, letting his fingers brush your hair over your shoulder so he could lean in beside you cheek to cheek.
“It was all worth it.” he said softly, rubbing his hand over your back, “I knew this would be good for us.”
You nodded.
“How are you feeling?” he asked gently, noting your silence.
You looked back at him with a calm smile and lifted a hand up to slide around the back of his neck and rest his forehead against yours, “So happy. And finally so at peace.”
“Good.” George whispered. “You deserve nothing less.”
“We’re finally gonna have our family, George.” you smiled sweetly, “You and me. What we’ve been waiting so long for.”
He swallowed you up in his arms, hugging you so tightly and so lovingly that you swore you never felt the heat of his love pass onto you as strongly before as it did in that moment. You felt as light as air and you melted into him happily, a peaceful smile on your face as you held onto him and let a content tune hum pleasantly from your lips.
The egg sizzled as it hit the bottom of the hot skillet, the kitchen filled with warm morning sunlight and the smell of cooking breakfast and brewing coffee that lured George from down the hall to join you. In only his work slacks and socks with his tie draped around his bare neck, he made you his priority over getting dressed, enveloping you in the scent of his cologne as he wrapped his arms around you from behind and dipped his shaved face into your neck.
His hands glided softly under the hem of his sweatshirt you wore to feel the smooth skin of your still generally flat stomach, “Good morning, mommy.”
You grinned to the stovetop at the reminder of the long-awaited news you had found out the night before and you leaned your head back against his shoulder to guide his lips to yours for a soft kiss. With his thumbs rubbing lovingly over your warm skin, you melted happily into him, “Good morning, daddy.”
Purely innocent and bursting with love for your family of two that would soon be made three, you shared a few more lingering kisses that made your heart swell.
“You sure you feel up to making breakfast?” George asked softly with one more caress to your stomach and a kiss to your neck.
“Yeah.” you assured him easily. “I like making you breakfast.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“I’m feeling so much better.”
George kissed your temple and then slid away from you to retrieve his shirt from the ironing board where it was left in the living room as it was every morning.
“Newspaper is already on the table.” you told him as he buttoned up his shirt on his way back over to you. “Your promotion made the front page.”
Living in such a small tight-knit community, there wasn’t much to report upon which only made George’s promotion big news. Front page worthy. He stopped at his usual spot at the kitchen island and glanced down at the newspaper as he tied his tie around his neck under the collar of his freshly ironed white shirt. Pausing to take a bite of toast from the plate that you had set beside the newspaper, he chewed as he straightened out his tie, still skimming the article.
“I don’t know what’s the big deal.” he spoke through his mouthful, “Not like it’s a real promotion.”
“Well, not everyone knows that.” you answered calmly, still tending to the bacon and eggs on the stove.
“I guess.” George flipped to the next page before reaching for his mug for a sip of the steaming coffee that you had poured him.
“We’re lucky to even be here under these circumstances. The other wives don’t know a thing.”
George glanced up at you, knowing your conversation was treading towards dangerous territory surrounding the topic that was to be completely silenced under your discretion. You weren’t wrong, however, and thus it allowed you to be the one couple in the community that could freely speak to it - so long as you were completely alone and out of earshot of anyone else.
“Does it scare you?” George asked.
You plated the bacon and eggs and merely shrugged, “Sometimes. I don’t know their stories or why they’re here…what exactly led them to be a part of this without their knowledge. I can only hope that the husbands did it for the right reasons.”
Your two plates clinked gently against the island countertop as you set them between you.
“Besides,” you continued, “all I need to worry about is you and me. And our baby.”
George broke into a grin and he leaned in to kiss you sweetly.
“I know that we’re here for the right reasons.” you rubbed your hand up his chest and around the back of his neck, staring adoringly into his soft blue eyes.
“And that’s all that matters,” he agreed. “You and me.”
“You and me.” you nodded, pulling his lips on yours for another quick kiss. “And baby.”
“And baby.” he whispered happily. “Still so crazy…going to have to get used to that.”
“I know.” you fed him a piece of bacon, “It’s only been months and months of trying and waiting.”
“Are you going to start telling people today?”
“Should I?”
“If you want to.”
You took a bite of bacon for yourself, staring back at him with a sweet smile you couldn’t hold back, “Okay. Maybe I will.”
Breakfast was eaten in close proximity, taking second rank of importance behind lovable kisses and whispers of excitement and adoration for each other and your growing family. George took one more piece of bacon for the road before he was grabbing his lunch tin and you were following him to the front door to say your goodbyes.
“I really don’t want you to go.” you whispered, standing in the warm morning light of the foyer with your arms around his waist as he shrugged on his jacket.
“I know, darling.” George smiled sadly. “But now more than ever it’s imperative that I go every day.”
“I know.” you sighed. “I love you for that.”
George held your face in his hands and pulled your lips to his for a brief kiss before telling you honestly, “I hate leaving.”
“I know.”
You shared another kiss as he insisted, “It’s the worst.”
“Mhm.”
“It’s scary sometimes.”
“I know.” you leaned into him to capture his lips with yours in a lingering chasté kiss.
He sighed into it through his nose, gently sliding his hands from your face down your shoulders and arms, and as he broke your kiss, he guided your hands out from around his waist. You laced your fingers together lazily between you and kissed him once more.
“We’ll be waiting.” you promised.
George’s melancholy expression pricked into a smile and he took one hand from yours to dust over the front of the sweatshirt you wore and then dip under the hem, caressing your warm skin lovingly.
“Can’t wait until you start showing.”
“Me neither.” you gushed, holding up your sweater for him as you both stared down at what was to become your baby, fingers of your other hands still linked together.
George sunk down onto his knees and he gently slid his hands around your waist to press warmly against your back to pull you close. He dusted a sweet kiss to your stomach, right under your belly button, caressing your skin with his gentle loving hands, and you would have absolutely swooned.
“Bye bye, my little one. Be good to mummy today.”
As he stood up, he gave you a smooth kiss next that you were both smiling into.
“I love you.” you grinned adoringly.
“I love you.” he promised, his eyes skimming across your make-up free face as if you were the most beautiful thing he had seen in his life, “See you tonight.”
“See you.” you breathed, letting him slip away from you and out the front door.
You stood on the porch and waved him goodbye as he pulled the car out of the driveway and made his daily drive down your street among the line of fellow men as they journeyed to work together in a single file line.
George whistled happily in his car as the morning breeze took him to the outskirts of the neighbourhood and towards the vast desert landscape that framed your little oasis. With one arm resting on the open window beside him, he coasted in the steady lineup of cars that navigated towards the highly confidential headquarters where all the local men were to report for work at precisely 9am every morning. He hated leaving you but only more so now that you had both found out that you were finally expecting. On the other hand, it only proved to himself that his responsibility to attend his daily expectations was of the utmost importance.
As the glass structure atop the desert mountains grew closer on his approach, his car radio crackled to life with the expected daily recording.
“All male citizens on route to headquarters. Schedule is one time.”
George absolutely dreaded the idea of leaving you but he had a duty to withhold that allowed you to live your life together in your ideal oasis that was already starting to give you everything you ever wanted. So he took the drive without complaint as the road turned into the steep mountainous climb towards the building overseeing the guarded little castaway town.
The radio spoke again with the voice of the mayor, “Security risk is low. All units expected to pass without fault. Arriving at the gate in 3…2…1-”
George’s chest gasped for air as his vision burst from light into the darkness that surrounded him, staring up into the dizzying patterns of light that were projected onto the ceiling above. He reached towards his face and carefully removed the metal clamps from his eye sockets and blinked feverishly a few times as the moisture re-settled over his irises. The wavering sound of white noise that filled the darkened room was almost invisible to him now and as he sat himself up in the bed and stretched his arms over his head and twisted his spine until it cracked in relief, he was unbothered by it.
On his left, laying flat beside him, you laid peacefully, staring at the ceiling. The same clamps that he had been wearing also kept your eyes open, staring blankly up to the dark ceiling and the projection of light patterns that kept you stagnant. George shifted to face you on the bed and leaned down to kiss your pale cheek and caress your arm with the back of his finger.
“I’m here, love.” he whispered, his voice slightly hoarse, “I’m still right here with you.”
Leaving you in place, he slowly got up from the bed and let his bare feet touch the cold wood floor beneath him as he opened the blackout curtains that framed the bed. The room was still pitch black outside of the canopy bed thanks to the extra safety barrier of curtains that covered each drafty window. You couldn’t be too safe.
The floorboards creaked under George’s every step as he navigated the bedroom like he would every weekday and he pulled open the curtains from over one of the corner windows, allowing the room to be illuminated sufficiently by the morning sun. His eyes burned as the stream of bright light came flooding in and he rubbed his eyes with his fists as he once again became adjusted to the reality that surrounded him.
The sunlight guided him to the nearby dust filled table in the corner of the room where he nudged a few of the dated newspapers and magazines to the side, ignoring the way the oldest copy of the Daily Mirror peeked out from the bottom of the pile with a headline that he always avoided looking at and yet couldn’t stomach throwing away.
MAN & WOMAN DEAD IN TRAGIC DUAL SUICIDE
Your wedding picture was printed in black and white just below.
George flipped open his notebook and sat down on the rickey wooden chair to write the date at the top of the fresh page and then recorded his physical status. He took his height, weight, heart-rate, and blood pressure and then did the same for you - all but weight - as you laid limpy on the bed. He scribbled the numbers down carefully and made sure to check you twice just to make sure everything was as it should be - especially since you were now in such delicate condition back in your perfect oasis. He couldn’t afford a single thing to go wrong. You were counting on him after all.
“Perfect numbers today, darling.” George whispered to you as he closed his notebook and capped his pen, returning them both to the messy table across the room.
Having been in only his boxers, George grabbed a folded sweatshirt from the bin under the table and pulled it on to brave against the chilly Scottish air that helped itself through the beams of the worn log cabin otherwise protecting you from the elements. He stepped out of the bedroom and made his way down the narrow hallway to the quaint and virtually untouched kitchen and living room area. The well water collection from Monday still sat on the counter and he scooped himself a glass of water to rehydrate for a moment as he took in the scenic views through the large tinted windows.
Miles of lush forest sprawled in all directions for as far as he could see and after so long, he had started to forget which way was north or even which way civilization was. The Scottish highlands and forests were your only protection. Sometimes he wished you were able to watch the sunrise with him over the mountain peaks ever again but he had to force himself to stop missing what could be and focus on what now is. Your life was perfect together. Just you and him.
Never permitted to set foot outside the cabin, George took the stairs down to the cellar and patted barefoot across the stone floor in the dark until he reached the sliver of light that peeked through the cellar door from outside. Hidden beneath the shallow stairs that led to the fresh air, a grey bin sat in the pitch black.
George knew the routine well so his eyes didn’t need time to focus as he crouched under the stairs and shuffled through the bin in the dark. The rustle of grocery bags drew his hands in and he lifted them up and out of the hiding spot to take back upstairs. He only reached back in for the final item - a small bouquet of flowers still wrapped in cellophane from the store.
With a soft smile on his face, George took his time returning to the kitchen and he set his delivery on the stone countertop. The first bag contained a few food items for him such as non-perishable canned beans, peas, and cooked pastas in tomato sauce as well as a new bar of soap, a razor, and a few more similar necessities. The second bag contained a sealed medical kit in which George found needles, gause, tape, and rubbing alcohol. The medical bag of clear liquid was carefully wrapped in a clean towel alongside it.
George organized the supplies into piles and then lifted up the bouquet of flowers again, pulling down the cellophane slightly to get a good look at the mix of brightly-colored tulips, peonies, roses, and hydrangeas nestled in a halo of baby's breath and greenery. He raised it to his nose to take a deep inhale, savouring the heavenly scent of fresh flowers.
The card that was nestled within the flowers called his attention and he opened the little blank envelope to pull out the message inside.
Happy anniversary 🤍
He always requested weekly flowers from his sister in order to keep some sense of romantic normalcy in your changing lives together but her little sneaky addition of the card brought a tearful smile to his face. He had almost forgotten your anniversary among the strange twists of life and time. Life in your new home was different than in the physical world…both in reality and the linear flow of time. He would have to make a point to buy you something in the shops on his drive back to your shared home that evening.
But the generosity of his older sister never went unnoticed and he thanked the stars that he turned to her to keep your biggest secret. You had allowed George to choose the one person who would be your supplier for virtually the rest of your lives in hiding since he would be the one between the two of you who would return to the real world almost daily. It wasn’t a small ask to have her be the only person in the world to know your whereabouts and your story - to hide that from your families and friends as they grieved what they thought was your tragic and sudden death - but she was your most trustworthy and safest bet. Her devotion to her brother and you - her sister-in-law - was monumental and she managed to deliver the necessities to your secret hideaway twice a week like clockwork. George never knew how he would ever repay her.
George took his time freshening up with the water from the well, sparingly rinsing himself off with soap and a washcloth before shaving over the bone dry bathroom sink to get the best look he could of himself in the grimy and cracked mirror. Even if you would never see him in person again, he always wanted to look his best for you.
Then it was your turn and he took the bags back to your bedroom and set up the chair at your bedside to tend to you. You were laying perfectly still in your nightgown on the sturdy mattress with your ankles bound to the footboard and your arms resting at your sides. The IV needle was taped gently into your forearm and the bag hung on the metal pole just beside the bed, allowing a slow but steady drip of calorie-rich medicated liquid to keep your body fed and nourished while you laid in your stagnant state.
George first replaced the flowers in the vase beside your bed, removing the week-old ones for the fresh ones that had been delivered by his sister. He refilled their water and arranged them nicely and spoke to you quietly about how nice they looked and how pretty they smelled.
With washed hands and wearing medical gloves just to be extra cautious, George gently pulled the tape away from your skin and twisted off the IV drip from the needle that stayed nestled in your forearm. He wiped the area with rubbing alcohol to disinfect it and then retaped the needle in place. As he worked, he thought back to your conversation that morning and tried to imagine where the other husbands were at that moment and how they could tend to their wives like this without their consent. It nearly made George sick to think about that - about the possibility of having the one you loved most trapped there under his control for who knows how long simply for his own gain. That’s what made you and George different. You were in it together. You were in it for each other.
With another clean cloth and the bar of soap, George gently washed down your body and rinsed you off the best he could, tending to you lovingly. He brushed your hair and your teeth and made sure you were lying comfortably even if you couldn’t feel anything. Leaning over you cautiously, he dropped a few eye drops into your still eyes to keep them moist as they were being held open by the metallic clamps.
He then pulled out the new medical bag from the delivery from his sister and replaced it on the IV pole. He screwed in a fresh tube into the bottom of the bag and then attached the other end to the needle in your arm, double checking to make sure the drip was steady and as it should be. You only deserved the most precise treatment.
To pass the day and keep an eye on you, he helped himself to a can of beans that he opened with a dull knife and hid the rest of the food stock away under the table in the bedroom. He sat at your bedside and ate quietly, keeping an eye on you and the IV as the minutes passed in the silence.
When the food was done, George collected all of his garbage and any sign of life from the kitchen to hide away in an empty grocery bag in the bedroom until he would have to place it in the cellar bin for his sister to retrieve at her next stop-over. He locked the bedroom door behind him and returned to your bedside, straightening up the vase on your nightstand and he gently picked up the white music box beside it. The lid was topped with a baby blue decal of a sleeping puppy and framed in little stars and George smiled softly down at it as he turned it around in his hands to crank the tiny handle at the bottom.
He had purchased it years ago when you were first trying for a baby, back when life was simple but the weight of its burdens rested heavy on your shoulders. Back then, it all seemed hopeful and exciting as newlyweds wanting to expand your family and George couldn’t help but buy something to surprise you on the eventual day you would find out you were pregnant. He never ended up being able to gift it to you but it stayed with him the whole time and found its rightful place in this cabin with you while you gave up your lives for your ultimate dream.
When the music box was fully primed, he delicately turned it back around in his hands and opened the lid, letting the familiar gentle tune fill your otherwise silent cabin. He had shamefully played it a few times before when he would find himself alone during the days and waiting beside your still body just like that, maybe to hope for some sort of promise that things would work out. He never knew you could subconsciously hear him during the days when he left to tend to you like that but he found comfort in it too. Neither of you were ever truly alone.
The soft tune played softly from the nursery music box and George helped himself to his side of the bed alongside you, resting back against the pillows to stare at you just a little longer in the patterned lights that were projected to the ceiling of your canopy bed. Soon, he would be called back by the passing of time to return to your true presence in your perfect little paradise with your growing dream tucked safely inside you.
#george russell x reader#george russell imagine#george russell smut#george russell fanfic#george russell fluff#george russell#gr63#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x female reader#f1 x oc#f1 imagine#f1 one shot#f1 smut#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 fluff#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 x you#formula 1 x female reader#formula 1 x oc#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 one shot#formula 1 smut#formula 1 fanfic
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Counterparts | Brian O’Conner
The night air is warm, almost comforting. The city of Los Angeles seemed to have decided to go to sleep tonight. The city, normally bustling with life, was quiet, peaceful. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks up at the moon.
I’m standing in front of Mercy Park’s garage checking the oil level of my bike. My brother Logan is lingering by the bay doors, rearranging a stack of Husky jacks that really did not need to be rearranged. He was skeptical about me going riding with someone outside of our crew, but I had known Brian for years.
He drove with Dominic Toretto. Toretto’s crew were technically our rivals as we worked out of the same part of LA. Though Dom and Kaneko, the leader of the Mercy Park Crew, had come to an agreement to coexist.
We’d decided to leave the JDM’s at home tonight. It was perfect weather to take the bikes out and we’d both been neglecting the machines.
The loud thrum of Brian’s bike alerts me that he is around the corner. I glance at Logan and narrow my eyes at him, begging him to go back inside and talk to Toby or Ximena. He was ridiculously worried about Brian considering his girlfriend’s dad was the cop who had almost brought us all in.
Brian comes around the corner and pulls into the garage’s parking lot. He nudges the kickstand out with his right booted foot and then turns the key in the ignition to shut the machine off. He tugs his helmet off, revealing his blonde curls and striking blue eyes. The smile that he aims at me is intoxicating.
He dismounts his bike and crosses the distance towards me. I open my arms for him immediately. His arms go around my waist, and I loop mine around his neck. He smells like oil mixed with an earthy undertone. Brian holds me for a good minute before he steps back and flashes me with that grin again.
“It’s been too long.” He glances over your shoulder and raises his hand in a wave, “Hey Logan!”
I hear the garage door close and know that my brother has finally left us alone.
“You look good.” I murmur back to him. And he does, he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and black jeans. He has his steel toes on and a thin gold chair dangles around his neck. He’s showered recently, his hair bearing the signs of water. Though somehow there is a dirt smudge just under his jaw, as if he just can’t quite seem to stay away from the grime of working on cars.
Brian pokes the tip of my nose with his index finger and then glances at the garage behind me. He tilts his head in the direction of the street. Even though both crews were on good terms did not mean that we should be hanging out together in broad view.
I pull my hair into a loose braid before sliding my helmet on. Brian starts his bike again, throwing a leg over. He maneuvers it backwards so that he can pull back out onto the road. It’s currently wrapped in white with the signature Toretto decals on the gas tank.
My own bike, a Kawasaki Ninja is blacked out. I went for stealth. The machine roars to life underneath me. Brian nods in my direction and together we rev the engines before taking off down the road.
I let Brian lead; I didn’t mind where we went as long as I would get an adrenaline rush. He takes us through a few side streets before we hit the ramp to the highway. He turns his head, checking to make sure that I am still behind him.
The second he confirms that I am still following behind him like his little shadow, he tucks and takes off down the empty highway. My heart soars as I accelerate after him. The red needle on my speedometer quickly craws into the triple digits.
We’re absolutely soaring, breaking felony speeds, but neither of us have plates. The wind whips his t-shirt around, making the fabric crawl upward so it bunches around his chest and exposes the hard planes of muscle.
There aren’t many people out on the highway, but we weave through the ones that are. We’re perfectly in sync, reading each other’s movements without needing to communicate. I give the throttle a little more and go surging past him, but only for a moment. He overtakes me. It continues like this for miles, each of us going for the lead. The city is a blur around us.
I outstretch a hand to the wind, feeling the way it pushes my arm back in because of the speed. Anyone who saw us together must have been in awe, we give off an almost ethereal aura. Yin and Yang. Light and dark. One and the same.
We were brothers. But bound by more than blood. We were twins as well. Counterparts. Gangster princes of the city we met.
No amount of words could describe the perfection of the moment between the two of us. A picture would do no justice.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins, one mistake and we would be dead, but there was no fear. Only the urge to go faster, to push the limits. That was the thing about Brian, he understood. That if speed was to lead to our demise, we would go out smiling.
Almost too soon, Brian drops a hand to his side, signaling that he is going to take the next exit ramp. He leans into the turn and checks once more, that I’m behind him. We maneuver down a few side roads and then come to a stop atop a hill. The stars are bright tonight, almost defying nature.
Brian dismounts his bike first, and then he’s in front of me. I haven’t even finished setting up my kickstand before his hands are pulling my helmet off and his lips are brushing against mine. I sigh into him, trusting that I can tip toe the bike and kiss him back. It’s like a weight has been lifted off of my chest
He pulls away but rests his forehead against mine, his fingers brush the strands of hair that had escaped my braid back behind my ears. “I missed you.”
The only response I can find is to pull him back towards me. There wasn’t much time to spare for either of us, both crews were constantly traveling for boosts, but the time that we did have together… we savored it. Loyalties to the crews aside, the two of us would always come back to one another.
#the fast and the furious#fast and furious#paul walker#dominic toretto#brian oconner#ride or die#jdm#Paul walker x reader#brian o'conner#brian o'conner x reader#brian o'conner smut#brian o'conner imagine
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When Eddie and Steve first became parents, Robin made them a silent promise.
She swore to herself that she was going to give their children the most annoying gifts she could possibly find.
(To preserve the sanctity of their friendship, of course).
In 2006, when Moe and Robbie are five and three, Robin catches wind of the girls’ struggle to learn the appropriate places to put stickers. She found this out when Steve lamented to her for fifteen entire minutes about how difficult it is to get stickers off of clothing and walls and windows and light switches (everything, pretty much).
So it is with great delight that Robin adds two colossal books of novelty stickers to the collection of gifts she and Nancy were pulling together. She also gives them each a paint set and fabric markers.
Moe and Robbie were pumped, naturally. Steve and Eddie were not.
Robin: What? I just want to support their artistic endeavors!
Robin happens to think she went easy on them. She’d also seen a kids’ megaphone that she graciously vetoed (Hazel is still a newborn and still not sleeping through the night yet – she wants to bug them, not drive them off the ledge into total insanity).
The next year, she doesn’t hold back – not only does she give them the megaphone, but she also finds a slide whistle and a plastic recorder and a bucket of mega bouncy balls.
Over the years the girls get from their Aunt Robin – slime, kinetic sand, a karaoke machine that was only programmed with Disney Channel Original Musical soundtracks, prank kits, a cowbell, craft glitter, a rock tumbler, an ant farm. One year she gave all three of them Furbies.
This crusade is easy when the girls are little, because kids' toys are notably annoying as a baseline, but she has a harder time when the girls hit their teen years. Robin, however, is nothing if not committed to the bit, so she always manages to figure something out.
Robin: Do you think it’d be taking it too far to buy Moe that phone she’s been harassing them about.
Nancy: Uh, yeah.
Robin: What about the gerbil for Hazel?
Nancy: *thinking*
Nancy: That one’s fine.
#she’s gotta keep them on their toes#steve and eddie get their revenge by making donations in her name to other museums than the one she works at#”i thought you wanted to support the arts?” is their response#”i’m on their fucking *mailing list* now!” she tells them later#steddie#steddie dads#liv’s steddie dads verse#ronance#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#nancy wheeler
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Hi! Can I request 10th Doctor x gn reader
Where reader is chilling with the doctor in the console room and just talking about things, and suddenly after Doctor says something reader says „Knowing you, you’d make a whole library fit in here” „Well-„ „No.” „*stares akwardly*”
And they just explore Tardis till they find said library
I hope it’s not too much to ask🤍
TARDIS Library
10th Doctor x Gender Neutral Reader
You sit cross-legged on the grating of the TARDIS console room, the hum of the time machine vibrating beneath you. The Doctor, your dear friend and occasional rescuer, is tinkering with some buttons and levers, his eyes focused on the ever-shifting screens.
"So, Doctor," you begin, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you, "have you ever thought about organizing your books?"
He glances up, his expressive brown eyes meeting yours, "Books? In the TARDIS? Why would I do that?"
You grin mischievously, "Knowing you, you'd make a whole library fit in here."
The Doctor raises an eyebrow, a playful smile quirking his lips, "Well..."
You tease, "No..."
He pauses, looking around, "There's one here somewhere."
A playful spark ignites in your eyes as you stand up, prompting the Doctor to join in your enthusiasm. The two of you start exploring the winding corridors of the TARDIS, your footsteps echoing through the vastness of the ship.
As you turn a corner, you catch a glimpse of an ornate wooden door tucked away in a quiet alcove. You nudge the Doctor, who follows your gaze. With a shared sense of curiosity, you approach the door, and as you open it, you find yourselves standing at the entrance of a breathtaking library.
Shelves upon shelves of books stretch out in all directions, their spines holding the stories of countless worlds and adventures. The Doctor's eyes light up, and you can't help but chuckle at the sight of his sheer delight.
"Would you look at that!" he exclaims, practically bounding into the room. "I completely forgot about this little gem."
You follow him, running your fingers along the dusty spines of the books. The Doctor starts regaling you with stories of each tome, anecdotes from his past encounters with various authors and fictional characters.
As you listen, you can't help but feel a warm fondness for the eccentric Time Lord. His enthusiasm is infectious, and the way he protects you, a mere mortal amidst the chaos of time and space, makes your heart swell with gratitude.
Lost in the sea of stories, the Doctor suddenly turns to you, a serious expression crossing his features, "You know, you're like a rare book, full of surprises and never ceasing to amaze me."
You blush at the compliment, "And you, Doctor, are like the ultimate adventure novel, with twists and turns at every corner."
He grins, that trademark grin that has a way of making your troubles disappear, "Well then, my dear reader, let's keep turning these pages together."
And with that, the two of you continue exploring the timeless library within the TARDIS, your friendship woven into the very fabric of its existence.
#10th doctor x male reader#doctor who x male reader#the doctor x male reader#the doctor x reader#doctor x male reader#doctor who x reader#tenth doctor x reader#10th doctor x reader#doctor x reader#doctor who#tenth doctor#10th doctor#the doctor x you
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𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 | 𝐰. 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟
summary: because Wanda is unlucky enough to understands as much as you do about the responsibility of those with great power — and the losses that come with it.
warnings (18+): smut, angst, handjob, gender neutral reader has a penis, major character death. MINORS DNI.
pairing: emo!Wanda x spider!gn!reader
word count: 4k
masterlist|
(please, don't flag the work)
༺ᱬ༻
There was something gratifying you could point to in the idea that, propelling yourself into the air, climbing in that arachnid-like acrobatics with your own body to the zephyrs of frigid wind in furrows at that high enraptured speed, the world around you could well be so tiny and contained that it would even be deprived of external evils and annoyances when seen from above.
And you always watched it from above, from above, from the corners, in swaying webs, flight towards the urban labyrinth of a city marked by its own life, in a majestic and vigorous existence – a giant that shines even when the dusk of night falls, warm even in the face of a shroud of icy snow in the middle of that October winter.
Admittedly, the cosmopolitanly avant-garde structures that made up the metropolis of New York were sprawling, treacherous, and indeed even fragile, but the charm of the Big Apple was passed right over everyone else's heads, on the surface, when you didn't peer deep into the alley violence in that capitalist machine that encompassed you as much as it did any other New York passer-by.
Your distinguishing factor, however, your peculiarity, was that for many of those people you were a protector, a masked safeguard of their integrity in the face of the everyday hostility that the system so poorly failed to sustain. You were responsible for protecting the helpless, the underprivileged, the underserved, the mainstay of the marginalized and the forgotten. You were, in accordance with your moral duties, the friend of the neighborhood.
Swinging from one building to the next was part of the job at that point. Aerial locomotion became more practical and utilitarian when dealing with moving from one point to another between the skyscrapers that rose to the dark immensity of the night, like arrows shot to the top of the borough of Queens, where a kind of human spider like you moved upwards, climbing and shooting webs, leaving behind trampled footprints in the accumulated snow on the corners of the parapets and on the lightning rod antennas.
You propelling yourself into the dark sky, your muscle cords contracting, pumping blood, gusts of icy air sliding through the fabric of your dark mask, inflating the white eight-legged spider etching emblazoned on your torso. Feeling fucking alive.
In front of panes of glass, pale lights and hums, there was the frenzy of a city that never sleeps – in an intense rustling buzz, active and dynamic amid the white snow and the thousands of lighted lamps, with people carrying briefcases, with suits and ties and sheltered in heavy clothes, with children and with animals, alone or in packs, cars mottled on the white streets, advertisements flashing everywhere. Conversations meandering through the most disparate topics possible to parrot about, a veritable array of options.
Life was happening right below you, as you swung in a black and white suit over the tops of pylons and tall buildings, beads of icy sweat pouring down the length of your back, delirious ecstasy pulsing through your veins added to your warm, radioactive blood.
But, away from the noise of the night's bustle, your web swings that night were heading towards a final stop on an otherwise quiet round – a small apartment complex with thin walls, raised in stone and red brick and in poor plumbing, rather weather-beaten, with a rent worthy of the salary of a pizza delivery person (and part-time barista) like you in Northwest Queens. A place where you've resided since you found yourself being on your own, a little over a year ago, because you weren't exactly the lucky kind of kid.
However, no longer so far from the popular residence, huddled in an arachnid position right on top of the snowy tiles of a corner market, behind the acrylic lenses in the shape of tears, both your eyes compressed their lids in a comically expression, confused in a furrow of brows, since out of the glass of that window situated on the eighth floor were beams of a white lamp luminescence – and, as far as you held a knowledge in your memory, you had left your dwelling still by the end of that partially sunny afternoon, therefore, never having even turned on the lamps that day.
“Shit,” beneath the fabric of the mask you held your frigid breath, sharpening your senses into a state of alert.
It only took a single jump propelled by your lower limbs and an accurate web shot ejected from the shooter attached to your right wrist, aimed right at the edge of the building's terrace, for you to maneuver cautiously in the air, between the light poles, like an elusive feline to then crawling up the emergency stairs outside your living room window, peering in for a glimpse of who the intruder might be that would have crept into your residence while you were away, merging with the shadows that shrouded that cold night.
But the ice in your lungs soon softened into puddles of itself, and at what lay there, laid out for your view from within those four withered walls that encompassed the narrow cubicle you called home. Your heart pumped in liquid explosion inside your ribcage that spread to the pit of your stomach, taking everything in its path in a dizzying hot drag. And that's why a tiny silly smile allowed itself to be enjoyed by the commission of your lips, against the thin fabric of your mask – it was just a natural act for you, to smile foolishly at the splendorous vision of Wanda Maximoff.
The far view alone was enough for you to find yourself smiling and truly content at your core – Wanda lying on your own bed, between thick blankets and poorly stacked piles of pillows, so oblivious to the fact that she was being watched; the pale expanses of her ring-lined fingers so subtly being nibbled on by her teeth, her nails varnished by a black nail polish chipped at the tips, one opalescent knee crossed over the other next to her chest, her dark miniskirt exposing her firm thighs in a way just as appealing to your desiring gaze.
And you loved the fact that her brown hair modulated coffee-colored tones when arranged in the dead of night, only in the pale light of a lamp placed near the right end of the bed – how even though it seemed so dark in the confines of that room, Wanda glowed in her own light sweeping a strand of profuse chestnut hair behind the shell of her right ear, her ringlet gleaming silver, her gaze so intent on the little television set in front of her.
How her irises seemed to adhere to traces of a mossy hue so bleak out of the sun, yet almost bordering on the innocence of someone who was only enjoying a television program displayed on the squalid screen of the small television set that was placed in front of the opposite wall to the bed, just above a small second-hand wooden table.
Over her torso she wore an old dark sweatshirt of yours, made of thick, warm material, bought at a Hot Topic store a few years ago, when you were still in your high school years. And Wanda was beautiful – the owner of a casual beauty, a simple natural and simple neatness, the kind in which there is no effort to pretend to be pretty. A beauty that begins and ends with itself, just because she was beautiful. The most beautiful sight anyone's eyes could be graced with. The kind that made you feel lucky, lucky to have her for yourself.
But it was then that the cold came to haunt you in a gust of stiff wind, the frozen hand of winter tracing the vertebrae of your spine in a chilling contact on your epidermis, which gelled the blood flowing in your veins and turned your bones to ice. Only then did you realize the reality where you were hanging on the snowy emergency stairs outside your apartment, away from the warm weather and away from Wanda.
And so, with your gloved right hand, you managed to lift the window and head your way into the small room, stepping on the floorboards inside with your left foot.
“Hey little witch, are you breaking and entering now? And here I thought you were one of the good guys...”
“Y/n!” Wanda got pleased immediately and, from the bed, she turned with her chin towards your voice that came from the window, a smile emerging in the outline of those pink lips she had, then getting up to receive you properly.
“It's cold outside, get in quick! You're going to catch a cold!”
And her southeastern European accent, still bathed by the Adriatic Sea, made itself present in her low-toned speech, hardening the enunciation of that soft voice. That's why you smiled – the tone of Wanda's voice always warmed your loving chest.
“Fine, fine, I'm fine,” you muttered in an enthusiastic tone, bringing your left hand behind you down on the windowpane that prevented any more gusts of icy wind from piercing the blister of heat that had become infatuated through the walls of that small room.
“I'm in one piece, see? Healthy as a,” you smiled to yourself, “Well, as a spider.”
And a chaste smile flickered back between Wanda's lips, a hint of skin being scrunched across the bridge of her nose in an adorable way, “You're such a goof, web-head.”
So it was that the young woman came walking towards you, warm, smiling, with open arms to welcome you into her affections.
And you took her for yourself, pulling Wanda's body close to yours, whereupon clever fingers dressed in silver rings hooked on the seam cut of your mask right in the middle of your neck, slowly then hoisting it so that in front of the Wanda's gaze revealed the skin of your chin, and then the pulp of your lips; the jadish irises aimed at your mouth and, morosely, the young woman bent down to take a kiss from you herself.
You held her, groping your fingers around her waist, when it was that, in a dizzying, crimson electric shock, soaked in a jubilation of fiery delight, your lips touched in a prudish, measured way. It was a kiss of a simple nature, yet lingering on her lips and imbued with impetuous feelings – the need joined to longing, the happiness of a jovial and healthy love. Something in you just yearned to return to her arms every day, as if your soul fit hers like a jigsaw puzzle by your lips united in a single tune.
“Hi,” you lisped in the tiniest tone against her mouth.
“Hey, детка,” was Wanda's reply, who still had the hem of your mask pressed between her rings, before she hoisted her forearms up to her chin and completely removed the piece of cloth that covered your face expression as smiling as hers.
“I really love your eyes, Y/n.”
“I can say the same for you, my little witch.”
After a little simpler caress of love exchanged, more kisses and hugs and little oaths of longing, you two separated then in reluctance so that you would undress your cold spider suit, choosing to wear more casual clothes and comfortable on your body – a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of snug, vaguely baggy sweatpants. And while you were doing that, Wanda, sitting right on the edge of your bed, watched you in front of the tiny closet door nearby, where a small door opened onto a narrow, dark room with clothes hanging on hangers and a small yellow light dripping from the ceiling.
“I was looking over your crime board earlier, before you arrived, and...” as she talked, her chin was supplanted by the elbow resting on the right knee of her crossed legs.
“Mmm?”
Wanda looked at you for half a second, her face creasing in curiosity, “Who's Wilson Fisk?”
“Kingpin,” your voice was somewhat muffled by the dark shirt you were halfway pulling on over your head.
“He's one of the crime bosses around here, he's involved in some pretty serious shit around town,” at last, you tucked the shirt over your torso.
“And I've been on his tail for a few months now, but I need to get on with my work if I'm going to gather enough evidence to expose him to the public legally. It's going to be difficult since he has pretty much the entire political underworld in the palm of his hand and other stuff too, of course, but... but I think I'm getting somewhere with this, yeah.”
“Mmm,” she hummed, “That sounds… kinda dangerous, Y/n,” Wanda sniffed with her nose to the side, speaking more to herself than to you per se.
“Maybe if you talked to Clint or Nat they could help you with that. Steve too, even. I know they are all willing to help you if you ask. Steve… you know, he’d really like you to take a chance and be on the team for a while. He thinks you'd make a good Avenger.”
"Yeah, I don't know about that, Wands," you muttered back, raising your right eyebrow at the idea.
“I don't think it's in the Avengers' niche to worry about that kind of thing, you know? I mean, you guys kind of exist to deal with out-of-the-galaxy threats and crazed AIs and evil government organizations and all that shit, don't you? And, well, Fisk is a pretty big fish in his own way, that's true... but he's just a stupid old bald guy who blackmails the local politicians and has created a criminal empire out of bribery and corruption – which is not it's very different from the billionaires we know out there. The difference is that Fisk is not a threat on a global scale.”
At the not-so-indirect burn to Stark Industries that couldn't be ignored, Wanda couldn't help but giggle infinitesimally under her breath, an act that elicited a goofy little smile from you, swaying your shoulders into your baggy blouse.
“Well,” she smiled a little too, in a kind of assent to your words, “You're not wrong.”
“Yeah, I guess,” you turned your head toward her, as your right foot tucked into the seam of thick gray cotton sweatpants.
“Plus, I have this certain, umm, responsibility to the people of this town, I guess. It was a promise I made after all, I... I'm here for them, both to keep all that crazy shit from spilling over on them, and just to look out for them when no one else does. That's my job around here, my function. It's just what I do. I'm not a super spy, or a super soldier, a genius billionaire or a giant green strong guy, Wands. I’m, I’m only...”
“The friendly neighborhood web-head?”
At your roll of eyes, Wanda smirked, like a small rabbit with moderately larger front teeth than the rest.
“That's just mean, witchy. I really prefer Spidey, you know? Spidey.”
“Spidey,” the young enchantress reiterated to you, “Well, anything sounds better than the Witch anyway. That's so fucking pejorative, like, burn the witch or something, what the fuck. I’m not a fucking witch.”
“You aren’t?”
“Shut up,” she rolled her eyes out of their sockets comically.
“The Witch, huh…” you looked at her, almost laughing when you did, “People really aren't good at coming up with superhero names, are they? Because this one is really bad. Really bad.”
“No,” Wanda chuckled in agreement, shaking her head, “They're not, not at all. And I’m not a superhero.”
“I see,” you droned, “And what are you then?”
For a second, Wanda looked at you, “A unlucky person who has made a lot of bad choices in her life.”
The television, which was flashing some old episode of a sitcom that made up Wanda's favorite series collection, was the only thing that filled the room with any kind of light or sound some time later, since, after stuffing yourself with the chicken paprikash that your beloved had prepared for you and then packed and stored in your fridge, the two of you snuggled in each other's arms, away from the cold and the chill, under a thatched hut with thick blankets on your bed during that bitter winter night.
But it was when you turned in search of a comfortable position to lean back against the pillows and your left elbow brushed Wanda's right, that you two looked at each other curiously as if only then had you realized how close you encompassed each other – two dark gazes in the middle of the room lit only by the artificial lighting of a meaningless program, together, alone.
And you craved the comforting body heat that Wanda radiated when as close to her as you were – the scent of red that wafted from her silky ebony hair and her smooth, pale skin. You felt, however, a gaze peering into you from the line of your jaw and cheekbones, and looking back, Wanda was staring at you with a voluptuous fixation on the darkened green corners of her irises. She looked at you like she could completely consume you, like something about her was going to swallow you up and eat you down, digest you to the bones.
And then, from beneath the cocoon of blankets, a subtle touch spread across your left crotch, still above the thick material of your sweatpants. Your gaze sailed from the heap of blankets placed in the region of your lap to the emerald gaze, so dimmed, of the young woman sitting next to your left elbow.
“Wanda...”
“Mm?” she hummed back, as innocent as could be, as if her fingers weren't so close to groping an area of your body that was already beginning to throb with signs of life.
“Wanda,” you lisped softly, again, so needy, pupils popping and blood bristling through your veins, “What are you…?”
“I missed you, детка,” her fingers dipped deeper and deeper into your crotch, her eyes still screwed into your field of vision as she did so, “I missed you so, so much… I get so lonely in my room in the compound, you know? And all I can think about in those moments is you... how much I miss you.”
She locked her upper teeth against the flesh of her lower lip, stifling a lusty, immoral smile when she realized something – already petrified in a flash of desire, beneath the fabric of your pants, was your semi-erection, a noticeable bulge that made Wanda's mouth throb with desire.
"And I bet you miss me too, don't you?"
“Of course I do,” you huffed out a breath of warm air, “Fuck Wanda, every goddamn night… every goddamn night I miss you.”
The bright, lively hand, with thin fingers wrapped in rings and well-cut black nails, couldn't help but travel through the dazzling skin of your abdomen, exposed by the lifting of your long-sleeved blouse, starting from the south, from your navel, into your hips, into the hem of your pants. Wanda captured your thick member and gave your shaft an alluring squeeze – her face then hidden in the contour of your neck, in the joint of your shoulder, to nibble, there, a piece of skin.
“Uh-f-fuck, Wanda...” you squirmed out of your nostrils like steam released from your bruised lungs, in a hoarse wail, somewhat drunk with the acute excitement present in your system.
Wanda smiled against your skin, her thumb lethargic caressing the strained head of your cock inside your pants and, in performed innocence, she placed a chaste kiss on the bone at the tip of your jaw.
“Just enjoy it, malышка,” was whispered in her low voice right next to your ear, in an accent hard and robust, but so dizzying when it came out of the crack of Wanda's lips, “Let me show you how much I missed you.”
And again, followed this time by a shameless tone of voice, leaking the red color from her pores, Wanda pressed the plump shaft between her slender fingers, causing a softness on your part. Following your moan, she placed a warm kiss behind your left ear.
“Allow me to make you feel good, Y/n.”
Wanda's right hand began its harassed, pleasurable work, up and down the length of your nervous member, raised to the intimate of your burning thighs – and you, wrapped in an embarrassed tremor, were exasperated as Wanda kissed your corner of the half-open mouth and the fluttering earlobe, threading your fingers through her brown locks as if it were a need between your hands, just in search of something to support yourself during that very intimate moment, shared by a couple of lovers as young and needy as you two were.
“Y/n,” she called against your cheekbone, “I… I'm sorry, but I want you inside. Now."
“Fine,” was your airy reply, “Fine.”
And without delay, Wanda passed her thighs over your knees, linking the folds of her elbows to your neck, then sitting on your lap so that a pink and expert tongue could slide inside your mouth as the damp, warm walls from her cunt slid around your erection. And then, one hefty, powerful touch, palms wide open and pressed to the flesh of her ass beneath her skirt, you screeched out of the outline of Wanda's lips a savory moan that squirmed from the very core of your lungs to pulsate against her lips during the carnal act of penetration.
“Бля, детка… тобі так добре, Y/n…” she gasped against the shell of your ear in a drawling semi-moan, “Y/n…”
"Do you like it?" was your question against her skin, to which, girding your cock with her velvety walls, Wanda nodded, bobbing her head up and down.
“I love it,” and, drunk on a wave of scarlet ledice, Wanda smiled, “I love you.”
You fell silent for a measly second, in fact barely realizing what had happened. Television still featured some sitcom that no longer mattered to you or even her, who was most attracted to the thing between you two – not being as close as you were in that primitive, carnal or even lewd way; skin with skin, flesh with flesh. Raw, visceral, passionate. It was cold outside, but your chest had never felt as warm as it did during that moment. She loved you. She loved you.
“You love me?”
Pulling her face away from your neck, Wanda looked at you with bright eyes from under thick, heavy lashes. She looked at you like no one else but her ever had before.
“I love you, детка,” was a whisper, a promise, “I love you, Y/n.”
When she started to go down everything became hazy, pulsing, hot, red. Wanda was moving up and down your body and you felt her backs arch convulsively, still continuing, creeping towards her cervix, rubbing her from the inside with the head of your cock.
And she rode you with such firmness, moaning and crying out, doing the penetration herself while your eyes converged in a single vision; Wanda moving up and down, over and over, seeking with her hips, until you both came in a delirium of dizzying pleasure; you pouring yourself inside her walls, into her flesh, and her thighs pale, wet, at the meeting with your hips. When she sighed wearily against the hollow of your neck, you smiled into a lock of her hair.
“I love you, little witch.”
It was perfect, you and her. So perfect that you pledged your love two or three more times that night, loving each other in the flesh, in the core, in the heart. Making you cling to the luck of having that miserable moment reserved for you and her, wanting to multiply it, make it last as long as possible.
It was as if, about a month or two after the event, already at the end of that winter suffered on a late December afternoon, Natasha Romanoff had not found herself leaving the corridors of the compound, walking stiff towards Wanda’s room, the soles of her boots full of soot and snow.
As if, among the strands of that short fire-colored hair, the residue of shards of sparkling glass did not shimmer after a painful fall – as if the Black Widow's lower lip were not found bloody and swollen after an arduous fight, as if she had not left a child to fight alone until it was too late for her interposition to mean anything decisive. As if Natasha hadn't been advised by Captain America to let Wanda, still as young, as damaged as she was, digest what happened, still so recent in the popular imagination, on her own.
“She's going to need some time, Nat,” pleaded Steve in a disgustingly grim tone, when they, he and she, were still sharing the elevator space just after returning from the big city with blood on their hands.
“Give Wanda a break, she's been through a lot. She doesn't need it right now. She’s… she’s just a kid. An unfortunate kid.”
But Natasha walked into Wanda's room in that snowy early evening, the emissary of news so atrocious that it had just left the streets, with blood and glass and corpses everywhere, a body count so tragic it could have had more, much lower if you hadn't intervened. Of course, you. But you weren't the one there to tell Wanda what the result of that fight with Wilson Fisk that Christmas Eve night had been. Natasha was the figure standing there, clutching the remains of your mask between the fingers of her right hand. It felt so pointless. As pointless as telling a young girl her lover was dead could be. Your mask felt meaningless.
“Wanda, I…I…”
But Wanda was nowhere to be found in her spacious bed after the Black Widow entered the room filled with posters on the walls and ceiling, stuffed animals arranged next to the pillows and the books piled orderly on the shelves. That was a young person's room, Natasha thought. Wanda was young. The television bolted to the wall adjacent to the window followed the live narration that portrayed a hideous explosion in Hell's Kitchen, where the fire department was still in the process of fully assessing the high and enigmatic number of lives claimed that night.
Wanda was in the bathroom, after all, when Natasha walked over — sitting on the floor, hugging her knees, threading her fingers through her long hair, scratching the scalp as she squinted at her burning eyes where tears were streaming from; sadness that marked her cheeks. She looked as small and as young as could be. And then it was that Natasha remembered. She realized, indeed, what had happened.
Carrying your spidery mask with her, Natasha remembered that both you and Wanda were really just a pair of unfortunate children, as she herself had once been too – children who carried greater responsibilities than you could even handle, with a maturity as mechanical and precocious as what the world demanded of you two. Children like her. Unlucky children.
“What… what– what am I going to do Nat…?” Wanda sobbed, still not lifting her eyes to the open crack in the door, where the older woman was standing, still bloody, still injured, “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”
And Natasha wanted to answer her. She wanted to, she opened her bruised lips to do so and then utter that speech she had already had in mind since she had held your body in her arms, still tucked inside that spider suit, in the snow and in the dark. But she immediately contained herself, refraining herself even before doing so, because that was when she saw it – prepared eyes spotted beside Wanda's so small and curved body a plastic rod with two lines marked in a baby pink color.
“Wanda… is... is that…?”
“I don’t know what to do,” she cried, “I don’t know, I don’t know…”
A pregnancy test of the kind one can buy at any local pharmacy, and the result was positive. And your mask was in her hands because you were gone. She was supposed to give it to Wanda as a reminder of your memory, but Wanda would have more to remember you by than a simple torn and bloody piece of cloth. She was pregnant after all. And you – you were dead. You were nothing but an unlucky dead bastard.
“I… I don't know,” Natasha's fingers tightened on the damn tattered fabric, “I'm so sorry, Wanda. I don't know… I don’t know.”
Wanda's tears, wide and warm, dripped between her bare feet on the pale bathroom floor tile. She had never felt so unlucky as she did at that moment.
#wanda x you#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff x y/n#wanda maximoff x you#wanda reader#wanda x y/n#wanda maximoff imagine#scarlet witch x you#scarlet witch x reader#scarlet witch#scarlet witch x y/n#elizabeth olsen#elizabeth olsen x reader#elizabeth olsen x you#elizabeth olsen x female reader#marvel#mcu#marvel cinematic universe#fanfic#natasha romanoff#black widow#natasha black widow#steve rogers#captain america
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Mission gone wrong ?
Where reader and ghost are stuck in Oymyakon during winter,freezing in the snow waiting for backup?
ahhhh anon! thank you so much for this request!! i love the idea so much (like cmon who wouldn’t want to be stuck w simon in a cabin)
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summary: After the mission goes completely south, you and Ghost are left trudging through the wintery landscape of Oymyakon. When you finally arrive in the comfort of a secluded cabin, you two try to make light of the situation.
pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader
warnings: swearing, violence
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"Just a little bit further," Ghost encouraged as you trudged through the meter-high snow. His voice echoed across the frozen landscape. As far as the eye could see, there were sparse trees coated in a heavy blanket of snow and ice. Getting away from the guns and snowmobiles was half the battle but now you were making the expedition to this fabled safe house. Out of all the missions you had with him, of course, this one had to go to absolute shit. "That's what you said 30 minutes ago," you mumbled, following in his large footprints. You had lost feeling in your lower extremities and you wondered how he could continue. With every step, you could feel pins and needles shoot through your sore body. Your breath felt harsh on your knitted balaclava and you secretly envied the many layers of fabric and silicone of Ghost's infamous mask. "If you quit complaining, it'll make the journey quicker," he said and you could tell the bastard had a smirk on his face. "God I hate Oymyakon."
Eventually, you could see a small cabin on the edge of your vision. "A mirage in the cold desert," you could hear Ghost joke and you picked up the pace. "Price did say this was isolated," you said through your chattering teeth, finally seeing the full picture of the home in arm's reach. You gripped the cold padlock in your gloved fingers and inputted the memorized set of coded numbers. Ghost shoved the iced-over door and gave way into the darkened, freezing cabin. "Home sweet home," you joked half-heartedly as you checked the bare-bones setup. Safe houses were all the same, only having the most simple of necessities and furnishings. As Ghost rummaged for a life-saving space heater, you looked through the cabinets to see if there were any food or hand warmers. The metal handle felt frigid on your fingertips and you saw two sizable mugs at home on the empty shelf.
"How romantic," Ghost said behind you and you jumped at the sudden baritone of his voice, "You gonna make us some tea?" You rolled your eyes at his typical British humor. "Maybe, if you got that space heater working," you replied and he gestured exaggeratedly to the small glowing machine that lit up the living room. "Speaks for itself," he smirked and you rolled your eyes before brushing past him to warm yourself. You took off your frozen boots and shook out your socks and jacket before you were left in your thermals under your gear. You could hear Ghost rummaging around in the adjacent bedroom before returning with two blankets. "No clothes but I do have these," he said and held up the flannel blankets. You nodded and he added his outerwear and gear next to yours.
As you sat wrapped in your blankets, you watched the snowfall and wind whip through the air. "If we weren't stuck here, this would actually be nice," you smiled as you stretched out your fingers in front of the space heater. "I got a cabin up in the Isle of Sky," he mentioned, "if we make it out of here, remind me to take you there." You beamed up at him and nodded eagerly at the offer. "That's in Scotland, right?" you asked and he let out a small grunt in confirmation. "This isn't some boy's cabin you and Soap share, right?" you questioned and he chuckled at the absurdity of the thought. "Fuckin' hell, I'd never," he swore, "just something I bought with a Lieutenant's salary." You thought for a moment before responding to his initial offer. "Well then, is that an offer for a romantic getaway, Lt?" you questioned and he quickly looked away from you. Despite the dim lighting of the room, you could see the subtle hint of pink on his ears. "Depends, hopefully evac gets here before we freeze to death." You shared a dry laugh as you continued to look out the window.
Before you knew it, the sun had set over the horizon and your body began to shut down from the day's events. You tried to suppress your yawn in your blanketed arm but Ghost noticed your small action. "You should sleep, there's one bed in the room over there," he gestured as you laughed softly. "Only one bed?" you smirked and you could almost hear his eye roll. "Not the time," he mumbled before he moved his hand in dismissal, "I'll keep the first watch." You got up slowly and dragged the blanket behind you. You reached the doorway and turned to him, wishing him a quiet goodnight. As you settled into the warm sheets, you turned to face the doorway and smiled as you saw Ghost perched over the small heater. If there was anything that was motivating you to survive, it was the potential to spend a weekend in a snowy cabin with Simon and no threat of danger.
#task force 141 x reader#task force 141#cod x reader#call of duty modern warfare#cod mwii#modern warfare 2#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#call of duty#mw2 imagine#madebyizzie#mw2#izzie is writing
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— last train at 25 o' clock | suguru geto x reader
fluff(???)/light angst @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat please take this bc coffee shop geto is gonna take a bit
it's 1am in the morning, the train platform's a ghost town, and the hum of the vending machine is all the noise in the world as you and suguru wait for the last ride home after a mission.
wc : 2.6k
cw : brief mentions of blood ; references to hidden inventory arc , shoko typical smoking , probably some other stuff i'm forgettin
not proofread!!!! also he may be ooc srry
i cooked this up last minute cus i remembered my promise of posting every weekend last week so my bad if u can tell its rushed lol
post hidden inventory pre defection
suguru remembers it like it was yesterday.
the song of summer insects reaches your ear as you clamber up to the train station platform; a pandemonium of cicadas and crickets that sing odes to the full moon in the sky partially curtained by dark clouds and the dew on the grass that's begun to form.
"damn, it's hot." you muttered, wiping your forehead as your arm shot out to grab the dirty railing, white paint cracked and peeled as a splinter pricks your fingers and you flinch. suguru follows after you; a small hum is your acknowledgment.
"careful. shoko doesn't like dealing with splinters," he says from behind you, stepping up the stairs two at a time to straighten up on the train platform, hands in his pockets. “i don’t have reversed curse technique healing either.” there's the smell of a storm in the air, and the lights overhead buzz and flicker with the intermittent beat of a moth's wings. you just give a dip of your head in acknowledgement as you pry your hand away from the railing, the scent of old wood lingering on your hand as you wipe off the dust clinging to your palm on your pants.
(geez, you two have no sense for these types of things.)
suguru holds a hand out, and you take it eagerly to let him pull you up the last step, before politely letting go and slipping it back into his pocket once more. you let out an exhausted sigh and stand up, rubbing your tired eyes as you look around.
the platform is deserted save for the stray cat beneath the station bench, sniffing at a clump of weeds growing from the metal leg. there's a vending machine up against the wall to the elevator, an obnoxious painted 'out of order' sign on the lift's muddy glass doors, stained with dust, dirt, and fingerprints. there's some... creative graffiti on the wall, and a starch yellow section of caution tape flutters in the humid evening wind.
the cat scratches at the concrete floor, and its matted white fur and crystal blue eyes remind you of someone. you glance up at suguru, poking his arm to get his attention.
"look. it's satoru." you huffed, still a little loose for breath as you reach out and grab his shoulder, leaning against him for support. the dark-haired boy just laughs a little, taking his phone out to snap a picture and no doubt send it to the white-haired brat. "i see it." he leans a little closer to you; it's subtle, and you don't notice it, but the way his shoulders sag just so you have an easier time holding on speaks volumes. "don't send it to him! he's probably asleep right now. think it's past his evening sugar high?" you asked, glancing up at him with a tilt of your head.
"most likely. i think he got sent on another solo mission today." there's a tiny bitter bite to suguru's voice that underlines its usual velvetiness; like an ocean current beneath the waves that you only find once you've been dragged underwater. you don't say anything about it, though. the sleeves of his uniform crumple beneath your fingers when they curl into the fabric, a shiver running down your spine as goosebumps spring up on your skin like shroom caps after the summer rain.
suguru is observant.
"you cold? you can have my jacket." it's immediate, and his voice is as smooth as cream silk and marble as he shrugs your hand off (much to your dismay-- shown with a bite to your cheek) to unbutton his uniform jacket, slipping it off his shoulders and offering it to you. when you stand there, feeling a little daze and a lot tired, he just smiles, shoving it in your face with a low chuckle that sounds like honey pouring from a jar.
"you sure? you can hug a cursed spirit if you get cold, 'cus you're not getting it back." you sighed after a moment, reluctantly taking his jacket and tugging it over your shoulders. it's warm, and it smells like his cologne- like some natural incense that soothes your nerves and loosens your body to the marrow in your weary bones. you bury your nose in it and forget to think about the warm hue on your cheeks that you'll later chalk up to the humid air.
"i'm sure." the cat by the bench perks up, staring directly in your direction. it yawns, before bounding away, disappearing behind the vending machine with a flick of its cloud white tail. the machine is missing a few rows of drinks, but the green of a melon soda can that's far too saturated to have a name to the original fruit and the cream and red of a yakult bottle are enough to catch your eyes beneath the harsh light of the display.
"still don't understand how you get cold on a night like this, though." he makes a gesture towards 'this' with one hand, fingers flexing in a way that makes your heart flutter unreasonably.
a moment of silence passes; you can see the distant lights of some prefecture over the hill, and your mind briefly wanders to rainy afternoons, puddles reflecting the red neon of passing cars and distorted faces under plastic umbrellas sandwiched between painted concrete and a dark sky.
"you want a drink? on me, as thanks." you say, breaking the sound of silence and nodding towards the vending machine as you look up at suguru. it takes him a moment to respond, so you use the opportunity to admire his profile; the slope of his nose, the deep hazel of his eyes that shine a copper rust beneath the pale yellow light overhead. his hair is a little messy; it's falling out of its slicked back bun, a product of your earlier fight. there's a scrape on your ankle from tripping through the bush in an attempt to put distance between the curse when you had been engaged earlier; it still stings. there's a tightness to his jaw, you notice- and some part of you wishes you could take it for yourself.
the section of dark hair in front of his face sways as he turns to look down at you, gaze charting the corners of your face (your cheeks look soft, he notes) before he opens his mouth to speak.
one kick to the machine, a disappointed frown when nothing comes out, and two yen bills later, the pop of can tabs fills your ears as condensation seeps into your skin, a pleasant relief from the heaviness of the summer air. it's too much when the cold side of a drink is pressed to your cheek, though-- and you let out a yelp of protest, shooting a quick glare up at suguru, who just laughs it off and takes a sip of his drink.
you down a sip of your own; it's a sweet fruit tea that's your go to whenever it's hot out. sweet, citrusy, like starfruit. it tastes like a summer of youth and a warm blue spring. it's pleasant.
a distant rumble echoes from the dark horizon, and both of your gazes simultaneously snap towards it-- at last, you think. the last train is here. you adjust suguru's jacket around your shoulders, catching a whiff of something that smells like rosemary and new leather as his voice fills your ears.
it's an easy night when you pass the threshold and step into the train car, speckled white floors and blue hard seats greeting you. somewhere, there's a ticket stuffed into one of your pockets; a memento of late evenings that blend into early mornings when there's a bruise on your face and a knick on suguru's wrist that soothe themselves with the harmony of small talk and sensation of fizzling bubbles in cold metal cans as the train jostles you along. you're sitting, and he's standing, one arm on the hangers overhead as you talk about everything and nothing. he catches himself every now and then, watching with minimal interest as the sliding doors part themselves like gateways to the afterlife for ghost passengers. it's not your stop yet; far from it.
"say, suguru-- do you miss going on missions with satoru?" you asked after a moment, fingers drumming against your knees as the automated voice overhead announces the next stop, empty farm plots and tangles of wire passing by as the lights inside cozy houses dim and go off.
he doesn't answer that, so you just look out the window.
(suguru, you gettin' enough sleep? heatstroke?)
"how's the cut on your leg?" he finally murmurs after a moment, his eyelids heavy before he tears his gaze away from a tacky advertising on the wall and back to your scrunched nose.
"annoying." you just sighed, and you watched as he gave a small smile; his eyes fluttering shut, long lashes resting against his cheeks. you wondered if the wings of a butterfly would be heavy enough to weigh them down.
he moves after a second, sitting down one seat away from you in a swift motion and beckoning for you to lift your leg. you comply, not entirely sure where it's going- until he gently rolls the hem of your pant leg up, pressing the cold edge of his half-empty soda to the angry red scratch, and you wince a little before letting out one, long sigh. you melt into the chair, feeling like a senior citizen with a hunched back and one too many shrine visits under a bleached kyoto sun.
"thanks." you mumbled, leaning your head against the window as the train jostles ever so slightly to its own tracked rhythm.
he just hums in response, pulling a worn bandaid out of his pocket; the plastic top has pen smudges on it and the white wax gets caught between his pearly teeth as he tugs it off, taking time to make sure he positions the healing strip properly before flattening it down on your leg.
"shoko makes no sense when she talks about her reversed curse technique, so this'll do." he says quietly, and you let yourself fall into the pool of molasses that comes from his throat as you close your eyes, feeling the dull sensation of pain drain from your muscles and melt away like the first waves of spring and the ripple of lake water as a lone sakura petal disturbs the mirrored blue surface.
"i could learn it." you said after a moment, pressing your lips together in an attempt to snuff out the feeling of his fingers lingering on your skin, toying with the loose edge of the bandaid. he just snorts, and you crack one eye open to glare at him.
the rest of the train ride is spent in silence; you slip in and out of a hazy sleep, and you're faintly aware of the timeline-- somehow, your drink ends up on his lips. your head ends up on his shoulder, and your ears pick up his quickened heartbeat. his warmth is nothing like the humidity that clings to your skin like a layer of smoke and vapor, accompanied by sticky dango and raucous laughter weaving between the sounds of fireworks and the crunch of dirt beneath pairs of geta. he smells like home and his soft hair tickles your face as your little breaths squeeze past your parted lips, a warmth like bumping shoulders and linking fingers seeping into your body like the steady stream of fine sand in an hourglass. a warmth like empty classrooms lit by golden hour; windows cracked open to let in a fresh breeze as the faint smell of cigarette smoke drifts up to the room from the brunette and her lighter beneath the patch of shade from a tree in the courtyard below.
(need a light?)
this is how it's been for the past month. tired mumbles and hushed murmurs exchanged between two people who are more than friends but less than lovers after each harrowing mission; shared drinks and linked pinkies, the warmth that stains cheeks rosy when fingers that look small against calloused ones brush with another hand reaching for the metal pole on the train. heavy silence as you fall asleep on his shoulder; faint tingles when his fingers graze your knuckles as he stares at the dark reflection in the windows across. even the windows know how to make him relax.
one day, it'll be just him. a white bird stained black by apollo's hand in a sea of dirty geese, silent as the others hawk and squawk for a place on the lake. one hand hooked around the hard plastic of a hanger, supporting heavy shoulders with weight that could rival atlas' burden. a boy so tired of being beaten by the waves that he succumbs to the undercurrent with the same practice as before, only the paint on the railings has chipped past repair and not even the greenery of the countryside can touch the stains on the windows to his soul; eyes that used to shine with mirth and crinkle with gentle smiles become sunken and heavy with experience more suited to those a decade older.
he'd already chosen his path when he offered his jacket to you; when he laughed at the way you'd sneezed after investigating the patch of weed that had captured the stray cat's attention from before. and he knew that you'd noticed, and he knew that you'd try, and he knew that he wouldn't let you.
he knew when he woke you up with a gentle nudge to the forehead, suppressing the fluttering feeling in the heart he didn't know he still had when you made a grumpy tired face and stood up with much effort and a stumble or two.
(damn monkeys.)
it was easy nights like these that he'd eventually miss the most. walking you back to your dorm, past the candy wrappers and empty cola cans in the halls stained with imaginary blood and passing glances. departing with a kiss goodbye when he knew you were too drowsy and delirious to be able to remember it come morning.
the swing of a jazz rhythm would get stuck in his throat when you stumbled, only catching yourself from the jolt of the train's stop by latching a hand onto his wrist like some evil little lamprey and muttering a small 'sorry'. he'd laugh it off, collect the empty bottles of drinks of debt, and tug on the sleeve of his jacket on your arms, gently helping you off the platform as your pant leg slid back down to cover the bandaid on your leg, rough fabric scratching away the ghost of his touch on your skin. he wished it would just stay for a little longer.
and when the morning came and you woke up in your bed with his scent on the fabric of your shirt, you'd do it all over again. the only part of the terrible cycle he ever took pleasure in. even when the vile taste of a cursed spirit sunk into his stomach, it would be washed away with the right pop and fizzle of sugary drink followed by an even sweeter kiss to the knot between his tired eyes.
there was nothing about your time together he wouldn't ever miss.
you'd be his past, his present, and his afterlife. even when it was his turn to get off the ghost train and step past those sliding doors that held new meaning, you were the last thought on his mind.
one day, he hopes to see you again, when the last train comes in the night so late it could be considered early morning and the platform can relive old memories of peeling paint on a past summer spring once more.
hope u guys enjoyed the catoru cameo
my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !
#yes the title is a lamp song sue me#meant to practice sugu dialogue but he spoke like twice the entire time#suguru geto x reader#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x you#suguru geto x you#geto suguru#jjk x reader#geto x reader#suguru x reader#billet-doux#think i genuinely started tweakin halfway thru#i asked mt friend for a prompt and she said train station and this amalgamation was born#jujutsu kaisen
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Read It and Weep- Part 3
Pairing: NFL!Player!Rafe Cameron x Journalist!Reader
Summary: After a game following a win against their rivals, Sports journalist Y/n is resting out in the tunnel, planning an interview when the team exits from the locker room, Rafe immediately spots her and sparks up a conversation that ends with a phone number and something that makes the team go crazy.
Word Count: 1.7k
Warnings: Swearing, sexual tension, slow burn guys, stay focused.
Song: "All American Bitch" by Olivia Rodrigo
A/n: I'm back and it's returned! Please go get caught up on parts 1 and 2 that are in my Rafe masterlist. Now that NFL season is started back up again, I'm so so so interested in writing this again.
It’s almost as if he took as much time away from the game, during the game, as he possibly could. He’d score a touchdown and make his way over to me in the endzone, checking in on me, making sure ‘no other attractive football players took me down since the last time we spoke’, his words, not mine. He’d fling his helmet down and toss me a wink from across the field which caused the other reporters around me to start asking pestering and invasive questions about my possible love life- a love life that didn’t concern them in the slightest yet they acted as if they were entitled to my whole life story just because of my sudden closeness with Rafe.
They won the game, it was a no-brainer from the beginning, with Greg and Rafe working like a well-oiled machine and knocking out touchdown after touchdown while our defense held back the offensive side from the other team. We killed it- they killed it collectively and beat the opposing team 30 to 0 without mercy.
My goal was to interview some of the more quiet members of our team today following their celebration in the locker room, needing their opinions on the game and how they feel about their winning season. I know that it’s not what I’m supposed to do, I’m supposed to be gaining the attention of the two star players, Greg and Rafe, and how they feel but since everyone twists every piece I do on Rafe, it’s nearly impossible for me to write about him and actually be taken seriously.
My eyes linger from my bag and my notes in my lap, catching Rafe and Greg out of the corner of my eyes, along with the rest of the players that spill out of the locker room to my right with a cheer, cigars tipped off their lips as their happy smiles shine. This game was important to them beyond belief, with it being against of NFL rivals of this season, one that we just kept losing to but today was finally a comeback for our underdog team. I imagine that they’ll all go out to the strip clubs tonight and get overly hammered like they usually do.
Except for the men that are married, they go home to their wives and kids.
Hopefully.
Rafe sees me almost immediately as he turns his head and spots me sitting in a pile of my own notes and I watch as his nimble fingers pull the cigar from his smile as smoke billows out from between his lips, his feet carrying him towards me in slow, nervous steps.
I try to act busy, to bury myself in my bag as I shove my equipment back into the mesh but I can’t keep my eyes off of him for long, watching the way the fabric of his t-shirt stretches around his biceps, sweat lining the collar around his neck. He looks so happy, eyes so eager as he finds himself right before me, towering over me with confidence as he reaches out to help me stand up from the ground.
“Hi.” He says sweetly, eyes raking up and down my figure, briefly catching on my bare legs.
“Hi.” I breathe, soothing my hands down my thighs in an attempt to seem put together but with the wind blowing through the tunnel, I nearly blow over but Rafe’s quick to steady me by the waist. “Nice game. How does it feel to be America’s sweetheart?” He grins at my question, eyes flickering away from me and back at the team momentarily to catch them ogling us with bright smiles and the attention makes my cheeks warm.
“Pretty damn good.” He sucks in a breath, eyes flickering towards the end of the tunnel at the reporters lined up like wild animals, calling out his name in a desperate attempt to get his attention. If I listen hard enough, I hear my name too after his own and it makes my heart stop.
“Are you going out to celebrate?” I ask, blue eyes beaming down at me as he gives me a simple shrug and a nod, chuckling at the whooping behind him from the boys calling his name, urging him to hurry up but his eyes are on me.
“Yeah. Wanna join?” He asks with a hopeful look but my shoulders fall, the stinging in my temples reminding me that I have much-needed duties to attend to in the form of self-care and maybe a bottle of Pedialyte.
“I’m really excited just to go home and rest, honestly. I’ve got a pounding headache.” I frown, tapping a finger against my forehead as another zap of pain shoots up the back of my head, pulling a worried look from the wide receiver in front of me, his brows furrowing and lips fanning out into a thin line as I pout.
“Are you okay?” He asks, eyes flickering back and forth between mine and I give him a half-assed nod, trying to convince him well enough to leave it alone. “You sure?” He sounds so soft and so concerned at the tone of his voice makes me fold, my hand reaching out to rest on his bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze and pulling his concerned eyes away from my face, to my small hand that rests on his skin.
“Promise, Rafe.”
“Well, look who is it-” An annoying voice from behind Rafe has me pulling my hand away from him and Rafe lets out a dramatic groan, reaching behind him and grabbing Greg by the shoulders, pushing him away with a decent amount of force, enough force to have Greg stumbling backward.
“Bye, Greg!” Rafe calls out with an eye-roll and turns back to me with a frown, muttering a small ‘sorry’ under his breath and I just shrug, knowing that Greg’s main goal is to annoy the living shit out of his best friend.
“Ouch,” Greg mutters and rubs his shoulder with a huff. “Don’t injure my throwing arm.” He holds his arms up in surrender and backs away from us with a pout and I bite back a much-needed giggle, almost relieved that he went away and left the two of us alone.
“You’re getting good at that.” I chuckle and he nods with tired eyes.
“Yeah, I’m busy- he should know that by now.” He says, his voice dripping with something more meaningful and I feel my stomach flip, my eyes widening briefly before I remind myself to be cool and to not completely fawn over every attractive word that escapes his plump lips.
“Fans are starting to claim the only reason you’re coming to the endzone is to see me.” I flirt with a devilish smirk, fighting the urge to reach up and start twirling my hair because that would make me look like every other bimbo who throws themselves at him. But what can I say, I’m not that much different at this point.
“May or may not be one of the driving factors.” He shrugs sheepishly and I feel my cheeks warm.
“Yeah?” I pause, biting at my lip as his blue-green eyes stare down at me, a heavy, heated pause between us, one that makes my toes curl and head spin as we stare at each other. “It was nice to see you so often. Four whole touchdowns in one game?”
“What can I say, my motives are motivating.” He reaches out, brushing his hand against mine before locking his pinky with my own and I laugh breathlessly, now definitely making a fool out of myself with how heavy I’m breathing.
“You’re sweet.” I’m flushing I’m sure, I can feel it, the heat crawling up the back of my neck as I slip my hand out of his and check the time on my wrist, not wanting to leave but knowing that it’s time to go and with how the boys are yelling at him to come on, he has to go too. “I have to go but I’ll catch you later?” I smile, going to walk away from him but he reaches out to grab my upper arm.
“Hey wait.” He fishes for something in his pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper, slipping it into my hands without warning before pressing a simple and surprising kiss to my cheek. “It was nice seeing you again, Y/n.” The boys are screaming down the tunnel from us and he laughs coyly, backing up slowly and leaving me in a puddle. “Text me.”
-
Tucking myself into bed, I stare at my phone that sits on the nightstand beside me with my lip between my teeth, thinking about texting him and the consequences that could come from bridging that gap. I could just go to sleep, ignore the pounding in my skull and the nausea sitting at the back of my throat, but instead, all my brain wants me to do is pick up my phone and ask Rafe how his celebration went.
I could text him just a simple hi, turn my phone off, go to bed, and hopefully wake up to a message from him. Or I could text him and get a ‘who’s this’ response and cry myself to sleep out of pure embarrassment. Who’s to say that he doesn’t do this often? Maybe he just wants to get in my pants so desperately that he would flirt with me and make a huge spectacle over it just to gain media attention and publicity. Maybe all I am to him is attention.
Saying fuck it, I grab my phone, log in and find Rafe’s contact without hesitation, pressing the new message button with butterflies in my stomach. My fingers are shaking as I type something out, hesitating before pressing send with an excited squeal. Me: Having fun and getting into trouble without me?
#rafe#rafe x reader#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#outerbanks#outerbanks fic#rafe cameron smut#rafe smut#rafe fic#rafe cameron fic#outerbanks series
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It’s a stupid thing to be hurt about. Lance knows it is. He knows absolutely firsthand, now, how much worse things can be; hell, he has been through objectively worse! Several times! He was blown up! It gave him brain damage!
His eyes burn, anyway, and the lump in his throat is impossible to choke down.
“It doesn’t fucking matter,” he mutters harshly to himself, voice hoarse. “It doesn’t — it’s not serious. Chill out.”
He’s been repeating the same mantra to himself on and off all day. Longer than that, really.
But this time it doesn’t work. He knows why, but he thought he was — he’s supposed to be okay with this. He’s an adult. He’s eighteen years old! It all feels so — stupid and juvenile, and he’s not stupid and juvenile, and it’s not even anyone’s fault and there’s no fucking reason to be mad, except that he’s four goddamn years old, apparently, and can’t fucking handle a situation without crying like a stupid fucking toddler.
It’s just that he —
He clenches the quilt tightly in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut.
He’s been working on this for over a year.
They don’t have a ton of free time, as paladins. They’re constantly on missions or training or planning or spending hours in the healing pod as a result of the missions and training and planning. There’s always a million things to do. But there are moments, here in there, when at least one hand is free, when there’s time to wind down, have some time to yourself.
Lance has been using his rare pockets of time to collect scraps of fabric, from worn curtains to torn flight suits to beautiful decorative things gifted on diplomatic missions. It was something he did with his Abuela at home, from when he was barely big enough to see the sewing machine from her lap, and the sound of the piercing needle and weaving thread is a comfort, now, something familiar he can do with his hands, something to remind him why he’s on this haunted castle in the dead of space, billions of lightyears away from home.
He’s proud of it. It’s by no means the first quilt he’s ever made and it shows in the straight lines of the stitching, the swirling patterns of the patches. It was a calming process but a difficult one, too, and he’s poured his heart and soul into it, seeing together the reds and blues and greens and yellows and blacks to make something solid of their frantic time in space. He’s been too excited to keep it to himself, even, mentioning it here and there, bringing it up during conversation at dinner.
He hadn’t expected everyone to drop what they were doing and write a fucking poem about it, obviously, but he had — he thought there’d be something. Anything. When he draped it pointedly over his lap during movie night, tracing the stitches with his pointer finger, he’d expected someone to say, woah, cool, you make that yourself? You were telling us about it!
His face burns hot with shame, and he swipes angrily under his eyes. How fucking arrogant. It’s just a — it’s a fucking blanket made of worn scraps. They’re fighting a war. He can’t believe he expected a fucking — fluffing of his ego, or whatever. It’s embarrassing. It’s a child whining for their mother to watch them do half a cartwheel.
He balls up the fabric, resisting the urge to rip it to shreds, and stomps down the hallway, blowing past a bewildered Keith. He nearly slams right into the wall as he rounds the corner, staggering to the side at the last minute, yanking open the hatch of the garbage chute and stuffing the quilt in.
“Fucking — come on.” The stupid fucking quilt is too bulky. He slams both palms flat against the bunched fabric and shoves, but his arms shake, and the harder he presses the more frustrated tears well up and steam down his face, and the weaker his arms gets. “Go — in!”
He rears his fist back and slams it into the ball of fabric as hard as he can, but the stupid thing stays jammed. With a shout of frustration he kicks the side of chute, hard, but all that does is damn near break his toe, so he pounds the quilt with his fists again and again and again and —
“Fuck off!” he screams, kicking the stupid chute one more time before giving up and slamming the lid back down on it. It doesn’t do anything but make the whole thing look a thousand times more pathetic; his stupid childish quilt stuffed in a garbage chute where it belongs but refusing to slide down like the ugly eyesore it is. The sobs that he’d been choking down since the beginning of that stupid fucking movie tear their way out of him and there’s not a goddamn thing he can do to stop them, so he turns and flees, leaves the ugly thing behind him, sprinting all the way to his room, furiously wiping his eyes. He throws himself on his bed at full speed and nearly cracks his head on the wall when he bounces on the mattress. He snatches the nearest pillow and hugs it to his chest, shoving his face so deeply into the down that he can hardly breathe, sobbing so hard he has to choke down vomit.
He’s a fucking idiot. A fool. A goddamn child.
He cries until he passes out.
#vld#voltron#lance#lance mcclain#langst#hurt lance#hurt no comfort#angst#what if you worked on something for weeks and months and even a year and literally no one even gave a shit like wouldn’t that be devastating#anyways#klance#kinda#maybe in the future idk#my writing#fic#longpost#no one read this
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i just wanna thank everyone for all the love on my V cosplay. it was a tough build, and is still in progress/reworks. i intend on making her prom dress, maid dress, and camp uniform.
long ass post ahead detailing progress, so hold onto your socks!
📸 by my bestie caro :)
the closer to completed i got with the parts, the more and more every little thing went wrong. i need to rework/repair a LOT before i enter her in any competitions. i also intend on building her wings. may post progress updates
for the EVA foam arms, i made them too long (and still need to trim them more) and was unable to use my arms at all. i had to ask my girlfriend to hold and manage all my stuff at the convention. :,) they’re also gritty as hell, because i had to make them outside and the wind kept blowing them off the work area while the paint was wet. the paint messed up a lot and had to be re-done several times.
as for the mask, similar to the arms. the paint gave me hell and i had to trim it down multiple times. i also lost it to a gust of wind at the convention! i was EXTREMELY lucky that my bestie was able to spot it in a road median the next day.
originally, the tail was going to have LED’s in it similarly to the headband. however, the electronics kept breaking. no matter how much i fiddled with it and attempted to re-solder it, it would not work. at one point, the line suspending the tail snapped. that was an insane repair on the con floor.
i was hoping to have the dress done fast, as i have most of the parts pinned and ready to sew but the machine does not like the stretchy fabric. at all.
even though i measured a gajillion times, the stockings did not end up as long as i would have liked them. the painting on them is unfinished too, and was all done the two nights before con. i actually ended up passing out while working them because of how much i overworked myself with school and con crunch!
as a last-second improvise, i whip-stitched some fur on a thrifted top!
i was originally going to do the fingers on the glove with foam, but the parts all peeled and ripped, so i just painted it instead. one of the fingers on the glove even almost came off.
#murder drones#murder drones v#murder drones cosplay#cosplay progress#sd v#serial designation v#fanart#glitch productions#murder drones fanart#md fanart#eva foam#cosplay crafting#v cosplay#cosplay convention#cosplay photography#cosplay props#prop making#robot girl#iveraines art#crafts
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