#bit-dodgy's 500 follower celebration
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Family Affair
Part of my 500 Follower Celebration set in The Shape of Youniverse
The Prompt: Jake wins a bet between the boys, so he gets to grow a mustache, which means your family’s first group Halloween costume is The Addams Family
Requested by: @pleasehidemyficshit
Pairing: Jake x afab!reader, background Steven x afab!reader and Marc x afab!reader, Reader is married to the system
Spice-o-meter: 🌶🌶🌶🌶, Explicit, Minors DNI!
Word Count: 3.2k
CW/TW: We’ve earned all four peppers here friends - obviously Jake has a mustache and looks too good with it, there’s talk about sharing D.I.D. with loved ones, groping, a touch of roleplaying and spanking, f!receiving oral, destruction of clothing, breastplay, lactation kink, and titty-fucking (it’s back!)
A/N: Y’all I started writing this before Halloween and wanted to have it for everyone by then... but shit’s been crazy on my end. I’m behind in asks and responses but it was in an effort to get this out and honestly to keep my head above water! Hope this fic and the filth below is entirely worth and thank you all, especially my darling requester, for patience with me! Spanish translations at ze bottom of ze fic!
“Damn babes, never thought I’d say it, but Jake can pull off a mustache,” Charlotte mused while the pair of you stood in her reception room, currently decorated for a spooky, but not scary, Halloween party.
You immediately shushed her. “Stop that! What if he hears you?”
She threw her hands up in surrender, yet didn’t appear at all contrite. Charlotte and Harry’s place was palatial by most Londoners’ standards, but sound could carry from one end of the room to the other rather easily. “Here, come with me to the loo, I need help with my wig anyway. We’ll talk about it there.”
This Halloween, your first as a mother, was quite different from previous ones. The last year you had been too queasy to go out, and the year before that, you and your husband had been out all night hopping between various pubs and parties. While your couples costume, Hugh Hefner and a Playboy bunny, was admittedly and totally misogynistic, it had led to the night culminating in some rather fantastic sex just as the sun’s rays began to kiss the horizon. Plus, Jake called you “conejita” now sometimes in bed which never failed to make you shiver.
Tonight was the diametric opposite. You had to be home 9:30 sharp so as not to completely fuck Nyla’s sleep schedule, you and your husband hadn’t so much as seen each other’s genitals in days, and your family was attending precisely one fête, this one at Charlotte’s house. She and Harry had welcomed a daughter of their own, Abigail, a few months before Nyla was born. Their low-key house party was the perfect festive, baby-friendly occasion for the holiday. Come to think of it, your previous costume and activities were a rather fitting way to send off your pre-baby body and persona.
“This is lovely by the way,” you told Charlotte, crowding into her downstairs loo with her. “I can’t believe you were able to clean and decorate this place while Abby is teething.”
“Thank you,” she replied, genuinely touched at the comment while she helped you to recenter the part on the long, black haired wig you’d donned for the evening. “Honestly, I have no worries about going back to work for my MP now, the House of Commons is a cakewalk compared to the chaos it took to get this house together today.”
You laughed, the truth of her sentiment resonating with you. Even if you didn’t work in government, everything else was a breeze after having a baby.
“Though I must say, it’s a bit cunty for my best mate to show up looking as good as you do tonight,” Charlotte teased, “If I hadn’t seen you pregnant myself, I’d doubt you even carried Nyla.”
“HA!” You squawked in disbelief, “either you’re already pissed or need to get your eyes checked. Besides, black is a very forgiving color.”
Though Halloween with a baby meant no more all-nighters and fuckfests, it did mean something else that was arguably just as exciting: family costumes. Given that earlier in the month Jake had won a contest between him and his alters on who could change Nyla’s diaper the quickest, he was currently sporting a mustache. You weren’t exactly chuffed about its presence on your husband's face, but it did inspire you to make everyone dress up as the Addams Family. You’d ordered a darling little Peter Pan-collared black dress for Nyla as well as a crocheted hat with braids, a slinky (and apparently very forgiving) long black dress and wig for yourself, then a pinstripe suit for the boys.
You didn’t know why it had never occurred to you before, but your husband, specifically Jake who was fronting tonight, made a perfect Gomez Addams. While you needed a full face of makeup and wig to recreate Morticia’s look, all Jake needed to do was slick back his hair and trim his mustache. He had surprised you in the midst of your process mimicking Morticia’s winged eyeliner by asking you for some eye makeup of his own for the evening.
You were all too happy to oblige his request. Nyla was napping, you were almost done, and it made you endlessly happy that your husband got into the Halloween spirit as much as you did. Jake sat on the closed lid of the toilet while you straddled him to apply the kohl. To his credit, he stayed still for the most part while you drew and smudged the black pigment onto the delicate skin of his lids. It was remarkably intimate, given the closeness and the vulnerability the act required.
However, this was Jake, so right as you finished he growled “Nena”, then pulled you into his lap to feel the hardness swiftly growing there.
“Absolutely not,” you protested, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. “I have worked too hard on this makeup, plus Nyla let me dress her without any fuss, so no.”
“Pero nena, este vestido,” your husband whined, canting his hips against your core. “What am I supposed to do when it frames your tetas so perfectly?”
“Luego,” you declared, your dismissal as harsh and final as a judge’s.
Jake’s resulting pout was downright comical. Yet, it was worth delaying nookie in your opinion for getting to Charlotte’s at a reasonable time and getting family photos before Nyla inevitably rebelled on her braid-cap thingy.
“Alright but Jake,” Charlotte circled back now that your wig was sorted.
“Jake,” you echoed, switching spots in front of the mirror so Charlotte could touch up her witch makeup. “Well I told you he strong-armed me into letting him grow one, and it must be the Latino blood and you know…energy that means he can pull it off. I can’t let him think that though, because he’ll never shave it.”
“What do the other two think about it?”
Charlotte and Harry were two members of the small circle of people who knew about your husband’s D.I.D. You’d been friends with her for years before you met Marc, and it didn’t occur to you to share his condition with Charlotte until you learned that her mother-in-law also had D.I.D. It brought you both all that much closer since you each had someone safe and knowledgeable to talk about it with, plus Harry was a reassuring example of someone who had been living with and loving someone with D.I.D his entire life.
“They’re not pleased because it’s resulted in less sex,” you divulged. “Marc’s been telling clients it’s for cancer awareness, despite No Shave November starting, well, in November. Steven teaches a bunch of Gen-Zers who think it’s part of some new TikTok trend.”
Charlotte burst into laughter at your assessment. Before you two could gossip any further, there was a knock on the bathroom door. It was Harry, who once he identified you, called to Jake, “They’re in here!”
In the span of a second, a frantic Jake rushed over to you with his arms full of a very unhappy Nyla.
“Where have you been?” He snapped.
You knew Jake was flustered about his daughter crying, so you sent him a smile, and in a carefully measured tone asked him, “Would you like to try that again?”
“Sorry,” your husband softened at once, “but it’s not her diaper, I took off her wig-hat thing, I even tried taking her around the block in her stroller, but nothing’s worked so—“
“She must be hungry,” you concluded for him and held out your arms for him to pass your still-wailing infant over.
As easy as it was to jump down each other’s throats when Nyla was upset, you had to give your husband grace. Especially since technically, he’d only been a parent for a third of as long as you’d had.
Once Nyla was securely in your grasp you cooed at her, “Oh baby Wednesday, what’s wrong?”
Charlotte joined in your attempts to soothe Nyla and offered you their bedroom to feed her. Unfortunately, time on the boob didn’t make your daughter a happier camper so you and Jake decided to call it a night. As disappointing as it was, leaving early was the right move since Nyla fully conked out on the car ride home.
She mercifully didn’t wake up when you and Jake transferred her into her crib, which left you and your very sexy husband still in costume with nothing to do at 8:45 on Halloween night.
“We could put something on?” you suggested.
“Or,” Jake countered, “we could have a Halloween party of our own.”
He captured your hand and kissed the back of it, making you stutter when you asked, “And what would that entail exactly?”
Jake hummed, trailing his lips up your arm in true Gomez Addams fashion, and when reached the juncture of your shoulder and neck, you mewled. Encouraged by how you were swiftly melting into his arms, your husband bit down, worrying the sensitive skin there with his tongue.
He escalated his delicious assault on your body by stepping behind you so each of Jake’s large, sure hands could cup and squeeze your breasts. The act ripped a whine from your throat, given that your tits had been made incredibly sensitive by nursing. You flinched and turned your head to the side, thereby exposing more of your neck for his teeth and tongue to attack.
“Been thinking about these tetas all night,” he rasped into your ear.
“Yeah?” You urged him on. Both he and Steven were downright obsessed with your lactating bosom. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Wanna stick my cock between ‘em,” Jake divulged. His words made you even weaker in the knees.
“Mmm, Papi,” you keened.
He bit down on your earlobe and corrected you, “Gomez.”
Oh, you were doing that tonight. You turned the Morticia on, twisted in his grasp, clutched Jake’s lapels, then told him, “I want you to ravage me, my love, tear me apart like an animal then put back together as only a lover such as you can.”
You were unsure if it was dramatic enough, but it certainly did the trick, seeing that suddenly your world shifted since Jake threw you over his shoulder to cart you off to the bedroom.
You and your husband were never much for role playing, so this was a surprise. And since Jake looked so much like Gomez, why not give it a try?
Jake snapped you out of your thoughts when he landed a slap on your ass before depositing you onto the bed. You tried to assume a sexy position spread out on the bed, the long black wig you still wore fanning out across the comforter.
While your husband usually went straight for your ass, tits, or mouth, Jake surprised you by yanking on your ankles to pull you further down on the bed. He contrasted his first brusque move with a softer one, dropping his lips to the delicate skin of your ankle. Once again emulating the character he was dressed as, Jake drew a line of kisses up the length of your leg. Every press of his lips against the tender skin of your shin and thigh made you convulse as Jake continued toward his prize.
It was impossible to stifle the yelp you made when Jake ripped the fabric of your costume to further open the slit of the dress so he could get at your pussy. Once he had the necessary space, your husband wasted no time pushing the now soaked crotch of your thong aside and kissing your quivering core. He treated you to little licks up and down the seam of your cunt, before focusing on swirling it around your clit.
“Jaaake,” you keened, too far gone to use the characters you were supposedly role-playing as.
He lapped at your slit voraciously. It was tempting to allow your eyes to flutter closed and surrender to your pleasure, yet the image before you was too intoxicating to ignore. It was thrilling, with the different hairstyle, the eyeliner that made his dark gaze pop, the glimpse of the pinstripe pattern across his broad shoulders…Jake looked just enough like a stranger between your thighs. And that sent an extra swell of excitement through you.
Jake hummed against your folds, the vibrations making you shudder and allowing another high-pitched yip to escape from you. The brush and tickle of his mustache added another layer of novelty and titillation to your already trembling form.
“Don’t stop,” you urged him. Pleasure was now zinging across every corner and crevice of your body. Your mounting orgasm made you toss your head from side to side on the pillow, while you attempted to find purchase for your fingers within Jake’s shellacked strands.
Though Jake often liked to be the boss in the bedroom, he heeded your order, dutifully continuing his rapacious attentions on your core. He could usually feel when the proverbial band of your peak snapped and coursed through you, but this time, Jake could hear it in the plaintive, pleasure-drunk calls of his petname.
When “Papi..Pah…Puh…” became “oh fuck Paaaaaaapi,” he knew he’d done his job, that your climax was lighting up every last nerve ending in that pretty little pussy of yours, and that your ecstasy was entirely his doing.
Jake wanted to give you more time to catch your breath as you came down, he really did, but he’d been hard ever since Nyla’d been deposited into her crib, which meant unfettered access to your tits. The way your chest had heaved while you lost yourself in the bliss of your orgasm hadn’t exactly helped his patience either. Your husband snatched the two panels of fabric that made up your dress and tore the garment clean in half.
“Necesito estas tetas,” he growled, his hands once again sailing straight to your breasts.
You jerked from the surprise contact as Jake swooped down onto your bosom and whimpered. Your breasts were tender to begin with, and your body was still being wracked by little aftershocks from your climax. Thankfully, your husband noticed, and his touch became much gentler in the span of an instant.
“Oh nena,” he murmured, tenderly playing with each teat, reveling in the breastmilk that had begun to dribble from them. “Fuiste tan bueno para Papi, déjame cuidarte. Tu sabes que Papi le encantan el sabor de tu leche.”
You’d barely translated his word in your head before his warm, relentless mouth had found your right nipple and began suckling at it. Feeling the suction of Jake's mouth coaxing out the buildup of milk in your already engorged boobs nearly had you levitating above the sheets. Not only was it incredibly arousing, but the relief that coursed through you with every pull of his lips, especially since Nyla didn't eat much earlier, only made you feel more divine.
It didn't take you long to figure out that your husband’s worship of your chest was two-fold. Sure, Jake was sending you into the stratosphere by suckling at your breasts, but when he switched mounds by leaving open-mouthed kisses across your sternum, it was clear he was also getting you wet so he could wedge his throbbing dick between them.
“Mmmm Papi, you gonna put that huge cock between my boobies?” you intoned to egg him on. “Gonna fuck these big titties?”
Jake replied with a snarl and detached himself from your now thoroughly-abused nipple. “Ven aqui.”
The next thing you knew, you were no longer splayed on the bed, rather on your knees with your criminally handsome husband towering over you. You watched hungrily as he slowly, tantalizingly unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly, but when you reached to shuck off his trousers altogether, Jake caught your hands.
“Ah ah,” he tutted. “Mi traje se queda puesto.”
A dark whirlpool of excitement churned in your stomach at his statement. There was something extra electrifying about being left in your cum-soaked thong while Jake was fully clothed, drawing his turgid length out of his costume’s zip. You spurred him on by squeezing your tits and pushing them together.
“Joder, nena,” he swore at the sight. “Voy a follar esas tetas tan duro.”
“Qué estas esperando por, Papi?” you goaded him.
Jake needed no further encouragement. He stepped toward you and wedged his dick, flushed wine-red and leaking, between your heavy breasts. It was a different position, but you knew that Jake would want a similar treatment to one his alter got on your holiday to Cornwall.
Steven had made an absolute mess of your chest and the sheets at the cottage you’d rented in the countryside, so naturally Jake would want his chance to top him. This time, you were less bashful about your husband fucking your tits, which emboldened you to give him a show. Not only did you dart your tongue out to lap at his cockhead each time Jake thrust it between your boobs, you massaged them around this shaft to stimulate him further.
“Fuhhhhh, nena,” he groaned at the stimulation, the movement of your milk-laden breasts making him piston his hips harder into the valley of your chest. “Jo–oh, joder.”
There wasn’t much talking after that, the feel of your breasts suffocating Jake’s cock rendered him speechless. You concentrated on licking his swollen tip, the salty taste of his precum filling your mouth with every swipe of your tongue.
The two of you made a lewd symphony between the slick slip of his cock between your breasts, the jingle of his zipper against his thigh with each shove of his pelvis, plus the little grunts and moans you traded with each other. You knew Jake’s climax was fast-approaching when his grunts picked up pace.
Within moments, his seed was painting your tongue with hot stripes. Jake’s face was blissfully open and unfurrowed as his peak consumed him. It was a welcome sight to see your husband’s features wearing only pleasure and release. To you, that was sweeter than any candy or treat Halloween could offer. Well, that and the absolutely adorable family photos you managed to sneak in earlier this evening before Nyla took a hard left into fussytown.
Once Jake’s orgasm subsided, you slipped off the wig, relieved to no longer have it on your scalp since your previous activities had worked up quite a sweat. Jake collected you in his arms, and kissed you surprisingly gently for how intently he was fucking your tits just minutes previously.
“¿Quieres una ducha?” he whispered.
You nodded, “Si Papi. Gracias.”
You followed him into your en-suite bathroom. As he put the water on, you remarked, “Big day tomorrow.”
“Mmm?” came Jake’s response as he at last stripped himself of his costume.
“Shaving Day,” you supplied. You, Marc and Steven had been counting down.
“Actually, I was thinking–”
“No no! We all agreed!” you stopped him. “Besides, you had your fun tonight, didn’t you? What a sendoff.”
“That’s exactly why I should keep it baby,” he purred, crowding you with his now naked body. “Don’t think I haven’t seen your leg twitching when I kiss this pretty pussy con mi bigote. Se siente bien, ¿no?”
“Nice try, Lockley,” you countered, scampering past him into the spray, “but a deal’s a deal.”
Jake wanted to argue, but the sight of you - nude and wet in the shower - silenced him for the time being. There would be plenty of time to concoct another scheme/bet/what have you for his mustache’s glorious return. Right now, he simply wanted to be close to, and joined you under the stream of water.
A/N: Leave it to me to intend to write straight up filth but needing to writing idk, a thousand or so words of world-building before our dude gets his cock out. Classic moi, am I right? Anyway, hope everyone enjoyed!! Only two more prompts to gooooo
Translations:
conejita - little bunny
Nena - babe
pero nena, este vestido - but babe, this dress
tetas - tits
Luego - later
Necesito estas tetas - I need these tits
Fuiste tan bueno para papi, déjame cuidarte. Tu sabes que Papi le encantan el sabor de tu leche - You were so good to daddy, let me take care of you. You know that Papi loves the taste of your milk
Ven aqui - come here
Mi traje se queda puesto - my suit stays on
Joder, nena - fuck babe
Voy a follar esas tetas tan duro - I’m going to fuck these tits so hard
Qué estas esperando por, Papi - What are you waiting for?
¿Quieres una ducha? - you want a shower?
Si Papi. Gracias - Yes thanks.
con mi bigote. Se siente bien, ¿no? - with my mustache. It feels good doesn’t it?
Taglist:
@twwcs, @rmoonstoner, @hot-mess-express1, @murdickdocked, @toracainz, @saahmi, @unspokenmoon, @winterbiipp, @avatarofseshat @ilikeoldermenhelp, @losers-club6, @harrys-tittie, @ninebluehearts, @lucianadraven32, @dawnsutopia, @strawberry1042, @nikitawolfxo, @weirdo125 @damnzelsoul @missmarmaladeth
#moon knight#moon knight smut#moon knight fanfic#moon knight fanfiction#jake lockley#jake lockley x female!reader#jake lockely smut#jake lockley x reader#jake lockley x you#marc spector#marc spector x reader#steven grant#steven grant x reader#oscar isaac#oscar isaac smut#oscar isaac fanfiction#bit-dodgy's 500 follower celebration#bit dodgy's 500 follower celebration
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Congrats on 500 followers bestie!! I love your account so much. I love Daniel bruhl so much but I've not seen much people appreciating my multilingual babe!!
uhm sorry babe it wasn’t me, think you mistook it as my celebration and it was my beloved bit-dodgy-innit’s celebration🥺 (she’s amazing btw if you’re into moon knight you should check it out🥳)
And yeahh welcome to Daniel’s world and we’re just living in it haha, to be very honest there’s not a lot of update lately and my blog been shifting into moon knight obsession so anyone who followed me because of daniel’s update i’m so sorry there’s not much to update😭✋🏽
#my daniel brühls tag everytime i tryna reblog any mk content be starring at me like👁👁 are u gonna use us or what it’s been ages#yeah i knowww i miss him too yk#ask
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500 Followers Celebration
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 500 FOLLOWERS!!! When I started this blog, I thought I was lucky to just get ten and now theres 500 people, like that’s absolutely insane!
Naturally, I figured it deserved some sort of celebration, so by taking inspiration from my favourite blog @writingsoftheloser when she did hers, I’m going to do a drabble type thing.
Below, I have listed 30 prompts and if you send me an ask in my inbox with a couple of prompts and a character then I’ll write a little drabble for you! If you have any doubts about what fandoms/characters I write for then just send me an ask and I’ll get back to you ASAP. So, again, thank you so much for 500 followers!!
Prompts:
Why is that your password?
If history repeats itself I’m getting a dinosaur
Well... that’s a new murder weapon
If a zombie bit you I’d grieve for you, but I’d also shoot you twice in the head
I never pictured myself in a wedding dress before
Have you ever heard of personal space?
Please don’t punch his face too hard, I happen to quite like his face
Now, I’m not saying that I hate you, all that I’m saying is that if you were on fire and there was water next to you, chances are I’d drink it
Are you sure he doesn’t want to kill me? Because he really looks like he wants to
Honestly, I’m gone for two days and everything dissolves to shit
You’re not a dog/cat person? I’m sorry, I just don’t see this working out
Where did all these puppies come from?
I’m far too sober for this
Is that my hoodie?
There’s literally a fucking ocean between us and we’re still arguing
I didn’t realise you were scared of storms
Yes, I’m needy and pathetic now get your cute ass over here and cuddle me
Do you ever imagine how cute we’d be together?
This is real life! You don’t get to reset when you fuck something up!
Do you own any of your own clothes?
Stop throwing your slippers at me!
He’s respectable, but yaknow, a bit dodgy
I’ve met some pricks in my time, but you are the fucking cactus.
Don’t joke about murder, I was murdered once and believe me, it wasn’t pleasant
Excuse me who invited you to this conversation? I’m sure as shit it wasn’t me!
It’s not that I don’t like them, it’s just that I’d so much rather shove a fork in their eye
I’m alive, but only ironically.
Your hand is on my arse
Hello there my significant annoyance!
I touch myself whenever I think about you. More specifically, I rub my temples because I get a headache, because you’re awful.
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CELTIC celebrated the 53rd anniversary of their unforgettable European Cup triumph in Lisbon on Monday.
Today, CQN is acknowledging the historic achievement with a series of EXCLUSIVE extracts from the late, great Tommy Gemmell’s autobiography, ‘All The Best’, co-authored by Alex Gordon.
It was, of course, Big TG who walloped in the equaliser against Inter Milan to put Jock Stein’s great side on their way to victory on May 25 1967 in the Portuguese capital.
Gemmell, who sadly passed away in March 2017 at the age of 73, had a keen sense of humour and it comes across in these memoirs.
Please enjoy.
WEE Jimmy Johnstone often told me that I had been decorated more often than the Queen’s living room. I never thought to ask Jinky exactly how he knew of the specific arrangements for the makeovers at Buck House, but I got the drift.
What the Wee Man didn’t know was that there was one honour I should have won on a weekly basis – the Best Actor’s award.
No doubt my former team-mates and fans alike will be surprised by this revelation, but it’s time to come clean. I was never quite as laidback as everyone thought I was. It was all an act. I wasn’t a bag of nerves before every game, but I can tell you the butterflies were there. I was as much subject to normal human frailties as the next man. I just did my best to disguise it while sauntering around the dressing room looking as though I didn’t have a care in the world.
But, deep inside, I felt the tension.
The trick was not to show it. And once you have done it a couple of times as a cocky youngster coming into the first team to mix with the big boys, then you are stuck with it for the rest of your life. It becomes unshakeable and forms your personality.
Looking back, I realise I had more front than Brighton Pier. I was never really concerned about the image. That was never a priority from someone from a housing scheme in Craigneuk, Lanarkshire. But I realised I had lumbered myself with a part to play. I read in the newspapers that I was flamboyant, cavalier, buccaneering, flashy, swashbuckling, exciting and dashing. I don’t think any other Celtic full-back in the history of the club had ever been described in such graphic, praiseworthy terms. Again, that is not being big-headed. In the earlier days, they were defenders first and foremost.
THE BIG SHOT…Tommy Gemmell thumps in the leveller against Inter Milan.
They were never encouraged to cross the halfway line. That was a massive no-no. However, that had always been my natural instinct, to get into enemy territory and do as much damage as possible. I knew I had a good shot in either foot, with my right being the stronger, and, with Jock Stein around, you were given every opportunity to get forward and attempt to create havoc.
I scored my first league goal for the club on 28 October 1964, but I didn’t do too much celebrating as we had just been humped 5-2 by Kilmarnock at Rugby Park. At least, I had put down my marker. It was quite awhile afterwards that Big Jock handed me the penalty-taking duties. Before me, the players on the spot were Dunky MacKay, Bobby Murdoch, Bertie Auld, Ian Young, Charlie Gallagher, Joe McBride and John Hughes.
So, I had to wait my turn before I was given the nod when we were awarded one in our European Cup first round second leg tie against Zurich in Switzerland on 5 October 1966 en route to conquering Europe. I had scored in the first game in Glasgow, a 2-0 win, and I had netted again in Zurich. We were 2-0 up in that game – Stevie Chalmers got the other – and I was given the ball to complete a hat-trick over the two legs. I clubbed it into the net and that was me the No.1 choice.
I have to say I was never nervous before I took a penalty. Normally the adrenalin would be pumping because you don’t often get a spot-kick in the first five minutes or so unless, of course, it is an absolute stonewaller. So, I was mainly into my stride by the time we ever received an award. I felt sorry for the goalkeeper before I took a penalty. He had no idea where I was going to place it for one very good reason – I hadn’t a clue myself.
My secret of a good penalty-kick was simple; hammer it as hard as you can, get it on target and see what happens after that. I had a fairly good record, even if I do say so myself. I think I missed three out of thirty-seven attempts and I believe I hit the keeper on two of those occasions. They weren’t quick enough to get out of the way!
Back then, my guilty pleasure was cars. Well, I had to continue to play and look the part, hadn’t I? My first car was a gas-guzzling Ford Zodiac which I bought from Ian Skelly’s dealership in Motherwell where my mum worked. It was a big three-litre, six-cylinder job which was Britain’s version of the American Chevy. It caused a bit of a stir when I parked it outside my parents’ tenement block in Craigneuk, I can tell you. It was my pride and joy. I had arrived! Ian Skelly’s brother Billy was in Lisbon in 1967 when I bumped into him. ‘Score a goal today, Tommy, and I’ll give you fifty gallons of petrol free.’ And he was as good as his word.
From the Zodiac I moved onto the Ford Zephyr. I bought all my cars from Skelly’s and I paid £500 for a Ford Cortina out of my European Cup bonus of £1,500. Over the period I must have owned about twenty cars although, unlike today’s players, I only had one at a time. My favourite was a white S-type Jaguar that was really sleek. I enjoyed driving up to Celtic Park on matchdays in that stylish, eye-catching vehicle with the fans waving at me. It was a world away from the days of cycling to Fir Park as a kid with my knees regularly clattering off the handlebars of a bike I had clearly outgrown. Aye, I had come a long way right enough.
I was fairly fashion conscious in those days. Well, I thought I was trendy. I can look at photographs now of me in the late sixties and early seventies and wonder what on earth I was thinking. I had shirts with collars the size of bed sheets. If you got caught in a fierce tail-wind there was a possibility you could be whisked off to another country. I wore flare-bottomed trousers that had enough surplus material to make about six suits.
FIST IN TIME…the wonderful Ronnie Simpson punches the ball to safety during a 3-3 draw with Spurs at Hampden in a pre-season friendly in 1967.
Shoes? Don’t even go there. Dodgy colours with equally dodgy soles and heels. Most footballers sported hair styles that weren’t dissimilar to blow-dried stoats perched on their napper. Thankfully, I missed the bubble-perm look. That was hilarious. All those big ba’-faced, ugly players with broken noses and hair like Shirley Temple. My only consolation was the fact everyone looked the same, so no-one pointed and laughed. Walk down the street today with that gear on and everyone would believe the circus was in town.
Being a Celtic player was simply wonderful. The public might never have believed it, but Celtic and Rangers players actually got on quite well with each other. Wee Willie Henderson was a particular friend of mine and still is to this day. Bertie Auld, Willie Wallace, myself and a couple of others used to go to Reid’s Bar on Hope Street in Glasgow after a game on a Saturday. It was owned by Partick Thistle chairman and SFA President Tom Reid and a lot of footballers used to hang out there. They had an upstairs bar where you could get a bit of privacy. Normally we would be joined by the Rangers contingent of Wee Willie, Ronnie McKinnon, Davie Provan and Willie Johnston. It was all very affable, I must say.
Talking of Wee Willie reminds me of a story he told me back in the sixties when Muhammad Ali was visiting Glasgow in a worldwide publicity exercise. The heavyweight champion of the world and, in my opinion, the greatest-ever sportsman was due to pop in and see us at Celtic Park and then he was going across the city to Ibrox to do the same with the Rangers players. Willie said, ‘I shook hands with Ali and this handsome specimen took a look at my flattened nose. He smiled and said, “You a footballer? Man, I’m sure glad I’m a boxer.” I couldn’t argue.’
Jock Stein abhorred alcohol, as we all know, so it may surprise a few that the Celtic players were allowed a drop of whisky before every game. Okay, it wasn’t enough to cater for a party. In fact, it was only a quarter bottle of whisky and it was kept out of sight in the shower room. Big Jock never allowed anyone else into the dressing room apart from the players and staff, but on the off-chance someone did enter his exclusive sanctum, there would never be any booze on display.
However, if the players fancied a nip before kick-off they could go and have a quick snifter with the boss’s blessing. I’m not a whisky drinker, but I had a swig one day to test out its therapeutic qualities. That was a one-off. I never touched it again. A lot of the other players didn’t bother, either, but that bottle was almost always empty before we left to take the field. I’m not pointing any accusing fingers, you understand, but Ronnie Simpson seemed to make more visits to the shower room than anyone else. Read into that what you will.
Ronnie was a great character. Do you know the only two members of the Lisbon Lions squad who smoked were the goalkeepers, Ronnie and John Fallon? And, before them, the only other bloke I saw smoking at Celtic Park was Frank Haffey, another goalkeeper. Bertie Auld would often be photographed with a giant cigar after a trophy triumph, but I doubt if he ever smoked it. That cigar probably followed him throughout his career and was never lit!
Our veteran keeper, known to everyone as ‘Faither’ for obvious reasons, was a quiet man off the field. He adored golf, of course, and probably could have made the professional circuit. Away from Parkhead, he had his own friends in Edinburgh where he lived. Mainly he would socialise with those guys. He had a droll sense of humour. Bobby Lennox remembered making a speech when he was voted by the supporters into the Greatest-Ever Celtic Team at the millennium.
He went up to accept his award at a fabulous night at the Armadillo in Glasgow. He was handed his trophy, cleared his throat and addressed the packed audience. ‘What an honour,’ he said. ‘Actually, I am very surprised to be named in the team.’ From behind him came a staged whisper, ‘Aye, you’re not the only one!’ Ronnie at his best.
I have to say those Celtic supporters have impeccable taste. At the same poll, they also voted for the club’s Greatest-Ever Goal. Who won? Yours truly for my effort against Inter Milan in Lisbon on a day no-one will forget.
Ronnie was only about 5ft 9in, but he had massive feet! He took a size eleven in a shoe and that was bigger than me and probably the rest of the team. Jim Craig, Billy McNeill and I were all 6ft-plus, but I don’t think we even came close to Ronnie’s giant peds. Coco The Clown didn’t have feet that size.
When you went into the dressing room on matchday all the boots were laid out on the floor under the respective peg numbers. Ronnie’s stood out a mile. We would joke with him, ‘When you go skiing, Ronnie, do you bother with skis?’ Or ‘When you walk into a room, do your feet arrive a couple of minutes before you?’ He would laugh, ‘At least, I’ve got a good grip of earth.’
Actually, our goalkeeper made great use of those gigantic feet. How many times did you see him kick the ball off the line? I saw him do it on scores of occasions. Ronnie never bothered about being flashy. He would keep the ball out of the net by any means possible or by any part of his anatomy.
‘Just so long as it doesn’t cross the line, son,’ he would say. ‘That’s the main thing.’
TOMORROW: Lisbon Loockback. Tommy Gemmell continues his memoirs.
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Fleabag, the new fashion icon who gets it so wrong, its right!
Phoebe Waller- Bridge’s emotionally bruised, sexually confused, did-she-really-say-that Fleabag, is not only the love-object of the moment but also the current style pin-up.
If it’s good enough for Fleabag, it’s good enough for a great many of us, looking at the sales figures of products that featured in the BBC show.
Waller-Bridge both wrote and starred in the comedy series about a young middle-class woman and her family.
It’s a sell-out: Fleabag’s jump suit worn in the series two premiere has flown off the racks
It was an unexpected success when it hit screens in 2016 and had an audience of millions for the second, and final series, which concluded last week.
From episode one, Fleabag confirmed a taking-no-hostages approach to her wardrobe. An appealing mixture of out-there sexy combined with a plain Jane girlishness.
Confusing – but in a good way. Just like her character. Fleabag’s appeal is that she is so wrong she is right. She says and does the things we might all consider – and would usually discard.
Flirting with (and bedding) a priest, tormenting her freakishly uptight sister, waging war with her ghastly stepmother-to-be. If there’s a dodgy place to put your foot, she finds it.
Waller-Bridge is a classic English beauty; tall, slender, swan-necked, porcelain-skinned – a Mitford Girl with millennial attitude.
Fleabag, who is less patrician in style than her creator, nonetheless benefits from Waller-Bridge’s inescapable good looks.
She carries off 24/7 red lipstick, manages a gorgeous wavy bob, and what about those gleaming white teeth?
So it was a shrewd move by costume designer Ray Holman (also responsible for Jodie Whittaker’s original style in Doctor Who and the clothes in domestic chiller Apple Tree Yard) to keep Fleabag relatable with a wardrobe we can all identify with.
The sexy sell-out jumpsuit
Her jumpsuit, worn in the series two premiere, is from family-run label Love.
Stocked in Topshop, Asos and SilkFred – and a steal at just £38 – it proved such a hit with viewers that it has completely sold out (500 new jumpsuits have since been ordered and can be reserved online now).
But – like so many of Waller-Bridge’s outfits – it’s the styling that feels so relatable. Instead of pairing it with heels, like on the SilkFred website, Holman chose Fleabag’s trusty Superga trainers.
A book could be written on That Black Jumpsuit of the first episode alone. Halter-necked and plunging to the waist, it was a masterpiece of silent positioning. It announced Fleabag as the self-obsessed, scene-stealing character she is, by wearing something so inappropriate and over-the-top for a family dinner to celebrate her father’s engagement.
But at the same time she looks bold, captivating and irresistible, even more so by wearing it with a pair of grubby sneakers.
Despite backless jumpsuits being a tricky look to carry off, the £38 item by small London-based brand Love sold out immediately.
Holman also makes a feature of Waller-Bridge’s endless legs, giving her hemlines like that of the red ruffle Reformation dress she wears for the last episode’s wedding party. Or her denim and leather mini skirts which are always a smidgeon too short for her height, permanently risking up-skirting (a dominant feature of her many appearances waiting at the bus stop) but simultaneously giving her a coltish carelessness.
She wears sheer black tights with her knicker-grazing minis. Is that referencing the Saint Laurent catwalk staple – or just weird? It’s up to us to decide.
She has a penchant for dungaree straps that are decidedly unglamorous but on Fleabag have a naughty schoolgirl touch.
That jumpsuit aside, Fleabag is a trend-free zone. Unlike Waller-Bridge’s other screen-heroine Villanelle, the designer clothes obsessive from Killing Eve, who wears outfits straight off the catwalk.
Not for Fleabag the wafting dresses and handkerchief hems of Instagram influencers or the saggy paper bag trousers, brightly coloured trouser suits and knife-pleat midi skirts currently flooding the shops.
Instead, because we love the woman – even the mismatched mundanity of her clothes has become as aspirational as a Balenciaga trainer.
Flaunting her legs: Her tea dress shows off her shapely legs in the series
Tea dresses to show off her legs
There was a 38 per cent spike in online searches for red dresses after Fleabag wore this floral mini in the series two finale.
There are three reasons Holman got this so right. First, the shape, which showcases Waller-Bridge’s enviable legs.
Then the tea-dress style, which – thanks to brands such as Rixo – has shaken off its frumpy reputation to become a spring must-have.
Third, Holman chose sustainable label Reformation (inset), which has the Duchess of Sussex among its fans.
She even pulls off a denim mini
From micro hemlines to cut-away jumpsuits, we’ve seen how Holman expertly mixes daring items into Fleabag’s mundane, everyday style.
The back-of-the-wardrobe item here is undoubtedly the denim mini. It’s something many women own, but are never brave enough to wear, thanks to its unflattering length and bulk.
However, Fleabag – with her simple knit, quirky tights and popular Superga trainers (£50, superga.co.uk, top) – makes it look laid-back and stylish.
Denim twist: She even has made the denim mini a fashion hit
Strange combo – but it works
Unlike Jodie Comer’s fashion-forward wardrobe for Villanelle in Killing Eve, which was made up of mostly high-end labels, the pillars of Fleabag’s outfits feel far more wearable (and affordable).
But it’s the subtle styling tweaks that seem to resonate most with viewers and fashion fans alike.
Here Holman has taken a short printed floral dress — another item found in almost every hard-working wardrobe — and paired it with a classic £45 Levi’s denim jacket and those on-trend Saint Laurent-inspired sheer black tights.
Strange combo: But the TV star makes it work leading viewers to follow in her footsteps
Breton top worn with a stylish twist
While some might team a basic jersey Breton top with jeans, Holman chose to layer a black pinafore-style jumpsuit over the top instead.
It’s an off-duty styling move which will undoubtedly be picked up by Fleabag fans in the not-so distant future.
Holman headed to high street hero Benetton for the striped top, which comes in at just under £20.
Comfy but chic, like most of Waller-Bridge’s looks, this is the ideal outfit to recreate for the weekend.
Breton top: Fleabag’s style twist has proved to be a hit
Her trademark classic trench
There is no denying the appeal of a trench coat, and over the show’s two series, this has become a staple item in Fleabag’s wardrobe.
For Waller-Bridge’s character, the trench-of-choice is chic, black and classic in both shape and fit, which – unlike those printed floral mini dresses and well-worn trainers – feels timeless and classic.
It looks every bit as stylish buttoned-up and belted, or worn loose over her striped tops, jeans and knits.
More importantly, it’s something that we can all work easily into our wardrobes.
Classic trench: It is a firm favourite of the character as it can match everything
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Playground Appropriate
Part of my 500 Follower Celebration set in The Shape of Youniverse
The Prompt: Marc is the best dad ever with Nyla at the local playground
Requested by: a lovely nonnie!
Pairing: Marc x afab!reader, background Steven x afab!reader and Jake x afab!reader, Reader is married to the system
Spice-o-meter: 🌶🌶🌶, Explicit, Minors DNI!
Word Count: 2.5k
CW/TW: Bosses being terrible, Marc is a booty-ful DILF but reticent about another bb bc trauma, mention of lactation kink and pussy-drunkenness, dirty talk, sixty-nineing so both m! and f!receiving oral, P in V sex, a smidge of over-sensitivity and spanking, daddy kink
A/N: Is the gif shitty and low-quality with a tacky watermark? Yes, but guess what? I DON’T CARE! I made it myself because the video from whence it came and an idea from @lovetopanic that MAJORLY inspired me when writing this fill. To the beautiful little bambina who made this ovary-exploding moment happen, thank you for your service.
As much as you loved being back at your job, you hadn’t missed days like these. Your and Marc’s plans to take Nyla to the Discover Children’s Story Center were promptly and thoroughly ruined when your boss called early this morning, a Saturday, and demanded you report into the office for an emergency meeting. You were in charge of one of your company's largest accounts, which while it came with lucrative bonuses and more challenging, fulfilling work, it also meant dealing with your superiors’ neuroses.
Your husband patiently listened to your laments while you got ready to go into the office. You wanted nothing more than to tell them to shove it, but your family was swiftly outgrowing your current place and you needed every penny of everyone’s salaries – yours, Marc’s, Jake’s, and Steven’s – to afford more space in the overpriced and cutthroat London real estate market.
“We can go another time,” Marc tried to downplay the inconvenience as you finished primping in the living room mirror to look office-presentable and he fed Nyla breakfast.
“I know it’s not a big deal, it’s just–” you slipped on a pair of loafers and huffed, “--it’s the principle of it you know? Graham and Nigel are both middle-aged divorcees, they don’t have families they care about spending time with, so we all suffer. In-person too.”
“Which is why you have to hang in there and get promoted so you can change things,” your husband reminded you. He turned to Nyla, “We’ll find something to do just the two of us.”
“You’re right,” you conceded. “But can you blame me for wanting to spend every second I can with this chunky monkey?”
Rather than waiting for Marc’s reply, you peppered your daughter’s plump little feet and legs with kisses in her high chair. She squealed in delight at your affections, flailing her hands in delight and sending her banana slices flying.
“Thanks,” he harrumphed at the additional mess.
“Sorry,” you apologized with a kiss to his cheek before you pulled on your jacket and grabbed your bag.
Nyla proceeded to slam the tray of her high chair and shrieked even more when she saw her mom was leaving home without her. Marc knew he’d be dealing with an irate 16-month-old if he didn’t handle this right.
“Okay, come here little girl,” he freed his daughter from her seat and scooped her in his arms. “Let’s say goodbye to Mommy.”
They met you in the doorway and your baby’s sweet, cherubic face, currently with banana smeared across it, tugged at your heart strings. You wanted nothing more than to text your bosses to go fuck themselves, how dare they take you away from your baby any more than necessary, but you were tolerating these nightmare men ultimately for Nyla’s benefit. “Mommy will be back soon sweetie, be a good girl for Daddy.”
“Wave bye-bye Nyla,” Marc encouraged her, modeling the gesture himself. After a few moments of watching her father, Nyla mimicked his wave. It was the cutest thing you’d ever seen. “Bye-bye Mommy, we love you, bye-bye!”
“Bye Smushy, love you so much,” you waved back at her, swooped in for one last kiss on those chipmunk cheeks, then addressed your husband. “I’ll text you when I’m free, honey.”
“Sounds good, babe,” Marc murmured and pecked you on the lips.
Leaving the two of them felt akin to a death march as you exited your building for the Tube. No matter how big Nyla got, you always felt an ache when you left her. Even when she was in the more than capable hands of her doting dad, being apart from Nyla felt as if there was a piece of you missing. It was easier to cope with when you were sleep-deprived or your daughter was driving you crazy, but you and Marc’d had such a lovely morning with her.
***
It was a herculean effort for you to maintain a professional veneer during the meeting with Graham, Nigel, and a few fellow godforsaken colleagues. Thankfully, assuaging their concerns about the account didn't take more than an hour and a half. You just needed to send a few “urgent” emails and then you could return to the quaint, quiet weekend you’d been enjoying with your family.
You immediately fired off a text to Marc once you left the conference room.
From me: Leaving here in 10!
From Hubby: K, we’re at the park.
Marc was the “coldest” texter out of him and his alters. Steven loved his emojis, while Jake messages were always a mix of English and Spanish with an abundance of typos in both languages. He wasn’t much of an emoji user, though he did love the smirking devil one. It was usually fitting, after all. Boy loved to sext. You’d tried over the years to hammer into Marc’s brain that ending texts with a period meant that you were either angry or a psychopath, but it was a lost cause.
Today Marc redeemed his unintentionally icy text by sending a photo of Nyla on the swings at Dulwich. You were impressed that he’d not only managed to dress your daughter in an outfit that wouldn’t get her seized by the local safeguarding children board, she sported an actual hairstyle to boot. You detested the phrase, but Marc was blossoming into quite the “girl-dad”.
From me: PIGTAILS!
From Hubby: Steven helped with those.
From me: Well done, you two! See you soon xx
***
When you arrived at Dulwich playground, you spotted Marc and Nyla before they saw you. You took a moment to covertly observe them, marveling at how attentively the man who was initially afraid to hold his newborn was now playing with his daughter. He followed her every move, steadying her with gentle and firm hands when Nyla needed it, encouraging her the entire time.
Turned out you weren’t the only one admiring Marc with Nyla. You’d be the first to sing the praises of Marc’s butt, and with him bent over tending to his daughter as she toddled around, you couldn’t exactly blame the mums and nannies that were enjoying the view.
You approached them before it got creepy and announced yourself with the exclamation, “Is that my big, beautiful girl?!”
“MAMA!” Nyla launched herself at you and you swept her in your arms at once. You dotted kisses all over her face, and lifted her up above your head, earning a peal of ecstatic laughter. Then, just like that, she was squirming to be released.
Marc sidled up to you once Nyla’s feet were back on the ground to ask lowly, “Do I get a kiss?”
“Hmm, let me see.”
He got a kiss alright. One with tongue and that included your hand wandering into the back pocket of his jeans to give one of those luscious ass cheeks a squeeze. Were you marking your territory? Maybe.
“Now, that was not playground appropriate,” he panted when you broke apart.
You shrugged your shoulders and answered in a voice that was not one bit repentant, “Oops.”
“Mama!” Nyla banged on the thick plastic of one of the playground’s slides.
“Apparently the first fifty times we went down together weren’t sufficient,” Marc observed wryly.
“Of course not,” you laughed and passed him your bag to hold.
Twenty minutes with Nyla and all of your work frustration was forgotten. The three of you ended up spending the remainder of the afternoon at the park, stopping to pick up a pizza for dinner on the way home since neither you or Marc felt like cooking.
Later, your husband tucked Nyla in while you wrapped up a few outstanding emails on the couch. You met Marc just outside of her door and collectively tip-toed into your bedroom.
“That was impressively fast,” you remarked once it was safe to speak at full volume.
Marc emerged from the en-suite with his toothbrush in hand. “The playground tired her out thankfully.”
You sat up on your knees from your spot on the bed. “You can’t blame me for wanting another baby when you’re so good with her.”
You and your husband had begun to discuss Baby Number Two. While Steven and Jake were on board, Marc was the hold out. The last thing you wanted to do was pressure him since you suspected his reluctance was out of lingering fear and trauma from his past.
“Steven and Jake just want to knock you up so they can milk your tits again.” Marc earned a little shove from you for that statement, but he continued, “Also you said you wanted to be in a bigger place before we had another?”
You cursed Marc and his stupid memory when he disappeared back into the bathroom to brush his teeth.
He joined you on the bed, and you tucked your fingertips under his T-shirt to strip it off. “How about we compromise then, and you pound that big cock into me instead?”
Your husband groaned, both from your naughty suggestion and the touch of your hands flitting from his chest downwards. “Shit, I hope she stays asleep because I’ve wanted to fuck you raw since that move you pulled at the playground.”
“Hmmm, I can feel it,” you purred, wrapping your fingers around his growing erection. “Watching you take such good care of our little girl made me so wet.”
“Lemme see,” he grunted, momentarily removing your hand from his dick to knock you back among the pillows.
You spread your legs as soon as your back hit the mattress, and Marc wasted no time hiking up your nightgown to get a glimpse of your folds. A low, aroused rumble resonated from his chest at the sight, compelling him to trail kisses up the inside of your thigh.
“This little pussy is always so pretty and glistening for me,” he growled.
“Marc,” you sighed, your voice thin while he touched you. “Wanna suck your cock.”
Your husband didn’t have to be told twice. He manhandled you on top of him, leveling your eyeline with his throbbing dick while he lined up his mouth with your entrance, which was currently clenching in anticipation. You drew his length between your lips and swirled your tongue around its head, tasting the salty pre-cum that had begun to leak from it. Marc groaned at the stimulation and sank his face into your pussy in turn.
Together you made the most divine feedback loop of pleasure, your slurping around Marc’s member, spurring him to lap at your folds all that more enthusiastically. It was nearly impossible to focus enough to apply any technique to sucking your husband’s dick when he was tongue-fucking your hole and drinking down your ample nectar like a man starved. His deep moans reverberated against the wet, sensitive skin between your thighs, bringing you even closer to the orgasm steadily building within you.
You choked on your husband’s erection when he landed a slap on your ass, then moaned around him when the large pad of a calloused finger found your clit. The extra stimulation, in addition to Marc’s tongue swirling inside of you, is what you sent over the edge. Your eyes crossed, dick still in mouth, as your peak swept your body from head to toe.
The force of your climax meant you needed to pull off his manhood to get sufficient oxygen into your lungs. Just when you’d recovered enough to resume your worship, Marc tapped your thigh to stop you. Though your husband was usually all too happy to come in your mouth, tonight was different.
“Need your cunt,” he clarified with slurred, pussy-drunk words.
“Fuck…okay,” you gasped, your voice rough from having your husband’s dick down your throat.
Maneuvering you onto your back amongst the pillows was an easy task for Marc, your body made pliant and prone by the delicious orgasm. He leant down to share an absolutely filthy kiss with you, greedily tasting the tang of the two of you together, before he locked eyes with yours. Only once your dilated pupils had found his did Marc drape your leg over his shoulder and slide home.
You rewarded him with a drawn-out keen, writhing under his dark, suffocatingly hot gaze. He began with slow strokes, grinding himself against your pelvis, luxuriating in being one.
“So deep, daddy,” you whined. Speared on his cock, your frame convulsed when he undulated against you, since your slit still felt like a live-wire after your orgasm.
He rocked even more torturously slowly where you were joined, circling those sinful hips so you could feel every inch of him. “You like it?”
“Uh huh,” you gasped, jerking once again from oversensitivity.
Your husband transitioned to a faster pace to impale you on his member. His increase in tempo earned a euphoric whimper from you. With no orgasm to chase, you could simply revel in the sensation of his dick filling you over and over, losing yourself in the stretch of your pussy around his thick girth.
“Yeah…come on, take daddy’s cock,” he snarled as he thrust into you, backing off his ferocious rhythm some. “So fuh-fucking tight.”
“So big,” you whimpered, pretty sure that you were about a minute away from vibrating out of your skin.
“No one fucks you like daddy, right?” Marc slowed, waiting for your answer before driving into you any further.
You shook your head so rigorously, your cheeks collided with the pillow as your neck thrashed back and forth. “Please daddy, pound my pussy!”
He approved of your response with another growl, “Well, since you asked so nicely,” and resumed a punishing pace.
From there, it was a blur of the sound of skin slapping skin, Marc’s grunts, your cries, and your husband testing your flexibility by stretching your leg back to get a deeper angle before his hot cum was painting your walls.
Marc straightened up after emptying himself into you, pressing a small, reverent kiss into the skin of your ankle before releasing your limb.
Honestly surprised that you could formulate words, you somehow commented, “I know the jury’s still out on a second kid, but you are damn good at making them, Marc Spector.”
“As are you, Mrs. Spector,” he echoed, collapsing back on the bed.
He tugged on his boxers once again, and you pulled your nightie back down as you padded to the bathroom to clean and relieve yourself. Marc followed suit, and when he reunited with you in bed, it was important to you to confirm, “Another baby or not, you know you’re a great father, right?”
Usually Marc would deflect with a (often dirty) joke, but this time, shrouded in the darkness of your bedroom, he replied quietly, “I hope so.”
“You are,” you averred and snuggled closer into him. “It’s not just me either, the entire female population at the playground was salivating over you playing with Nyla today.”
“So that’s why you greeted me with that pornographic kiss,” he chuckled.
“You’re mine,” you shrugged, not one bit ashamed of your actions.
Marc pressed a kiss into your hair, “That’s right, baby.”
A/N: Raise your hand if you’ve been personally victimized by Oscar Isaac not putting a baby in you 🙋♀️ I’m doggedly making my way through these prompt fills, thanks to everyone again for your patience and support!
Taglist: @twwcs, @rmoonstoner, @hot-mess-express1, @murdickdocked, @toracainz, @saahmi, @unspokenmoon, @winterbiipp, @avatarofseshat @ilikeoldermenhelp, @losers-club6, @harrys-tittie, @ninebluehearts, @lucianadraven32, @dawnsutopia, @strawberry1042, @nikitawolfxo, @weirdo125
#moon knight#moon knight smut#moon knight fanfic#moon knight fanfiction#moon knight x reader#moon knight x you#marc spector#marc spector x reader#marc spector x female reader#marc spector x you#marc spector smut#steven grant x reader#jake lockley x reader#oscar isaac#oscar isaac smut#oscar isaac fanfiction#bit-dodgy's 500 follower celebration#oscar isaac fanfic
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Mixing It Up
Part of my 500 Follower Celebration set in The Shape of Youniverse
The Prompt: You lavish some attention on Steven’s nipples for a change
Requested by: my literal everything @my-secret-shame
Pairing: Steven x afab!reader, background Jake x afab!reader, and Marc x afab!reader, Reader is married to the system
Spice-O-Meter: 🌶🌶🌶🌶 (Rated Tre Explicit, Minors DNI!)
Word Count: 3.1k
CW/TW: Bondage, nipple!play and lactation kink (m and f receiving), dare I say some soft!fem!dom dynamics, dirty talk, pregnant!sex, p in v sex, woman on top, mommy!kink, a bit of orgasm denial, handjobs, and mucho communication in the afterglow since Moon Knight and Moms are complicated. Oh and Jake makes an appearance in this, so mentions of anal sex
A/N: Oh man I surprised myself with this one 😅 I would like to thank @plethora-of-imagines as well as darling Fen here bc their list of “what will steven do with readers breast milk on the babymoon” made the prompt click for me! It clicked and then we sailed straight off the rails into kinkytown!! As always, Jake has a couple Spanish phrases here that I’ve translated below.
“We should do this more often I think,” you mused with a quintessential “cat that got the cream” smirk.
The image before you was truly a sight to behold. Each Steven’s wrists were tied to a bedpost, and apart from the bathrobe sashes restraining his arms, your husband was stark naked atop the sheets. You salivated as your eyes drifted along the dips and planes of his golden skin, then to the dusting of wiry hair across his limbs, finally focusing in on his thick cock, flushed and standing at attention for you.
His length wasn’t the only part of him that was erect for you, each of Steven’s nipples were pert and pebbled on his chest. They were the object of your attention today.
“Ye-yeah,” your husband replied, craning his neck up from the pillows to look at you. You stood at the foot on the bed, completely nude as well, and unable to see your feet over your bump anymore.
This was another installment of “babymoon” sex at the country house you two rented in France which you were currently enjoying. The plan was to get in as much wild, nasty, uninterrupted fucking as you could before Caleb, your unborn son, arrived since soon there would be two children draining your time, libido, and energy.
Seeing Steven so submissive and prone for you was a novel thrill. You tended to be the more submissive partner in the bedroom - you had to be completely on top of it as a mother, in your career, with your friends - but when you were with your husband, it was the one arena where you felt like you could let go. Steven, though he could definitely take charge if he fancied it, skewed more submissive than his alters sexually. And in a happy coincidence, you enjoyed being a bit more in control with him when you two made love.
This was perhaps the most dominant you’d ever been though, tying your husband to the bed and towering over him with a glass of your breast milk in hand.
“I’m going to make you feel so good darling,” you purred, “just like you do for me.”
Steven nodded feverishly in agreement and you crossed to the nightstand to set the glass down temporarily. Any and all movement at 35 weeks pregnant took a lot of effort, and you need to situate yourself accordingly.
It was the most comfortable to lie on your side, and once you were in position, you began by dancing your fingers across Steven’s chest. You used the tips of your nails to draw little parallel lines from one pec to the other, building up the anticipation.
“I always thought you had a nice chest,” you remarked lazily, the warmth of Steven’s shaky exhalations against your skin getting you even more drunk on being the one with the power here.
“Mmmm?”
“It’s true,” you confirmed. “You have these nice big broad shoulders, such defined pecs, and then these…”
You trailed off to swirl the pad of your fingertip around his nipple. The reaction was immediate. Steven whimpered, and even in your periphery you could see his cock jump.
“Oooh you like that baby, don’t you,” you cooed, moving your fingers to the opposite side of his chest to give his other nipple the same treatment. “All this time we’ve only played with my tits, but you’ve been holding out on me.”
You lightly pinched his nipple, ripping a yowl from Steven, the sound shooting straight down to your pussy. “So responsive. Can I give this one here a kiss?”
Apparently Steven was too turned on to properly speak, but the enthusiasm of his nodding and his broken moan served as consent enough. Your husband’s entire body convulsed when your lips brushed the delicate skin of his bud. It spurred you on further, flicking your tongue across the peak while you applied pressure with your hand to its twin. Steven encouraged you with the most delicious breathy little cries while you narrowed your tongue into a point to draw circles around the circumference of his nipple.
Your ministrations were a mix of repayment and revenge. You were performing on him the moves that drove you wild and made you come, partly in gratitude for all of the bliss he’d bestowed upon you, and partly to assert that you could reduce him to the quivering mess Steven so expertly did when he suckled from you.
“Duh…dar-darling!”
You pulled off of him to check his features, searching for any discomfort or displeasure. But you recognized the hunger in his expression immediately, Steven wanted more. You sent him a devilish smile and reached for the glass.
Before you did anything more, you checked one last time, “Shall we?”
“Oh please,” he sighed, the breathlessness in his tone making your slit leak with arousal.
You tipped the glass ever-so-slightly over Steven’s right nipple, withdrawing after a few splashes had coated the skin there. Then, you mopped up the liquid with your mouth, licking every square inch where it’d splattered.
“Fuuuuuuck,” Steven’s voice had dropped into his chest, his voice now a rasp.
If you thought about it for too long, the fact that you were lapping up your own breastmilk might have thrown you. But just like Steven, you were too high on your shared lust to be too concerned. Besides, it was really just colostrum - the proper milk wouldn’t come in until Caleb was delivered, and the mild, nutty taste was offset but the tang of Steven’s sweat. That was a flavor you’d never get enough of.
You repeated the action on the further of Steven’s pecs, moaning as you lavished licks and little nibbles on the skin there to add an extra layer of stimulation with the vibrations. When you pulled away for a breather, Steven’s sculpturesque features were wracked with pleasure to the point of pain.
“I bet you wish you could touch your cock right now, don’t you, baby?” You inquired with put-on innocence.
Steven’s response was basically a sob.
“Hmm, I suppose I could for you?” Playing naive always drove Steven bonkers. “Would you like that baby?”
More whining and nodding relayed his assent. You kissed down his stomach and when you reached straining member, now weeping and a dark ruddy hue, you cooed, “Look at that pretty prick. He wants his mommy, doesn’t he?”
You had no idea where that came from. Though you’d been calling your husband “daddy” long before Nyla entered the picture, you steered clear of its counterpart given Marc’s past trauma and abuse.
Your heart dropped when you realized what you’d said, yet before you could backpedal and apologize, Steven replied, “Please mommy, please.”
Given that he was still was so turned on and the word hadn’t thrown him, you continued with the act as you tried to mount him without too much wobbling, “So big and hard for me.”
“This is going to be quick,” he warned you while you took his dick in hand to position him at your entrance, “Can’t believe I haven’t come already, if I’m honest.”
You found yourself answering, as if your mouth was independent of your mind, “You come only when I tell you to. And I’m going to first,”
You could swear you saw a tear escape from the corner of Steven’s eye at the announcement. It made you pause for an entirely different reason. “That alright?”
“Puh-please sit on my cock mommy. I’ll be so good I promise.”
And with the go-ahead, you did just that. Both of you groaned in satisfaction and relief at becoming one. You’d been teasing your husband for the better part of an hour, therefore his eyes nearly crossed at the feeling of your warm, tight channel encasing his member so swiftly and smoothly.
“Remember, no coming til mommy says so,” you sing-songed, “Gonna use this huge cock exactly as I like.”
You were in no state to bounce on Steven’s dick like you usually did, but instead you allowed yourself an extra moment to revel in the feel of his thick girth inside of you, and squeezed around him just to drive him even more mad.
It felt heavenly to simply be full of him, to catalogue every vein and ridge without any movement. Your hand dropped to your clit, strumming your little bundle of nerves and enjoying the sight of Steven’s drawn neck. You studied the prominent tendon in his throat as he struggled to behave for you while you gave him too much and not enough all at once.
Soon the feeling of being full of your husband’s fat erection and playing with your clit wasn’t sufficient, you began canting your hips as much as your baby-heavy baby would allow you. Back-and-forth, back-and-forth, you writhed on Steven’s cock while you kept your index finger firmly working at your nub. You were entranced by your husband’s devastatingly handsome face while you took your pleasure freely from his body, transitioning from rocking back and forth on his hardness to swiveling your pelvis in a circular motion so his member could invade every crevice of you.
“So deep,” Steven whimpered.
“It’s good isn’t it?” You surveyed, “Making mommy feel so good. God you’re so hot, can’t believe I get to ride this dick whenever I want.”
The revelation inspired you pick up the pace on your clit and embrace the burn in your thighs to slam your hips down just a little harder, “Oh Steven, fuck. Railed me so hard that you put another baby in me, then you even let me tie you up and use your fat prick however I see fit.”
“Jus’ wanna be good f’r you mommy,” he slurred.
“So good,” you assured him without hesitation, “all my friends are jealous that I have such a fit, caring husband who drinks from my titties aaaah-and licks my pussy like it’s his goddamn job.”
Steven couldn’t help but join your movements at your praise. He planted his feet onto the surface of the mattress and began meeting your stilted thrusts as best he could, his hands were still tied up which meant he didn’t have much leverage. It was enough though, because you could feel yourself barreling toward your climax like a runaway bullet train.
You were reduced to babbling at this point, “You’re so good for mommy, so good for mommy, so good for mommy, so good…suh—ohhhhhhhhh.”
The orgasm was so intense you feared it’d send you into labor. Your eyes rolled back in your head, the pleasure so white-hot you momentarily forgot what year it was. Even though you felt like you’d entered a different dimension, you were aware of the feeling of your husband sneaking his hand between the root of his cock and your spasming cunt.
Somewhere in the back of your mind you registered that Steven was staving off his own peak to follow your order. Your sweet, obedient husband. You were going to make him come so hard.
As much as you wanted to lift yourself off of Steven’s now-sticky erection, demand a sponge-bath, and pass out, it was your turn to send your spouse to the moon and back. You powered through the exhaustion that had begun to descend over your limbs to dismount from Steven’s lap and scooted down the bed some, leaving a trail of your own juices on the sheets in the wake.
You glanced at the glass on the nightstand and gasped, “Oh no! We’re out of milk!”
Steven jerked and pulled at his restraints, letting a plaintive cry escape when he heard you.
“Guess I’ll have to give you some fresh,” you pondered aloud as your hands snaked up your sides to cup your heavy breasts. They were already feeling a bit engorged since it’d been hours since Steven milked you with his hands or mouth, so it only took a couple pumps of your palm for more liquid to dribble out and coat your hand.
Steven, who’d been holding up his head to watch your little display, dropped it at the sight of you wetting your hand with his favorite substance.
“You were so patient for mommy, now she’s going to give you your reward,” you intoned wrapping your drenched hand around his cock, already made slick from your arousal and his precum.
You stripped his length with firm, quick strokes, only getting a dozen or so in before Steven was lurching against the sashes and crying out as he came. His seed was spurting from his thoroughly abused cock so intensely that you swore that if you hadn’t gotten your mouth around his tip in time, his cum would’ve hit the ceiling.
You jerked Steven through his release until you felt him soften, and when you glimpsed up at him, he’d sank into the pillows and against his bonds like a ragdoll.
Immediately, you brought your clean (well, cleaner) hand to caress his forehead. “Baby? You okay?”
You wasted no time untying the sashes from the bedpost, and a moment later, your husband’s lids fluttered open. You knew by the smug quirk of his lips it was Marc gazing back at you instead of Steven.
“Hi sweetie,” you greeted him. “Not freaked out, are you?”
“No I’m fine,” he assuaged you. “Who knew the gorgeous in-house consultant I was assigned to work with on my first job all those years ago would be even better in bed than she was at her job?” You preened at Marc’s praise, moving to untie his other wrist while he added, “And she was really fucking good at her job.”
“He came so hard he forced a switch, didn’t he?”
Marc nodded, rubbing and twirling his wrists to get the blood flow back. “Also, Jake says he’s not crossing the English Channel to go home until he gets to fuck your ass. “
You rolled your eyes. “Despite my best efforts to be one on this trip, he knows I’m not a sentient sex doll, right? That I’m in the home stretch of cooking his second kid currently? I told him we’d do to it before we left, we still have all of tomorrow.”
“Anoche,” Jake pushed forward to demand.
“Mañana.” you countered. “Unless you let me take a nap now and make dinner. And clean up afterwards.”
“Bien.”
“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Lockley.”
“That’s enough of that,” Steven reclaimed the body to declare. “Let’s take a bath, yeah? Then you can nod off?”
“Yes please,” you grinned. “But first can I just…I need to catch my breath.”
“‘Course darling,” he acquiesced, “Frankly, the offer of a bath was too ambitious on my end. I can’t move my legs right now.”
“You were okay with all of that?” You needed to get straight to it. “I know that kind of got away from us just — got away in the best way possible if you ask me —but just…is there anything you wouldn’t want a repeat performance of? I know the word ‘mommy’, when we’re not referring to me with Nyla, is loaded for you.”
It was if Steven’s tongue back too big for his mouth. He struggled to shape the words with his lips, and a crimson hue stained his cheeks while he searched for what to say. “No? I mean that’s actually worse, innit? Because I loved calling you mommy just now and I know I shouldn’t? After everything Marc actually went through…fuck, that’s messed up.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge,” you tried to comfort him. “From what you told me, your memories of her are so different than his. Intentionally so, right? It wasn’t until what, the last like six or seven years you knew otherwise.”
“I suppose so,” he mumbled.
“And you know how I much I love calling all of you daddy. I said it for the first time when I slept with Marc, ages before Nyla.”
“Guess it’s not too much of a stretch, given how obsessed I am with your tits,” he surmised, then obscured his face with his hands, “Fuck, I’m a proper pervert, aren’t I? With a dose of D.I.D. thrown in with no extra charge.”
“Stop,” you gently tried to removed his hands. When that didn’t work, you said, “You may be a perv, but you eat pussy like a champ, so who cares?”
That got Steven to uncover his face. When you were met with his frown, you amended yourself, “I’m kidding. Obviously. Honey, if you want us to talk about this with Dr. Moorhead, I’m more than happy to do it so we can unpack it properly. But honestly? That was so bloody hot. It was fun to play with the power dynamics a little. I’m not sure if I’d want to do that every time we make love but…”
“It was quite a treat for a special occasion, wasn’t it?” Steven admitted at last.
“Just think, in five weeks Caleb will be here and we won’t be having any sex whatsoever, so you’ll have plenty of time to mull over if we want to do it again.”
“Well hopefully not ‘any sex whatsoever’,” Steven protested. “We snuck a lot in with Nyla.”
“First baby luxuries,” you reminded him, “but don’t worry, your all-access pass to my titties will be restored.”
Steven hummed in delight. “They’re just so big and tasty for me,” he murmured, his lips enveloping your nipple and tenderly suckling.
It was your turn then to collapse back amongst the pillows. You carded your fingers through his wavy, salt-and-pepper locks as he relieved you, lost in the sensation. Steven switched tits, drinking from the other just as delicately as he did from the first. He only got a few sips in before the absence of his mouth sent a little shock of cold air on your nipple and you heard, “Eh! I’ve waited my turn.”
Jake.
“Then give me Steven back so he can bathe me,” you negotiated, too exhausted to open your eyes, “I’ll take my nap, you’ll make dinner, and I’ll be so naughty for you Papi, I promise. You can pound my ass until sunrise.”
“Joder nena, I’m not giving anything back when you talk like that,” he rasped, dropping a kiss to your neck.
“Please honey? I need to close the loop on what we were talking about.”
Thankfully, Jake agreed without any more fuss and Steven returned.
“I think it might be good for us to talk with Dr. Moorhead,” he shared a few minutes later while you waited for cottage’s the copper tub to fill. “Because I want to do that again, but it’d be nice to not feel so weird about it.”
“Sounds like a plan, love,” you grinned, drawing him in for a chaste kiss on the lips. “God, imagine what we’ll be like when there’s no weirdness.”
Steven’s open, wholesome smile turned wicked. “Exactly.”
A/N: Y’all...what just happened there? Not even I know 🙈 but I hope everyone enjoyed!!! The more I write the more I realize my destiny is to be barefoot and pregnant with Oscar’s baby 🤷♀️🤰🏼The final prompt fill is 95% written and will be coming to all of you lovelies who have waited ever-so-patiently v soon! Also yes, I’m naming all the doctors in this AU after the MK series writers!
Taglist: @twwcs, @rmoonstoner, @hot-mess-express1, @murdickdocked, @toracainz, @saahmi, @unspokenmoon, @winterbiipp, @avatarofseshat @ilikeoldermenhelp, @losers-club6, @harrys-tittie, @ninebluehearts, @lucianadraven32, @dawnsutopia, @strawberry1042-blog @nikitawolfxo, @weirdo125 @damnzelsoul @missmarmaladeth
Translations:
Anoche - Tonight
Mañana - Tomorrow
Bien - Okay
Joder nena - Fuck babe
#moon knight#moon knight smut#moon knight fanfic#moon knight fanfiction#steven grant#steven grant smut#steven grant fanfiction#steven grant x reader#steven grant x female reader#steven grant x female!oc#steven grant x you#moon knight x reader#moon knight x you#marc spector#jake lockley#oscar isaac#oscar isaac smut#oscar isaac fanfiction#bit-dodgy's 500 follower celebration#bit dodgy's 500 follower celebration
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Crème Fraîche (Fresh Cream)
Part of my 500 Follower Celebration set in The Shape of Youniverse
The Prompt: You and the system go on a baby-moon when expecting Baby #2 (your parents watch Nyla) and rent a house in the French countryside. As a present for Steven, you dress up in a milkmaid costume and greet him in it, your recently re-lactating breasts already staining the material when he finds you.
Requested by: a lovely nonnie!
Pairing: Steven x afab!reader, background Marc x afab!reader and Jake x afab!reader, Reader is married to the system
Spice-o-meter: 🌶🌶🌶🌶, Tré Explicit, Minors DNI!
Word Count: 4k
CW/TW: heavy breast play and lactation kink, Steven has a bit of an oral fixation, roleplaying with a costume, some softdom!daddy kink, dirty talk, pregnant!sex, table!sex, fingering, food kink, a bit of creampie or just a lot of bodily fluids, a dash of dumbification and cockwarming, and mentions of anal sex, masturbation, plus a little self-consciousness on the reader’s part because she is muy preggo. Also mucho aftercare because it’s Steven our beloved
A/N: I’M BACK BITCHES!!! Thank you to everyone who so patiently waited for me to return to my fics, I hope it’s worth the wait! Also special shoutout to @johnny-simpfinger since she let me take this idea, tweak it and run with it!
And yes, this is the second fic in a row I’ve titled in a different language but I’m trying be *classy* okay? It was “Crème Fraîche” or “Got Milk?” 🤪 Also there’s translations of a few bits of dialogue at the end of the fic.
You couldn’t be mad at Marc for almost spoiling the surprise, after all you had barked at him to get you another towel inside. In his haste to get back to where you were beached on the side of the pool, he’d knocked over your suitcase and found the costume when he was trying to put everything away.
The two of you were on your “babymoon” in advance of Caleb’s arrival, spending a long weekend at a darling cottage you and your husband rented in Provence, France. Nyla was home in London, no doubt being doted upon (if not completely spoiled), by your parents who were in town to watch her. With your daughter, there had been no time for a babymoon since she’d been a surprise souvenir from your honeymoon. Not to mention another trip felt excessive when there was so much preparation to do in advance of Nyla’s arrival.
Baby Number Two, now recently named Caleb after much consideration and debate between you and your husband, was different. He’d been planned for starters, and with a three-year-old at home, you and the boys were eager to have an adults-only breather before there was another bundle of joy to contend with. The cottage was quiet, secluded, and had a heated pool which meant you could swim even though there was a fall chill in the French air.
The weather was what had gotten you in your current predicament. You were cold after getting out of the pool, and crabby given that you were entering the home stretch of the pregnancy and Caleb was a big baby. You may have snapped at your husband to fetch you another towel for warmth, leading to him discovering what you’d packed for Steven.
“He’s going to lose his mind when he sees you in that,” Marc said in no uncertain terms.
“That’s kind of the point, hun.” Panic suddenly slid down your spine. “He can’t hear us, can he?”
“No, I’m blocking him out,” Marc assured you.
You explained that the getup was a “special treat” for Steven since your milk had come in once again last week.
“Why don’t I ever get a special treat, eh?” Jake had pushed to the front to demand.
You looked at him, wholly unphased. “You get plenty of treats.”
“Like what?”
“Anal,” you deadpanned. While Jake was rendered speechless (for once) you pressed, “Don’t spoil the surprise, bien Papi? Por favor? Para mi?”
“Fine,” he grumbled and ceded control of the body back to Marc.
“So if I send you out on an errand tomorrow, you’ll make sure he’s fronting when you get back?” you asked.
“Yeah, don’t worry,” he promised you.
You kissed Marc’s plush lips, taking a moment to admire his body in his swim trunks. Those broad hips and thick thighs never failed to leave you wanting.
“Thank you baby,” you purred into his ear, drawing him into your arms.
“Hmm, let’s get you inside, don’t want you to catch cold,” he decided, helping you up to waddle into the cottage.
You couldn’t help but inquire, “You’re not jealous that Steven gets a special treat this week?”
“Hmm? No,” Marc answered. “I had you all to myself for a year, and Steven’s become a lot more bearable to live with now that you rock his world on a regular basis.”
You nearly fell over from laughing so hard at Marc’s blunt assessment.
***
Pregnancy cravings provided the perfect cover for sending your husband out so you could get ready to surprise him. You gave Steven a specific brand of chocolate to retrieve in order to buy yourself as much time as possible. To be honest, it may not even have been sold in mainland Europe, but there was no doubt that you’d make the wild goose chase worth his while.
“Darling!?” your husband called from the front entry way when he returned. “You alright? I had to go to three places but I found the chocolate! Picked up some stuff for dinner too and—“
Steven dropped the bag of groceries when he spotted you. Ignoring the sound of a jar shattering, you giggled and twirling one of your pigtail braids with your fingers. You twisted a stockinged knee and bit your lip, and trying to assume a very innocently-not-so-innocent pose for him.
“Oh my days,” he groaned. “Can you have a heart attack from being turned on too quickly?”
“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I’m not really the person to ask. I’m just a simple milkmaid you see.”
“Oh I can definitely see that,” Steven responded. His eyes raked over your form ravenously.
He started at your white thigh-high stockings (your feet were too swollen and your back hurt too much for heels), then past the little frilly miniskirt with its purely decorative apron, up to the laces of the corset-like bodice that, even though they were let out, still strained over your bump. The pièce de résistance was the white off the shoulder top under the bodice that was stretched to its elasticated limits by your breasts, and sported twin stains where your recently re-lactating nipples were.
“Merci for the chocolate, but I was hoping you could help me with something else,” you gripped your tits and gave them a squeeze. “Could you milk me, Monsieur?
“Fuck, babe,” Steven dropped the act momentarily and crossed to you. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Maybe a little,” you admitted, drawing him in for a filthy kiss.
“You’ve never looked sexier,” he rasped when you broke apart for air.
Your hand dropped to grope him through his pants. “You’ve never felt so hard, baby.”
“Yeah, I don’t think being able to cut glass is hyperbole at the moment,” he conceded, his hands flying to their prize. He contracted them around your boobs and was rewarded with a fresh burst of milk. “You didn’t tell me you started lactating again.”
“Wan-wanted it to be a surprise,” you confessed, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of Steven’s large palms groping your sensitive tits through the fabric of your costume, “Wanted to maaay-make it special.”
“I’m surprised, and this is very special” Steven confirmed while he dipped his fingers between the costume’s top and your skin. “Can’t bloody wait to get to the bedroom, need you now.”
“I’m all yours,” you told him, whimpering when he turned you around and walked you into the ledge of the cottage's dining table.
Your husband gave you a boost, hoisting you atop of the aged wood so you could lean back on your palms. Once you were situated, he wasted no time tugging down the dampened fabric right away and immediately attaching his mouth to one of your pearly nipples.
His deep, satisfied groan drowned out your high-pitched mewl when Steven’s lips clamped around your teat and pulled the liquid out from it. He drank from you like a man starved, the unrelenting pressure of his mouth prompting you to tilt your head back in an ecstasy that bordered on overstimulation. It had been years since you two had been able to do this and your husband’s greedily suckling made another wave of slick gush from between your thighs.
For several minutes, the only sounds between the pair of you were Steven’s grunts and your moans. But when he switched tits, you finally found the ability to ask him, “Have you missed this, Daddy?”
He rumbled around your spit-slicked flesh in agreement. You couldn't help but goad him further, “Do I still taste good?”
“Better than ever,” Steven popped off your tit to assure you. He brought his lips to yours, trading an absolutely obscene kiss with you that allowed you to sample the nutty, sweet liquid your husband craved.
“Know what I’m missing?” you questioned breathlessly. Steven’s brow creased at your words. “Your fat cock inside me.”
Another groan resonated in Steven’s chest in response and his fingertips snuck under your skirt to feel you. “Bloody hell, you’re absolutely dripping for me, aren't you?”
You nodded, your breath hitching when he circled his thumb around your clit.
“And no knickers? Naughty girl,” he chuckled darkly while slipping a finger inside of you. Your keen encouraged him to insert another digit into your pussy soon after.
“Buh-but I just want to be good for you, Daddy,” you whined in an attempt to keep up the milkmaid act.
Your statement reduced Steven to another deep groan. “Yeah? Gonna be good and let me put my prick in you while I suck on these titties?”
You nodded feverishly and your husband did just that. He released his straining member from the confines of his trousers, its tip flushed and leaking already, and lined it up with your soaked entrance. Ever the gentleman and nurturer, Steven took a beat to drape your legs over forearms to support you before he pushed his rock hard cock into your folds.
Both of you let out respective cries of relief when Steven breached you, and after a moment to adjust, he absolutely went to town on your cunt. The way he fucked you was so un-Steven-like, he preferred slow and deep strokes as opposed to Jake, who was the king of a fast and rough pounding. Marc, meanwhile, liked to play with rhythm, riling you up by hammering into you at an athletic speed, bringing you to the brink of orgasm, then moving to languid rolls of his hips to edge you and prolong each of your pleasure.
Blame it on the outfit and lactating breasts, but Steven felt that he couldn’t thrust fast or hard enough. The deliciously brutal pace slowed slightly when your husband buried his face between your heaving bosom once more, mouthing at your left nipple before resuming his suckling.
“Fuck yeah, baby,” you sighed.
When you had sex this dirty, when Steven worshipped your body like this, you could almost temporarily forget about all anxiety you had about leaving your daughter in London, her brother’s impending arrival, not to mention the stress of prepping for your maternity leave. The combination of Steven’s cock and mouth was so good that you could push those ever-present concerns to the back of your mind and merely focus on how goddamn good it felt to get fucked. Feeling desirable as a heavily pregnant woman was a difficult feat, but Steven, with his bottomless brown eyes, girthy dick, and insatiable mouth, was able to achieve it.
He moved to your right tit, his mouth latching onto your leaking teat with no hesitation. His grip on your legs tightened at the new stream of milk that entered his mouth. You spurred him on with another strangled sound of pleasure while your pussy involuntary clenched around your husband’s rigid length pummeling your insides.
Steven wrapped your left leg around his ample hip and began grinding himself into you. You cried out at the change of position and how it allowed him to penetrate you deeper.
Even in the midst of the mind-melting dicking down you were currently receiving, an errant thought did dance through your brain about the poor people who would rent the cottage after you, eating at this table blissfully unaware that you used it to feed your husband “straight from the source”, so to say.
“Fuck, darling,” Steven rasped. You kept your leg locked in place around his hip so he could move both his hands to your breasts and pluck at your weeping nipples. “D’you know how much I’ve missed these huge knockers? Couldn’t come back soon enough.”
“Yeah?” you urged him, your features pinching with pleasure since the change in position had allowed you to get some much-needed friction on your clit. “Did you think about them a lot?”
“All the bloody time,” he groaned. “Any time I wanked off, I pictured your tits, full and dripping just like this.”
He punctuated the revelation by squeezing the boobs in question so they both squirted liquid into his mouth.
“That’s so hot, honey,” you sighed, “Love that you love my big boobies.”
Your husband changed his assault on your cunt to short, stilted thrusts. “Love you. Such a good mumma to our kids and still so nasty for us.”
“Can’t help it,” you confessed, “you’re so sexy, you turn me on even when you don’t mean to.”
You didn't get to voice your next thought. It was cut off with a little shriek since Steven sprayed more milk out of you directly into his mouth.
“Wanna drink from these everyday,” Steven babbled as the force of his hips increased, “need your milk all the time, need to be full of–ohhhh, fuck, love…I’m coming! ”
He planted his face back into your chest while his release raced through him. Rope after rope of Steven’s cum shot deep inside of you. As much as you wanted to bury a hand in his thick hair to hold him while his bliss crested, you knew you’d likely fall and spoil the moment.
Besides, it was wickedly thrilling, effectively being forced to accept Steven’s adoration exactly how he wanted to provide it.
After what felt like a private eternity between the two of you, Steven craned his neck to gaze up at you with besotted and sated eyes. “That was…you alright, love?”
Speech hadn’t returned to you yet so you nodded as he gingerly extracted his soft cock.
“You haven’t come, yeah?”
You shook your head no.
“I have an idea…if you’ll let me?”
How was it after all these years and nearly two kids later, you still got lost in your husband’s eyes?
“What is it, baby?” you whispered.
“Well, first, I’ll get you a towel and put away the food so it doesn’t spoil,” he began. “Then uh maybe, I could…well you could ride me - back to front, given Caleb, so I play with your clit?”
“That sounds lovely, but honey, I’m considerably heavier than usual.”
“I’ve noticed,” he responded wryly. “What, you don’t think I'm strong enough?”
“No, babe–”
“What’s the point of having Marc drag us to the gym and waking up sore if I can’t, you know, put it to good use?” he countered. “Besides, I see the way you look at us.”
You blushed, which was quite the achievement since your breasts were hanging out of a skanky costume and cum was dripping out of your used pussy. “What’s the point of dealing with my husband’s weird workout schedule if I can’t enjoy the results?”
“Touché,” he grinned back and kissed you gently. “I’m not that old yet, darling.”
You connected your lips once again, giggling into the kiss. When you two broke apart, it was Steven who was blushing. “I had another idea actually.”
“Hmm?”
“I…umm…when you said that thing earlier–”
“What thing?”
“When you asked me to milk you,” he clarified, suddenly extremely interested in the floor. “Was…was that just part of the bit? Or did you mean that?”
You couldn’t mask the look of surprise that instantly colored your face.
“Forget it, it’s fine,” Steven backpedaled, “Really. I mean you…you did this whole special thing with the costume and I–”
“No, Steven, wait,” you stopped him and angled his chin so he was looking directly at you. “What did you have in mind?”
The flush on your husband’s face deepened, his eyes rolled back, and then Jake replied, “He wants to - no sé - pump your milk into glass. Because he wants to watch yo–alright that’s enough thank you!”
Steven had interrupted his alter. “Sorry,” he muttered afterwards, back in control of the body.
“Don’t be,” you soothed him, “um, we could try it? I think my tits need a bit of a refractory period, but maybe we do it once you’ve got me seated on top of you?”
“Really?” Your husband's face brightened. When you confirmed it with another nod, he straightened and buzzed with excitement. “Alright, you just stay here, no need to move a muscle. Let me…I’ll get you a towel–”
Steven tucked himself away and hiked up his trousers to flit over to the kitchen in the open concept living area to do just that. He continued to ramble “--and put away the groceries. I mean I feel like I could go all night with you dressed like that and your boobs back in action, so to speak, but we could probably both use a refractory period.”
You giggled as Steven cleaned the jar of tomato sauce that broke and stored the surviving food.
“You are bloody amazing, darling. I’m going to buy you the whole of Tiffany’s website for this–”
“As much as I appreciate that honey, maybe not the whole website,” you joked. “We have two kids to raise and put through school.”
“Fair enough,” he laughed, now equipped with a damp towel. Unlike the way he’d just fucked you, Steven couldn’t have been more gentle when swiping the cloth across your nether regions. He finished with a kiss to your bump. “Do you want some of the chocolate?”
“Always.”
Steven returned with the confection as well as a glass for your other activities. Your mutual refractory period was shortened when he insisted on feeding you, so insisted on fellating his fingers while he did so. It wasn’t long before you were making out like animals, you still perched on top of the table.
“You make me so horny,” Steven exhaled, “nearly everything you do gets my cock hard.”
“Is that so?” you asked, putting the milkmaid persona back on for a moment as you reached down to feel his erection for yourself. “Oh, Daddy, you’re so big and stiff.”
“You’re going to kill me,” he hissed through gritted teeth.
You pushed him away from you and toward one of the dining room chairs. “But what a way to go.”
“That’s ttue,” he admitted. Steven shoved his trousers and briefs down once again, this time discarding them completely. He sat bare-ass on the chair, legs spread to proudly display his swollen dick, and beckoned you over to him. “Come have a seat.”
You carefully dismounted from the dining room table and crossed to join him as sexily as you could…which in all honesty, wasn’t that sexy, but thankfully Steven was too entranced by the sight of your still-exposed breasts to properly notice.
Your husband guided you down onto his length as slowly and delicately as possible. It turned out it was better to stay standing, palms planted on the wood of the table top, as bent over as one could be with a massive baby bump. Steven stood behind you, one hand securely cradled over where Caleb rested and the other toyed with your clit while he speared you apart.
“Yeah, that’s it, darling,” he coaxed you while he worked his magic on your body, “you gonna cum? Gonna cum for Daddy?”
Your answer was a nonverbal mix between a moan and a sob. Steven upped the ante by attacking your neck with his mouth. He nibbled on an earlobe then murmured, “C’mon, want you to feel good.”
He combined a particularly devastating push of his hips with a flick to your clit, and the next thing you knew, you were screaming as your orgasm exploded within you. Thank goodness the cottage was on an acre of land, because otherwise the neighbors would definitely complain to the hosts about the noise. You shook like a leaf as your climax surged from your pelvis outward. Your toes curled in your stockings, and you were equally grateful that Steven had a steady grip on you since you feared your legs may give out.
“Holy hell, Steven,” you panted once you’d floated back to Earth.
“Good?”
“Understatement.”
He held you to him and pressed a kiss to your cheek. The tender moment didn’t last long however, because Steven hooked his chin over your shoulder and peered down at your chest. “Hmmm, you’re still dribbling.”
You glanced down and saw he was right. “And you’re still hard. Shall we?”
It was a team, if not slightly awkward, effort to get you in a position when Steven could get his hands on your breasts and remain sheathed in you. He fetched a pillow from the sofa to wedge between your bump and the edge of the table to “protect” Caleb and aligned you with the glass.
“This is a dream come true,” he raved once Steven had reentered you. He cupped your milk-filled mounds reverently. “Best wife in the world, you are.”
You hummed at the praise, which swiftly transformed into a keen when your husband pumped a tit, angling your teat toward the interior of the glass. Both of you gasped in unison when the first spray of liquid left your nipple. Only about half made it into the glass, but Steven was far from discouraged. You swore you could feel him his erection surge inside of you.
“Fucking hell,” he marveled and then repeated the action on your other breast. You couldn’t help that another wrecked little sound escaped you, and your husband couldn’t get enough of it. “Oh fuck.”
Steven proceeded to drain your tits into the glass on the table and while you knew you could not have painted a more lewd scene, you were too cock-dumb and overstimulated to care. This was wildly kinky, profoundly intimate, and you never wanted it to end.
You’d filled the glass about a quarter of the way before Steven’s hands lost their aim and his hips spasmed, filling you once again with his seed. Despite the post-orgasm exhaustion that must’ve been settling in, your husband had the presence of mind to keep a hand on your tit and drop the other to your overstuffed pussy.
The pads of his fingers focused in on your nipple, while the ones in between your legs zeroed in on your clit yet again. His skilled hands worked you to orgasm rapidly while Steven’s cock softened inside of you.
You came once more with a pathetic-sounding whimper and collapsed back into your husband’s torso once your peak had subsided.
“Honey,” you mewled when he withdrew his member from you. Feeling empty after having his cock inside you for the better part of the afternoon, you nuzzled into his pectoral to compensate for the loss of contact.
“Daddy’s got you,” he cooed into your hair. Steven then remarked, “If you weren’t already pregnant, that certainly would have done it.”
You didn’t have much more in you than to offer an amused snort at his words. Your weak laughter was soon eclipsed by a yawn. “This milkmaid needs a nap.”
“’Course,” Steve acquiesced. “Let me help you into the shower, okay love? Unless you’d rather me draw you a bath?”
You shook your head at the idea. “I don’t think I’ll stay awake long enough for the tub to fill.”
“Alright darling,” he obliged, leading you to the bedroom and en-suite.
“Wuh–” you yawned again, “What are you going to do with my milk?”
Steven’s fond smile darkened a tinge at your inquiry. “Well for now, I’m going to put it in the fridge.”
That didn’t satisfy your curiosity. “Are you going to put it into your tea?”
“Don’t you worry about that love, I have a few thoughts on how to put it to good use,” Steven soothed you.
“Oh I’m sure you do,” you retorted. The two of you had made it to the bathroom. Your husband turned on the shower tap and undressed you while you waited for the water to warm.
“Do you want a cup?” he asked you.
“Of my milk?”
“No, darling, of tea.”
“Oh. Duh. Um…maybe when I wake up?” Tiredness clung to your eyelids and limbs.
Before you stepped under the stream, Steven drew you into a final liplock. “I love you. More than words can ever say.”
“Me too, sweetie,” you echoed. “This’ll be nice to look back on when we’re up in the middle of the night with two kids.”
“Hmmm, it will, innit?” he agreed. “But we have a little more time until we get there, so let’s enjoy it okay?”
Steven deposited one more kiss to your forehead and then you got into the bone melting warmth and relief of the shower.
A/N: *peeks out from behind my hands*. So was it good? I haven’t lost it, right? Anyhoo, Steven’s dialoge “you make me so horny” is a direct reference to the instant classic of a sketch he did with Aidy Bryant on SNL.
Taglist: @twwcs, @rmoonstoner, @hot-mess-express1, @murdickdocked, @toracainz, @saahmi, @unspokenmoon, @winterbiipp, @avatarofseshat @ilikeoldermenhelp, @losers-club6, @harrys-tittie, @ninebluehearts, @lucianadraven32, @dawnsutopia @strawberry1042-blog @nikitawolfxo
Translations:
...bien Papi? Por favor? Para mi? : okay Papi? Please? For me?
Merci: Thank you
Monsieur: Mister
no sé - I don’t know
#moon knight#moon knight smut#moon knight fanfic#moon knight fanfiction#steven grant#steven grant x female reader#steven grant smut#steven grant x reader#marc spector#marc spector x reader#marc spector x female reader#marc spector smut#jake lockley#jake lockely x female reader#jake lockley x female!reader#jake lockely smut#jake lockley x reader#moon knight x reader#bit-dodgy's 500 follower celebration#oscar isaac#oscar isaac smut#oscar isaac fanfic#oscar isaac fanfiction
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OMG congratulations on 500 followers!!! All of your prompts are so fun but I just HAVE to request #5 (and obviously 🌶). Thank you so much and no rush!
Hiiii babes! Thank you so much for the kind words and the ask!! You're my first 500 Follower Celebration prompt fill! This one had been writing itself in my head for weeks so thrilled you requested it straight out the gate!!
The prompt: Jake gets too invested in Nyla’s little league soccer games…she’s 3
Requested by: the darling @pleasurebuttonwrites!
Spice-o-meter: 🌶 - Rated G/T, some references to sexual content at most
Word Count: 2.4k (we all know I can't write a drabble, right?)
TW/CW: Reader is pregnant, Jake is one of those dads who absolutely goes off on the sidelines during their kid’s sports, blink-and-you-miss-it reference to sexytimes, mucho swearing in Spanish (translations at the bottom of the fic as per usual) and a fook toon of fluff!
A/N: As the daughter of an American dad but being raised in London, I have made the following executive decisions about Nyla’s American & British-isms: she calls the reader Mommy instead of Mummy but refers to soccer as football.
“Mommy! Mommy! Mommyyyy,” was how you were woken up this morning, accompanied by your three-year-old daughter launching herself into your bed. She startled both you and your husband awake.
While you were bleary, Jake was alert at once and wasted no time chiding her, “Nyla, what did I tell you about jumping on Mommy and Daddy’s bed like that? Especially since Mommy has a baby in her tummy now?”
“Sorry,” Nyla apologized, wriggling in between you two. You shifted your baby-heavy body to face her, and drew Nyla into your arms. “Sorry Mommy.”
“It’s okay,” you soothed her.
Jake rolled out of bed to start the coffee, since with a wakeup call like that, caffeine was going to be more necessary than usual today.
Nyla snuggled impossibly closer to you and with a mane full of bedhead, asked you in a whisper. “Will you give me braids?”
“Yes, sweetheart, but only if you say the magic word,” you prompted.
“Pleeeeeease,” she automatically responded.
“Okay, baby, let Mommy get up and I’ll help you get dressed.”
“I’m not a baby,” Nyla argued. “The baby’s in there.”
She pointed to your bump. “That’s right! And the baby’s going to root for you at the game today.”
“Like Daddy does?” Nyla asked as she led you back into her bedroom.
“Well, hopefully not exactly like Daddy does,” you amended.
This was the first fall Nyla was old enough to enroll in team sports, and no one had been more excited for her to begin playing football than Jake. Initially, it was nothing but endearing. He’d take Nyla to the park to practice outside of her scheduled ones with her little team, and you’d come watch them when you were feeling up to it. It was all very wholesome and sweet, Jake lowered his guard down for so few people, and it made your heart sing that he’d let you and Nyla in.
Jake’s enthusiasm for Nyla’s nascent football career took a turn for the infuriating at her first game, however. What was meant to be a chill Saturday morning in Regent’s Park had your jaw on the ground before you buried your head in your hands in frustration, since your husband treated your daughter’s Under-4 football game as if it were the championship match of the World Cup.
It was horrifying in your opinion. Not only did Jake yell from the sidelines to coach Nyla, he nearly picked a fight with the poor uni student refereeing their game, topping it all off by swearing loudly in Spanish every time they “missed a play”. Which was often, because you know, they were toddlers.
The first game you’d been overwhelmed with shock and terror at your husband’s behavior. The next time, you tried to give Jake a task to distract him. You asked him to film the game so as to add it to your home video collection of Nyla’s childhood, wanting to commemorate her first season playing a sport like any good parent. Unfortunately, that backfired too, and now you had Jake swearing like a sailor at a group of three-year-olds on tape for posterity.
Today was another gameday, and you knew this time you’d have to confront him about it head on. That’s why when Nyla bounded out of the car and asked to walk to the pitch with her friend Abby and her parents, you let her. You needed to talk to your husband alone. Also, it was your week to bring the snacks for the team, so given that, plus your bump, the chairs, and not to mention all of Nyla’s football kit she conveniently left in the car, you and Jake were going nowhere fast.
“How are you feeling mamacita?” he asked you, carrying the tray of orange slices that Steven dutifully cut up the night before. Jake had a firm claim on Nyla’s game days, but his other alters tried to contribute too when they could.
“I’m alright,” you told him, making slow progress across the car park to where the pitches were. “This boy is getting big.”
“Well, just take it easy,” he admonished you. Jake’s worrying over your wellbeing and your unborn son was so damn charming that you almost forgot about laying down the ground rules for today’s game.
“Thank you, hun. You know what would be a big help?”
“Cualquier cosa para tí,” Jake averred. Famous last words.
“The worst thing for the baby right now is stress,” you began cautiously. “And it would greatly reduce my stress levels if you weren’t as much of an active participant during the game today.”
“What do you mean?” He followed up. Oh God, he didn’t get it. You prayed he was playing dumb.
“Your yelling on the sidelines? Think you could dial it back today? If not for my sake, for Nyla’s?”
Jake scoffed, “I don’t yell.”
You stopped dead in your tracks. “Jake Lockley.”
“Qué quieres decir? I’m cheering her on!” he claimed.
“By swearing in Spanish at a bunch of little kids?”
“They can’t understand it,” he muttered.
“You don’t know that,” you countered, “and that’s neither here nor there. I can understand it, and Nyla can understand enough of it.”
“Bien, bien,” he grumbled in surrender, “Estaré callado hoy.”
“Gracias Papi,” you rewarded him with a chaste kiss, “I will admit, it’s pretty impressive. You watch the game like they’re pros.”
“Because I care about her,” he offered, a little wounded from your admonition. Everyone who said women were more sensitive than men were liars. And probably men.
“I know honey, and it’s so sweet,” you comforted him, “and I hate to remind you, but you’re not at Wembley.”
Jake gave you a sidelong, suggestive glance. “Do I get a reward for good behavior today?”
“Is carrying your baby again not enough of a reward?” you shot back.
That quieted him down until you joined the other parents on the sidelines. Miraculously, despite Jake’s sideline antics the past few weeks, everyone greeted you politely. Before you eased down into the portable fabric chair Jake had set up for you, Abby’s mom, also known as your friend Charlotte, asked if you wanted to walk to get coffee at a nearby stand since the kiddos were still warming up.
“Checking in on you mumma,” she elucidated once you were out of earshot of your husbands.
“I’m good,” you chirped.
Charlotte shot you a look that told you she wasn’t buying it.
“Okay fine,” you resigned, “my back hurts like a bitch because I’m huge again, all I want are prawn cocktail crisps and I hate myself for it because they’re disgusting, Nyla nearly took my leg out when she jumped into our bed this morning, oh and I’m nursing my husband’s bruised ego because I told him he can’t scream at literal children during his daughter’s football game.”
Charlotte laughed, “Now that's what I’m talking about!”
You two had reached the front of the line for coffee. You got a herbal tea since you’d already reached your pregnancy coffee limit for the day and Charlotte placed her order as well as insisted on paying, which was kind of her.
“‘Course,” she effaced when she beat you by tapping her phone on the stand’s ApplePay reader. “You brought the oranges today. I still can’t believe you wanted to be in the snack mum rotation, I would’ve deffo played the pregnancy card.”
“Well, I did want to,” you shrugged while you both headed back to the pitch.
“Such a one-kid mum,” she chided you playfully.
“Not for much longer,” you reminded her, “might as well enjoy it while I can.”
“Did you really tell Jake he can’t shout on the sidelines?” Charlotte inquired.
“Yes!” you averred. “Someone had to! I can’t believe the other parents talked to us just now after how he’s been acting.”
“Because you have a fit husband, babes,” Charlotte pointed out. “Honestly, I bet the other mums have been enjoying Jake’s latin passion on the pitch, it’s quite the change of pace from their boring, vanilla British hubbies.”
“That’s true,” you admitted. “But even latin passion runs its course, trust me.”
You returned to the sideline, taking your seat next to Jake, who was sitting for once during the kid’s kickoff.
You had to give him some credit, you supposed, Jake tried to contain himself. He was well-behaved at the start of the game, politely clapping and calling “let’s go Nyla!” at a respectable volume.
You two waved at your daughter from the field, who was proudly sporting the pigtail braids you’d done for her that morning and looking so stinking cute in her little uniform. Naturally, your phone came out of your purse so you could snap a few photos.
Everything was going well during the first quarter (the little ones played quarters instead of halves due to their preschool attention spans) until the ref called a ball out of bounds.
Reflexively, Jake sprung to his feet and hollered “Come on ref! They didn’t kick it out! Fue ese chico agresivo en el otro equipo–ay Dios mio, tiene ojos?”
You tugged on the corner of his leather jacket with a harshly whispered “Jake.”
“Lo siento,” he mumbled and took his seat once again. “But clearly that kid who’s been throwing elbows this whole time–”
“I don’t care,” you hissed. “They’re three.”
“That kid is at least five.”
You rolled your eyes instead of dignifying his accusation with a verbal response. It baffled you that Jake was able to even somewhat discern what was going on. To you, these games consisted of the kids from both teams just chasing the ball up and down the field in an amorphous swarm for forty minutes. Usually, at least one kid would break away from the pack to pick at the grass. Or their nose.
Jake didn’t have another incident until the end of the second quarter, when one of Nyla’s teammates scored in their own goal. He was up on his feet swearing so quickly it took you a second to register what was going on.
“Joder! Este juego es una broma, donde esta el arbitro? Puta de madre –”
It was then that Jake caught you glaring at him, the severity in your eyes causing him to flush. “Yo sè. Pero, nena–”
“Don’t nena me,” you cut him off. “Come give me a hand, it’s almost snack time and we need to get everything ready.”
Your husband cooperated immediately, and while you unpacked the juice boxes from the cooler for Nyla and her teammates, you did catch a couple of the posh North London mums staring at Jake like he was a piece of steak. You chuckled to yourself, you and your husband were incredibly secure in your relationship, but it was amusing to discover that Charlotte’s hunch was correct.
Soon the ref blew their whistle and ten little uniformed rascals sprinted over to where you and Jake had unpacked the orange slices, granola bars, and juice boxes.
“Did you see me?” Nyla asked Jake while she gulped down her juice. You tried to sneak some water in there too but were unsuccessful. She was lucky her little brother limited your movement for the time being.
“Por supuesto princesa,” he assured her. “You were great out there!”
“You were barely yelling,” she pointed out. Great, now Nyla was used to her father's batshit sideline antics.
“That’s because Daddy was working on his sportsmanship,” you provided before Jake could get a word in.
“Even though you might not hear me, cariño, just remember what Papi taught you…”
“Mándenlos al infierno!” your daughter recited. You gaped in shock, whether it was more over the war cry that came out of your three-year-old and the fact your husband taught her the phrase.
“We don’t say that,” you objected. You sent a death glare towards Jake then eased down onto your knees to get eye-level with Nyla. “Remember what Coach Harris says, sportsmanship is more important than the score.”
“Mierda,” Jake scoffed under his breath.
You ignored him for the time being, opting to kiss your girl on the cheek instead. “Have fun baby, and just make sure you’re being a good sport, okay?”
The whistle blew, signaling it was time for the players to circle back with their coaches. Nyla seemed to have heard at least part of what you said, because as she jogged back across the field, she was compelled to remind you, “I’m not a baby!”
Your husband helped you up once more and as soon as you were standing, you fired at him, “It’s one thing to yell at her games, but can you please not teach my daughter to give them hell?”
“Why are you worried about me, hm?” Jake confronted you. “What, are you scared of what these fancy fucks might think?”
“Not one bit,” you parried. “I’m more concerned about the example we’re setting for our child. Because she's not actually playing football to win, we put her in this for her to learn teamwork, discipline and have a new experience.”
“Yo sé todo de eso, but I’m the one who would pick her up from practice and her coach told me that she’d sit on the sidelines scared to death when they’d scrimmage.”
“You never told me that,” you accused him, your heart dropping at the revelation.
“Well, because I wanted to handle it,” Jake confessed. “You’re supermom, and I’m only one-third of her father, and this was something I knew I could do. So yeah, we’d practice on our own and I wanted her to build some confidence, that’s all.”
You bit back tears (thanks pregnancy hormones!) at his words. It all made perfect sense. Why he taught her the colorful language, and why Jake spouted his own on the sidelines. Your husband was making sure Nyla felt supported and was trying to dismantle her fear about getting up and competing in his signature Jake way.
Almost everyone knows that the secret to a long-lasting marriage is compromise. So you proposed one at that moment, “I won’t stop you from getting into the game honey, but just…no swearing, okay? Please?”
“Bien nena,” he accepted your terms, pulling you in for a quick kiss. “Besides, wouldn’t want to disappoint my audience.”
He covertly glanced at the uptight posh mums of Nyla’s teammates. He was aware of them too. It made you laugh and roll your eyes, and the whistle sounded again to start the next quarter.
“Help me sit down again?” you entreated Jake.
“Si mami,” he murmured, offering his arms for you to brace your weight on as you lowered back down into the chair.
Jake even took his seat next to you, linking in his hand in your for a blissful few minutes, until he popped back up again to cheer Nyla and her team on.
Read more filled prompts
Taglist: @twwcs @rmoonstoner @hot-mess-express1, @murdickdocked, @toracainz @saahmi @unspokenmoon @winterbiipp @avatarofseshat @ilikeoldermenhelp @losers-club6, @harrys-tittie, @ninebluehearts, @lucianadraven32, @dawnsutopia, @strawberry1042-blog
Translations:
Mamacita - little mama
Cualquier cosa para tí - anything for you
“Qué quieres decir? - what do you mean?
Bien, bien - okay, okay
Estaré callado hoy - I’ll be quiet today
Gracias Papi - Thank you Daddy
Fue ese chico agresivo en el otro equipo–ay Dios mio, tiene ojos? - It was that aggressive kid on the other team - oh my God, do you have eyes?
Lo siento - I’m sorry
Joder! Este juego es una broma, donde esta el arbitro? Puta de madre… - Fuck! This game is a joke, where is the ref? Son of a bitch
Yo sè. Pero, nena– I know, but babe
Por supuesto princesa - of course princess
cariño - sweetie
Mándenlos al infierno - give them hell!
Mierda - bullshit
Yo sé todo de eso - I know all of that
Si mami - Yes mama
#moon knight fanfiction#moon knight fanfic#moon knight fluff#jake lockley#jake lockely x female reader#jake lockely x reader#jake lockley x you#bit-dodgy's 500 follower celebration#moon knight
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here have a lil hint as to who’s starring in the next prompt fill
also no human is allowed to be this sexy with a mustache thanks for the coming to my ted talk
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WHATS UP SLUTS?!
I CAN *FINALLY* RETURN TO FIC AFTER THESE AGONIZING WEEKS AWAY!!!
In progress is ~thee milkmaid prompt~ from my 500 follower celebration and I’m going to work to churn out the rest of them too plus another ask ASAP!
So all you lovely requesters, THANK YOU for your patience and I will do everything I can to make the fills worth the wait 😘😘😘😘
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Hi Ev! Congrats! I love Shape of You and anything you write in that universe! The Halloween fic if Jake as Gomez was aodorable, sexy and hot! If that is at all possible! XD
🔮-> Let The Fates Decide! : Using a random generator I’ll find out who your fictional soulmate is & where you meet
The only specifics I ask for is Oscar Characters.
Congrats again Ev!
hi my darling! THANK YOU for all of the kind words!! So sweet of you to read and share! The little sleepover thing is actually happening on legend and icon's @my-secret-shame's excellent blog, so I would submit your request there!!
Over in bit-dodgy-land, I'm still grinding out my last 500 follower celebration fills!
Thank you for all the kindness and thinking that I could figure out how to work a generator-thingy online and personally, I ship you with any and all oscars of your choosing!!! MWAH
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