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heartsforvin · 1 month

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kissing the bridge of vinnie’s nose and he’s like ??? at first but then he enjoys it and thinks you’re so sweet (I love his cute lil nose ok🥺🥺)

SWEET

“it’s so sweet, knowing that you love me..”

sweet - cigarettes after sex

pairing: vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings: FLUFFFFFF <333, mentions of insecurities, one lil sexual joke (i gotta, im sorry 😭)

summary: you loved everything about vinnie, especially his nose and you love to make it known to him

you loved everything about vinnie. from his pretty brown eyes, curly blonde hair, to his cute nose. there was absolutely nothing you loved more than his cute little button nose, though.

you knew vinnie had struggled with insecurity of his own, having said it to you before. you loved to make it known just how much you love each of his features, even if he thinks of them as flaws.

there’ll be days where you spring out a compliment out of nowhere, catching the boy completely off guard.

“your eyes look so pretty, baby.” you’ll say, subtly glancing at him, making vinnie turn his gaze on you.

he gets flustered, almost embarrassed but not in the sense of he was doing anything that was embarrassing.

the compliments you gave the most were about the subtle things about him, ones that most don’t see.

youre standing in front of your boyfriend on your tip toes as you kiss him sweetly. once you pull away, your eyes linger on his, smiling as his lips tug into a smile of his own.

you reach up and put your hand on his cheek, stroking his cheekbone softly as you give him the sweetest of smiles.

he doesn’t know where the sudden affection is coming from, but he’s definitely not complaining.

he smiles as you kiss his cheek, wondering how lucky he got to have you in his life. he watches your fingers dance along his skin until they reach one of the freckles that adorn his pretty face.

it’s nothing, really, just apart of him. thats what makes you love it so much — love him so much.

“baby!” you exclaim as you run into his room, catching the blondes attention as you jump into his arms.

vinnie laughs as he catches you with no hesitation. you wrap your legs around his waist while his hand holds you just under your thighs to keep you steady.

your arms wrap around his neck as you pepper kisses all over him, making vinnie laugh as you do so.

he’ll never get tired of the way you love him, the way you constantly show just how much you love him.

the kisses, the compliments, the random surprises of gifts, it all just stuns him to think how lucky he got to find someone like you.

once you decided you’re done, you stop for a minute and look at him.

vinnie can’t tell the look that’s in your eyes. he doesn’t know if something bothered you just now, or what.

that’s when he sees you lean in and feels you plant a kiss on the bridge of his nose. it confuses him for a minute, seeing as that’s a new place for the affection.

“what’s that for?” he asks, not wanting to break the comfortable silence, but doing so anyway.

you smile and tighten your legs around him as if you’re hugging him tighter.

“i love your nose,” you say as if it were obvious. “it’s definitely one of my favorite things about you.”

vinnie smiles. “oh yeah? what else is your favorite?“ he asks.

you smile widely, blushing at the thought of all your favorite things about the boy whose arm’s you’re in.

“hmm,” you hum as if it were to take a minute or two to think. in reality, you could list about five things right now with no problem.

“your eyes, your smile, your hugs, your arms, your tattoos — you talkin’ ‘bout the one on my weiner, right?” vinnie cuts you off with a joke, making you slap his chest.

“you do not have one there!” you exclaim, giggling as you do.

vinnie smirks as he starts to drop you to the ground. “you wanna see?” he asks, but you just shake your head.

“v i’m serious! i’m being all cute and you’re talkin’ about your dick. for once let me be cute and sweet on you without you making a dirty joke.”

the tone you say it in his a playful one, so vinnie knows you’re not actually mad. in all honesty, you love the little jokes he pulls out here and there.

“okay,” he says as he adjusts his hold on you, making sure you don’t fall out from under him. “keep going, i’m loving the ego boost.”

you roll your eyes playfully at your boyfriend. “i love your nose the most.” you say quietly as you kiss the bridge of his nose again.

vinnie smiles and cups your cheek, kissing it softly. “i love you the most.” he says.

you blush and hide your face in his chest. “look at me,” vinnie pulls your attention. you slowly look up at him and he’s smiling down at you. “i love you so much, my girl.”

your smile only widens as he now peppers kisses all over you. you loved him more than you could ever tell him.

“it’s true!” he chuckles. “thank you for loving me the way you do. i don’t know what i’d do if you weren’t here with me. being with you has made me the happiest i could ever be, and i’m so glad i get to do everything with you.”

tears start to well in your eyes at the words he’s saying. “don’t cry, my love.” vinnie says as he wipes your tears away.

he kisses right below your eye and you kiss the bridge of his nose once more.

“my favorite.” you say softly.

vinnie smiles as he carefully sets you down on his bed. he leans down to give you a proper kiss, smiling once he pulls away.

“forever.”

THIS IS SO CUTE SHUT UPPPPP

also if you got the ‘i have a tattoo on my weiner’ reference, i love you 🫦

tags: @cosmicanakin , @anqeliclust , @forevergirlposts , @slvthrs , @visualbutterflysworld , @venuscameron , @louloulemons-blog , @leqonsluv3r , @bernelflo , @lovingsturniolo , @st4rswrld , @violet0182 , @kayleighh , @0strawberrysorbet0 , @laylasbunbunny , @hallecarey1 , @supabhad , @kriissy4gov

#vhackerr #vincent hacker #vinniehacker #vvhacker #vinnie hacker smut #vinniehackerfanfic #vinnie hacker blurb #vinnie hacker fluff #vinnie hacker imagines #vinnie x reader #vinnie x y/n #vinnie hacker headcanon

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reverseexorcist · 4 months

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♡ 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ♡

You couldn't not give me Carmilla fucking Carmine and expect me not to go feral over her-

➲ 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 Carmine + !F!Reader

➲ Romantic ☒, Platonic ☐

➲ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 Count; 1,479 Words

➲ Warnings/notes; Female reader, these are kind've all over the place, Carmilla might be a tad OOC since this is my first time writing her

➲ There are so many different ways this relationship could possibly start. The mind boggles trying to think of all of them. Just think of all the potential shenanigans that could occur and have fun with that

➲ But lemme just say before anything - This woman is fiercely protective over you. Not in the cutesy, clingy kind've obsessive way, but the silently scary scary-dog privilege kind've partner. The epitome of 'excuse me sir, they asked for no pickles', and, because I love this trope, you are the only person (besides her daughters) that she will ever fully be soft for.

➲ Insert 🥺 right here

➲ Just, get you a woman who looks at you the way Carmilla looks at her wife. That's all I can say

➲ The soft moments in the morning when you can just lay in bed and watch her get ready. Pulling her hair up into her signature, gravity defying buns(?) and delicately slip on and twine her angelic steel shoes. The minutes of her fingers expertly working away in a comfortable silence as you just lay under the comfort of your warm blankets? Those are the moments right there 👌

➲ Probably not one for physical affection, at least not in public. Definitely not in public. Her reputation alone would probably put you in danger, which is, y'know, not good, so no hand-holding in public

➲ (Honestly, one part of her probably prefers not to be seen with you in public for that exact reason. The other part wants to keep you in her line of sight at all times because at least then she can personally keep you safe)

➲ All of that being said, can't deny she'd probably give top tier hugs. Proper bear hugs because this woman is tall and strong and would undeniably make you feel safe whenever you're in her arms. Depending on how tall or short you are, she could also probably pick you up if you really wanted 👉👈

➲ (She could 100% pick you up, and probably with one hand as well)

➲ Gives the most tender of little kisses. Small pecks on the cheeks and forehead whenever she's tired from work, her larger fingers gently grazing the sides of your head as her fluffy hair tickles your face

➲ And the adorable little pet names she whispers to you! Maybe you're just passing by each other in an almost empty street or just relaxing at home together, but she'll always try and take the chance to whisper something like 'mi Vida', 'mi Corazón' or 'mi Reina' just loud enough for the two of you to hear

➲ Let's be real, this woman is really goddamn tall, so you're probably shorter than her and she absolutely loves it and would absolutely tell this to your face just to fluster you. What she loves even more is the way you'd have to reach up on your tippy toes with her leaning down to meet you halfway just to have you playfully kiss her on the tip of her nose or her chin

➲ Maybe, very rarely, if she's feeling extra sentimental, she'd love it if you sat on her lap while she works in her home office, just so she can have your comfort and warmth nearby. More often than not this scenario would end up with you falling asleep in her lap and her carrying you back to bed with the smallest of smiles on her face

➲ If she could really help it, she'd prefer to keep you as far away from her work as possible. As much as she would love to have you in the office, maybe helping her with paperwork or something similar so she could have you at within her reach at all times of the day, arms dealing is a dangerous job. At least her daughter's have each other's backs' when they're out doing business, but you'd probably have to make it on your own or with one of her other employees and that's a big no no in her eyes

➲ Also, speaking of her daughters, your relationship with them would vary wildly depending on when you met them

➲ If you started dating Carmilla when Clara and Odette were rather young, they'd probably cling on to you like a second mother figure. In some cases, they might've even preferred you over Carmilla for the sole fact that their toddler puppy eyes work on you better than their biological mother

➲ Your dynamic would probably just be the three of you racing to see who could give Carmilla a hug first after she gets home from work

➲ (Though, this only works if Carmilla is hell-born seeing as sinner's can't have children)

➲ If you started dating Carmilla when they were older though, there might be a bit of a tense air when you first meet. Carmilla's protectiveness isn't just one way - Her daughters absolutely adore her, and although they definitely couldn't protect her physically, they'd do their damn best to protect her emotionally

➲ They'd warm up to you after some time though, seeing you do truly love their mother with your whole heart. You'd never be a parent to them, barely even a step-parent, but they'd respect you and care for you like family nonetheless because you make their mother happy

➲ Either way, her heart melts seeing the three of you getting alone, and she 100% has a family picture she keeps on her desk for her eyes only

➲ Sometimes she just waits until you fall asleep so she can cradle your head in her heads oh so carefully. She just sort've stares at you, her eyes glowing in the dark with her wild mane of hair spilling out behind her, and she just traces all the intricate details of your face with her eyes

➲ And then she just sort've hugs you closer to her, tugging the blankets a little tighter around the two of you as she presses the littlest of kisses to your forehead before relaxing into the pillows

➲ But just imagine Carmilla with a wife who died so much later after her. Just this tall, scary and proper woman that strikes fear into the hearts of millions with her little gremlin wife who keep talking about shit like reddit that the other sinners just don't understand (not even Carmilla herself, but she finds your antics somewhat entertaining, at least when she doesn't have to act as your self preservation instincts and keep you safe)

➲ Extermination is your least favourite day for multiple reasons

➲ The first being, well, the exorcists descending form heaven to brutally murder sinners left and right, but also because Carmilla changes around this time

➲ It's understandable, especially with what happened in one of the previous exterminations when she and her daughters got caught, but it still scares you to see you usually cool, calm and loving wife turn into a robot who's only goal is to get you and her daughters to a safehouse to wait out the terror outside

➲ Doesn't mean you're not grateful, though. You can look past all of that because you know she's just doing it to keep you safe, and in the end you'd rather be safe and living with your family rather than dead on the end of an exorcist's spear

➲ You probably also have a good relationship with the other overlords, despite never having gone to a meeting

➲ (It's because of this you've never met Velvette or the other Vee's, and if Carmilla has a say, you never will)

➲ Rosie, being the social butterfly she is, loves to talk gossip with you every chance she gets. Zestial likes to join in on your little sessions, not saying anything but bringing tea for everyone to drink and enjoy. Clara also likes to join in sometimes, but her sister would much rather sit with her mother and just watch the chaos unfold in front of them

➲ Almost certainly has caught you trying on her shoes when she's not looking. A part of her is annoyed because she'd rather not have you involved in anything to do with her work, but the innocent look you give her makes her rethink her annoyance in the moment

➲ She'd later found out Clara helped you because you also wanted to try and walk around on pointe like the rest of the family. No idea why you skipped straight to trying the angelic weapon shoes, but Carmilla does offer to help you later

➲ Overall, great wife and I'd give her a 9/10. One point deducted probably because she'd be a tad too overprotective, but everything else about her is great; From her bear hugs to those little moments the two of you share

Rules + Info,

Masterlist,

#carmilla carmine x reader #carmilla x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel carmilla carmine #carmilla carmine #hazbin hotel headcanons #wlw #hazbin hotel x you #carmilla carmine x fem reader

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utterlyotterlyx · 3 months

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A Fate Inked In Starlight

Part Three

Eris x Fem!Reader x Azriel

Summary - After crashing into the Autumn Court with no idea who you are, where you are, or how you got there, Eris takes it upon himself to hide you and care for you with the help of the Night Court. That is until souls from other walks of life infiltrate Prythian searching for you.

Part One Part Two Part Four Part Five

Warnings - nightmares, alludes to slight depression and struggling, mentions of blood and torture, memory loss, angst, baby Eris trying to do the right thing 🥺

Drip.

That horrid metallic liquid was sprayed across the walls where you swung by your wrists, your head tossed back and blood leaking from your nose, droplets rolling backward down your cheeks and dripping on the floor.

The room was freezing, stone blocks caged you in at every direction, the only light in the room slicing through the iron bars at the roof of the chamber. A thin grey gown hung from your shoulders, nothing opulent, it was plain and dirty, soaked with tears and blood amongst other things, it was ripped up the side, the threads floating against your skin.

A scratching filled the void, the tip of a sword dragging against the stone floor, "Are you going to cooperate today?" A voice drawled and you winced as you tried to open your swollen eyes, your vision blurred and entire face aching.

Your wrists were burning, the ringed wounds tearing themselves open and whimpers straining in your mouth. Chains rattled and you felt yourself lower closer to the ground, the tips of your toes brushed against the stone but you weren't lowered enough to stand, to give your shoulders and wrists some relief.

Fingers curled around your chin, jolting it forward so that you were looking at the owner of the voice. "I asked you a question, pet," from what you could make out, his smile was chilling, eyes narrowed and cold, short black hair, and you wished your vision would clear for just a moment, just so you could really see him.

"I don't know what you want," you rasped, "I don't know what I'm doing here."

His tongue ticked against the roof of his mouth, you felt him circling you, like a predator toying with their prey, "Don't play with me, pet, you know that I don't like your games," you felt the skin of your abdomen slicing apart, pooling with liquid that ran down your thighs.

"You have the wrong person. Please, I don't know what you want," tears ran down your cheeks, searing pain drove through you and you sobbed.

The room began to rumble, with your terror or his anguish you weren't sure, "Do I have to take another thing you love to ensure your loyalty?"

Creaking metal doors blew open, and your stomach dropped at the aroma that washed away the scent of death from the room. Burnt orange peels and pine, warm rain, and a hint of caramel. Eris.

"Flora," he called to you weakly, he sounded so defeated, his voice sounded gargled and wet, and he was dropped to the floor with a thud that made you cringe.

"Give me what I want, pet."

"Flora."

Your bottom lip wobbled furiously, the room felt like it was tipping on an opposing axis, "No. Not him. Not him. Please."

"Submit yourself to me and I will spare him," he moved behind Eris, ripping his head backward and pressing the blade to his throat.

"Flora!"

"FLORA!"

You awoke screaming and thrashing, tears flowing down your face and chest rising and falling at a dangerously rapid pace, "Hey, hey," a voice shushed, hands bundled in your hair with burnt orange dancing around you, "You're alright, okay? You're in Fir Manor, you're okay," he mumbled over and over again until your breathing had slowed to an acceptable rate.

"You, you were -I," you were struggling to form words, to speak, to convey what you had seen.

The place had felt so familiar but not at the same time, like you should remember being there, like it was important to remember that place. The stench of iron and that searing pain made your stomach churn and you bolted from the bed, rushing to the toilet and emptying whatever contents in there that you could.

A cold hand pressed against your back, rubbing circles between your shoulder blades, "Come on," Eris picked you up from the floor like it was nothing, scooping you into his arms and sitting with you on the small two seater sofa before the fire. The blanket he had used to cover himself for his slumber was tossed aside, thrown over the edge of the furniture, and the rug was slightly askew from where he had hit the floor and come running to you.

Eris had made a habit out of sleeping on the cruelly small thing the moment your nightmares had started two weeks ago. Nightly, you'd wake up mumbling, incoherently trying to throw together anything that would make sense whilst panting and sweaty, pale with fright. And nightly, Eris would soothe away your troubles, he would hold you until you fell back asleep before tucking you back in your bed again.

It felt different though, that this time the nightmare had really shaken you to the point of physical shuddering. It was the first time you had alluded to him that he was present in your dream, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"You were- he was going to- I couldn't," you bubbled, shaking in his arms like a leaf in the wind.

"Hey," he cooed to you, covering you in his blanket and rubbing warmth into your arms, "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."

Eris was the calm. Eris was the safe place. Eris was breathing. Eris was alive. It was just a dream.

Just a dream.

Eris stood at the window, looking out into the gardens at you as you weaved between flowerbeds with Duke in tow. A pale yellow sundress wrapped around your figure, and he smiled fondly as your fingers dragged through the blooming flowers, each one of them bending toward your touch.

Nature just seemed to adore you.

It was the morning after Rhys and Azriel's visit that he found you in the gardens, feet dipped into the fountain with swirling spandrils of water flowing up your arms and neck. It was then that you both found out that you could control water, and by extension, anything made up of it.

Eris was encouraging, he had sat with you in the ponds and fountains and coached you, trained you to control your gift like he had trained to control his. And soon enough, you could summon the element from wherever you stood, your personal tendrils extinguishing his fiery rage with gentle licks across his hands.

He had noticed how the nightmares had been altering you. You had become more withdrawn, the personality that had been bubbling beneath the surface for the last two weeks now retreating. He had to do something.

The stress of your situation hadn't helped, you knew how dangerous it was to be in the Autumn Court, Eris had told you that much. He promised to protect you, and you believed him. But he didn't know how to stop the nightmares, he didn't know how to plump out the circles under your eyes. You had tried sleeping tonics but they didn't want to work on you, neither of you knew why.

"I don't want to go," you told him after he'd sat you down and proposed you visit Rhys and Azriel, both of which you had become closer with, through letters and their idle flybys to check up on you, constantly telling you of their progress, "I feel safe here. I feel safe with you."

Eris had told Rhys of the nightmares, told him that they could be memories trying to claw to the surface, told him that you needed a distraction, that you needed help. The heir wasn't sure what the High Lord saw in you, but he always offered clear advice and a bedroom at the River House with your name on it whenever you should need it.

"I know," he watched as you fiddled with your fingers and kept your eyes on the floor, "This will be good for you. You'll love Velaris, Little Flower," he ran a hand down your hair and gave you an encouraging smile.

"The decision has been made?"

"You'll be back with me before you know it, then we can carry on with your training and read our books by the fire. It's just temporary," your eyes were flooded with sadness, it was taking everything in him to not take back what he had decided and wrap you into his embrace instead, "I promise."

That's how you found yourself curled up in the library within the River House.

Rhys' family were lovely, and Azriel had tried to make you feel as at home as possible, but something just didn't feel right. The safety that you had felt wrapped around you like a shield had disappeared, replaced by a shrill chill that made you too alert. Too poised.

Velaris was beautiful. The book was lax in your hands and you found yourself reading the patterns of the stars instead, like you could simply reach up and pluck one from the sky-

"Flora?" A gentle knock sounded at the door, you turned to it, finding Feyre stood in the gap possessing an ethereal glow and trusting eyes. She entered, seemingly floating to where you sat, and took the place beside you.

Snow capped mountains and starry skies welcomed your gaze as you turned back to the window. A tidal wave of gentle light glowed beneath you, flowing like a river through a valley, that humming energy bowing its head and delving into every beautiful corner of the city.

"How are you feeling?"

"How am I supposed to feel?"

Feyre frowned, "However you'd like. There's no pressure to feel a certain way."

They had all welcomed you with open arms, Mor had even hugged you, and to everyone's surprise, Nesta had offered a shoulder to talk to if you ever felt like it.

"I struggled with nightmares too, after what happened Under the Mountain," she confessed and you found yourself looking into her quizzically, "I died to save Prythian, to save Tamlin, from Amarantha. I dealt with the repercussions of resurrection nightly afterward, I dreamt of being back there, and then one day I was here and I began to heal."

"How did you do it?"

"You find ways to ground yourself," she shrugged, curling her legs up beneath her, "Whether that be a smell, or person, or memory, you find ways to ground yourself in the present, to remind you that whatever fills your past is exactly what it is. The past."

"Do you think that these dreams are memories?"

Feyre hummed, "Maybe," the High Lady had made many a painting of the marks you had sketched and sent to Azriel, something about them intrigued her to the point of inspiration, her power thrummed when she saw them, and she took to the canvas to accurately depict how she saw them in her mind.

Amren had told you that your markings were runes, ancient things painted on walls on crystals in order to try to contain and control power. It was other-worldly, and she was able to tell you with confidence that the runes were by no means inflicted upon you maliciously, more like your body forced them to appear in order to protect itself.

Your mind floated to Eris. You wondered how he was, you wondered if he was sat alone drowning in the silence of Fir Manor whilst you were surrounded by light and echoing laughter.

"We will help you, Flora. Rhys won't admit it but, you remind him of his sister a little bit. I think that's why he's so determined to have this all figured out, so he can help you in ways he couldn't help her," Feyre had been in awe of your beauty despite the deep circles under your eyes, you reminded her of herself, like she was staring at a mirror into the past, "Even if we do figure this out and you have the option of returning home, I want you to know that you're welcome here, if you ever wanted to stay. Though, I feel someone would outbid me on that." Feyre had spied the swirl of shadows in the corner of the room when she had entered, they had been watching you and then your exchange unbeknownst to you, she smirked at them, knowing that they'd be whispering to their master that they had been caught.

"I do love it in Autumn," you had assumed she was talking about Eris, who else could she have been speaking of? "I was happy there, I think."

Feyre took your hand in hers and tugged you up, she had loaned you a few of her dresses for the time being, just until she and Mor could take you into town and buy everything your eyes landed on. They knew how it felt to feel out of place and unwelcomed, and they wouldn't wish that upon the fragile creature that had stumbled into their lives.

"You can be happy here too, if you just give us a chance?"

Hope.

For the first time in two weeks, since the nightmares began, you felt hope. Beautiful, all-consuming hope.

You took one last look out of the window as Feyre began to pull you from the room and toward her family, you found the stars that begged for your touch, sparkling brightly as if to say pick me, choose me. Their disappointment clear by their faltering shine as you willingly followed Feyre, followed her down the path of healing, a path toward the life you wanted to build for yourself.

Not for anyone else, but for you.

"I can see you. We're coming."

You bolted upright, your breath caught in your throat. It took you a moment to adjust to your surroundings, to realise that you were in Velaris, in a room across the hall from Azriel, and that Eris wouldn't be coming to bundle you into his embrace and have his steady heartbeat rock you back to sleep.

"We're coming."

Violet pools of shadow hovered before your face, they were wide, like they weren’t expecting that you could see them. The only source of light in the pitch black room where you lay. An arm emitting black curls of smoke reached for you and you flinched backward, hitting your elbow against the headboard and hissing in pain.

"You're not meant to be here."

The voice was clouded but sounded so familiar, the warmth and tinge of worry in their eyes did also, it was odd, how a ripple of whispering shadow felt so intimate.

It disappeared as quickly as it came, floating away like a freshly blown out candle, wisping up through the roof and into space.

Authors Note

Part 3!

I’m sorry if any of you are finding things a bit slow, I just want to do this fic justice.

Part 4 is gonna be wild ✨

Thinking about making this into a 8/9 part series, what do we think?

Taglist

@acourtofbatboydreams @glitterypirateduck2 @isaxbella749 @aactuaaltraash @imma-too-many-fandoms @blackgirlmagicforever

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sapphire-writes · 1 year

Text

an ego thing ~ modern!Aemond x Reader

next part // series masterlist request: Academic rivals to lovers during a VERY heated argument please??? 🥺 note: happy valentines my loves I hope you enjoy!! 💚 warnings: language word count: 1.2k read more of my work here!

“So what do we think?” your professor asks, leaning against their desk, “was the war justified? What are our thoughts?”

The room is silent. Your 8:00 AM history seminar is usually quiet aside from the droning of your professor and the snores of a student slumped against their desk in the back.

Two hands shoot into the air, desperate to be chosen first.

You strain your hand towards the ceiling, fingers wiggling. You can feel your toes pushing into the floor as if you can push yourself higher into the air. At least higher than him.

Aemond Targaryen leans his back against his chair with ease, long arm stretched toward the sky. His expression is nonchalant, but mismatched eyes are alert. The sharp features of his face seem tense, as he waits in anticipation. He’s annoyingly handsome, you can’t deny, but being your arch-nemesis nearly erases the fact.

The gods are on your side today, as your professor meets your gaze and sends you a nod. You grin triumphantly, mouth twisted in a smile.

“The black queen was named heir,” you begin, after taking a deep breath, “the king wanted his daughter to be queen. I think that should have been respected, especially by the greens. Far less bloodshed would have happened if she ascended to the throne.”

Your professor nods at your answer and you feel a rush go through you at his approval. Nothing feels as good as a teacher’s praise. Something you learned early on in your education and carried with you even now.

Aemond snorts beside you, earning a glare from you. That’s another annoying thing about Aemond; no matter what the class is, if you’re in it he is planting his desk right beside yours. An obnoxious shadow he makes.

“You disagree, Mr. Targaryen?” your professor asks, crossing their arms.

“Of course I do,” Aemond says, side-eyeing you. Your nose scrunches in displeasure.

It truly did not matter which side you took, Aemond would take the opposite. Both of you are vigorous students, and someone always annoyingly in the same classes. He seems to follow you through all your general education classes each semester. You argue like dogs fighting over a bone in your searches for academic validation.

“Go on,” your professor encourages him, as your fingers curl into your palms.

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Aemond argues, “the realm would never have accepted her as a queen with her father’s firstborn son living.”

“That’s very feminist of you,” you snap, unable to help yourself.

Aemond turns toward you on his desk. He always looks so odd sitting in the rolling chair, his long limbs overflowing. He raises an eyebrow at you, jaw clenching.

“I’m being historically accurate,” Aemond argues, tapping his long fingers on the desk.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you tell him, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest.

You can feel your cheeks heating up as Aemond stares at you, his lips curling into a snarl.

“If she ascended the throne, there would have been an uprising sooner or later,” Aemond continues and you roll your eyes.

“Her sons were bastards, a threat to the very institution of the kingdom if her son ascended after her-”

“Oh come on!” you say, tilting your head to look at the ceiling, “her sons were legitimized, they were claimed by her husband as his trueborn sons, her trueborn heirs-”

“The text is very clear about it being known amongst the common people-”

“Text was written by men to keep other men in power in a patriarchal system-”

“Here we go.”

Your head snaps forward.

“What?” you quip, fury written across your face. You notice your voice has been increasing in volume but you don’t care. Aemond Targaryen makes your blood boil.

He smirks at you, clearly giddy at the rise he’s getting out of you. Well, as giddy as Aemond Targaryen can get. He’s not really a giddy kind of person, with his all-black outfits that match the stupid all-black coffee he brings every class.

“You’re bringing it back to gender when it's not about that,” Aemond says shaking his head, “if her sons inherited the throne after her, the entire realm would have crumbled.”

“You are so dramatic,” you accuse, “and it absolutely is about gender. She was her father’s chosen heir.”

“Well she shouldn’t have sired bastards,” Aemond argues shaking his head.

“Sired?” you mock narrowing your eyes, “what’re we in the medieval ages?”

“We’re talking about it genius,” Aemond says.

“Okay everyone!” your professor says clapping his hands together, “ceasefire you two.”

Your professor chuckles, trying to ease the tension you’ve created in the classroom to no avail. Aemond and you are leaning toward each other as if at any moment one of you will jump from your seat attacking the other.

Aemond leans back first, hand clenching around his coffee cup and bringing it to his lips. The prominent veins of the back of his hand bulge with how tightly he holds the cup. You slouch back in your seat.

“Let’s explore a different role,” your professor suggests, “what would have been in the best interest of the common folk?”

Aemond’s hand shoots into the air. Your professor points at him.

“The king’s daughter was never present at court, she had no idea what the people needed, she spent barely any time present at council-”

You let out a dramatic sigh at his response.

“She was pushed out, by the king’s new wife I might add who was aiding her father, the hand of the king, in the plans to usurp the throne,” you challenge as Aemond shakes his head.

“There is no record of the queen having any knowledge of those plans-”

“Read between the lines,” you say, cutting him off.

“Isn’t that what you should be doing?” Aemond says crossing his arms, “preferably in another class more related to your major.”

Your cheeks flush.

“I take lit classes too,” you snarl, “this is a gen ed class.”

“Literature major,” he snorts, “of course.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“That major is a waste of time,” he says smugly.

“Says the philosophy major,” you snap back.

Aemond leans forward, ready to snap when your professor claps his hands together.

“Okay!” he says, voice hoarse, “I think that’s enough discussion for today. I want three pages submitted tonight about who you think should have inherited the throne. Two sources minimum, people!”

The noise level in the class rises as students shove their papers and books into their bags, rising from their desks eager to leave the lecture.

You tuck your books into your bags, heart pounding from the intense conversation. Aemond has already risen from his seat, tossing his coffee cup into the recycling bin before exiting the classroom. You scurry after him, not ready to give up the fight.

You nearly run into him as you exit the classroom, he’s stopped outside the doorway, tucking a book into his backpack.

“Asshole,” you mutter, watching his shoulders tense.

“Know it all,” he snarls.

“For fuck’s sake!” a voice calls behind you.

Aemond and you turn, meeting the face of your previously sleeping classmate Luke Velaryon. His hair is ruffled, and he rubs the sleep from his eyes with an exasperated look on his face. He eyes you and Aemond.

“Will you two just bang already?”

Your mouth falls open, eyes wide as saucers. Aemond stands eerily still beside you. Luke raises his eyebrows, as your cheeks begin to burn. You meet Aemond’s eyes, blue and violet, for a brief moment, before you both look away. Aemond clears his throat, and you swallow hard.

“As if,” you say, forcing a laugh, before pushing by Aemond.

“Yeah,” Aemond agrees, watching you leave, “in your dreams.”

note: do we want a part 2? 👀

EDIT: I wrote part 2 😏

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diejager · 4 months

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Hi Joyce! This is my first time asking an author on this application, I saw you opened requests, so I have a little idea. What if this is like a side story/spin off from humans! reader x monster! 141TF AU's.

Where the reader (female) dies after giving birth to their child. And the husbands don't really take the news well, especially when their child is so physically/personality similar to the reader.

(if you read the webtoon who made me a princess then you know what I mean :) )

Thank you! Hope im didnt bother you

I’m honoured to be your first ask 🥺

Vestige Cw: angst, death, childbirth complications, single parenting, heartbreak, tell me if I missed any.

They hadn’t expected this to happen. They hadn’t expected this to be the last they’d see you. It was an unfortunate incident, they were told, a freak one that caused you to haemorrhage and they couldn’t bring you back despite how fast they acted to stop you from bleeding out. It felt like their world ended, the little light in the dark and traumatic place extinguished, a cataclysmic boom that sent their morals low and mind deeper into depression. Some drowned themselves in substance, others in physical pain to feel something other than heartache and agony, and a few were left silent, unmoving and mute.

But they had a little baby to care for, the last vestige of your love and presence. It was a gift from you to the people you loved, a memory of the times you all shared smiles and joy as much as you shared tears and sorrow. It was the light at the end of a particularly difficult hallway, shocking them back into reality like a bucket of ice water. They had to care and nurture a child —their sweet and innocent angel. She reminded them of you so, so much that it hurt.

“Yer a wee thing, aye?” Soap had always been the first to care, the first to love and the first to act. It might’ve been hard to provide for a child as a single father, but their sweet angel was as much theirs as his, a gift to share.

The first days were rough, none knew how to properly care for themselves, let alone a week old child! It was a slow start, passing a crying baby from one arms to the other without any idea of what to do. It was only until the eldest - Price, Alejandro and König - changed tones and put aside everything else to search up for childcare. In all honestly, they all had years of built up breaks that they rarely used to keep themselves busy to drive away the demons and keep their minds sound.

Little Jesse was shared between them, they took shifts separated equally to let the others rest or research. Soap, Gaz, Horangi and Rudy naturally fit with Jesse, capable of looking at her when she had her little mood swings and occasional tantrums. Soap and Rudy were prone to watch over her when she felt especially excited, hands grabbing and toothless gum biting, flaying her arms around to grasp at something to tug. Horangi and Gaz were softer, more mellow and made to supervise her when she was dozing off or on the edge of exhaustion, toes and fingers curling to hold someone’s hand to sleep.

Ghost was a little apprehensive about touching her, fearful that his curse would infect her, that everything he touched died, even the prettiest and most lively flower wilted in his presence. But König, a big and dangerous monster like the Austrian, showed him how even the most dangerous beasts could be a protector and provider. It was a slow process but he eventually made it where he could look at her the same way the others did, a perfect ball of sunshine.

How could they not love her? When she was the perfect copy of you, taking so many characteristics from you than them. She had the same eyes and nose, the equally bright smile and flushing cheeks and the shade of hair. And as she grew older, they could see your personality shine through her, you gave her as much of yourself as you could, hoping it would quell the heartache and agony.

Jesse was their favourite regret.

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theseventyfive · 6 days

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I had a really bad morning yesterday and I just want Matty cuddles

His voice in acoustics is so calming🥺🥺🥺

hey! i’m so sorry this took me forever to write, i’m not great at fluff but i hope you enjoy it anyway and that you’re doing better now!

warnings: none, just fluff (some cursing, this is matty after all)

The rain patters softly against the window, rousing you gently from sleep. The room’s still dark and your sheets are warm as you pull them up over your bare shoulder, nuzzling further into your pillow.

For a while all you can hear is the rain, and you try to let it lull you back to sleep, trying not to focus on the empty space beside you.

It’s been a long three months, but you know that in just a few more days he’ll be back. Your heart clenches immediately at the thought, as if trying to expel the longing ache of missing him that rises in your chest whenever you think of him.

You’re not sure how much time has passed, but you’ve almost slipped completely back to sleep when you hear it.

Tires crunching over the gravel driveway beneath your window.

Your eyes shoot open, and you grip the sheets tighter. Headlights seep in through the slats in the blinds, soft streaks of orange light illuminating the room.

You sit up and pause, listening as the engine shuts off and a car door open and closes.

Footsteps on the gravel get closer, then you hear the jangle of keys and the click of the lock.

“Matty?” You whisper outloud to yourself, pulling back the bedcovers and climbing out. By the time you make it to the top of the stairs, he’s standing at the bottom.

Your eyes well up immediately at the sight of him. He’s clearly jet-lagged and tired from the flight, messy hair and stubbled jaw and weary eyes that spark back to life when he sees you.

Your bottom lip wobbles as you speak, and he smiles softly up at you.

“Wha— I… What are you doing here right now?” You gasp, tears rolling down your cheeks as he drops his bags as his feet, taking the stairs two at a time to reach you.

Your arms are outstretched to pull him into you the minute he’s in front of you, face buried in the crook of his neck as you cry. His arms are wound tightly around you, hitching you up until your toes are barely skimming the hardwood floor as you cling to him. He’s pressing kisses into your hair and against your temple, arms unwrapping themselves from around you to take hold of your face, thumbs swiping at your tears.

“Heard my girlfriend was really fuckin’ miserable without me.” He tries to quip, but you can see that his eyes are glassy too. “Thought I’d better get back before she kicked off.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, and your tired, wet eyes fall closed with an exasperated laugh. Both your hands are gripping his forearms as he keeps hold of your face, kissing over your wet cheeks before he brushes his nose against yours and nudges you, foreheads pressed together as your eyes open to meet his.

“I really fuckin’ missed you, baby.”

You nod, because it’s really all you can manage to do at this point as your hands find their way to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his curls as you pull his mouth down to meet yours.

It’s harsh, your lips firm and desperate against his at first, and you feel his hold on you tighten as he drops a hand to your waist and pulls you flush against his front. It feels like a lifetime but it only lasts a few seconds before Matty is slowing the pace, and you can tell he’s trying to savour the moment.

When you finally, reluctantly accept your need for air, you pull your mouth from Matty’s, but he chases your lips with his own. He pouts briefly as you pant and turn your face away from him, before he realises you’re using your palm against his cheek to redirect his kisses to your newly exposed neck until you can catch your breath.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He breathes against your throat, right below your ear and it sends a scattering of goosebumps across your body.

“Me too. So much, you have no idea.”

Matty mumbles a protest against your neck between kisses, when suddenly you remember what he had said earlier.

“Matty?” You ask, and he hums but doesn’t stop kissing you, making his way up to your jaw.

“You didn’t come early because of the other night, right?”

The other night, when you’d had a really shitty day at work followed by an argument with your parents over the fact that you’d moved hundreds of miles away from home to be with a boyfriend who wasn’t even home for half the year. Matty had called about an hour after you’d gotten off the phone with them, and he could tell right away that you weren’t okay. You assured him that you were fine, that your parents were just being overprotective and still adjusting to not having you so close by. He suggested that you have a bath, a glass of wine from his special stash and throw on one of his hoodies until he was back to wrap you up in his arms for real.

And that was exactly what you did… before you cried yourself to sleep, but he didn’t need to know that part. You had woken up the next day to a knock on the door, and when you opened it, it was a delivery man holding the most beautiful bouquet of flowers you’d ever seen. There was no note (Matty didn’t believe that the words counted as romantic if he couldn’t hand write them himself), but you knew they were from him regardless.

Now, his hands are cradling your face again, tilting your chin up to look at him. He considers lying to save upsetting you, but he knows you’d be able to tell anyway. He’s an awful liar, and he hates doing it, too.

“It wasn’t just that—“

“Matty! You had work to do, I don’t want to be getting in the way of that—“

“You’re not getting in the way of anything, babe. Don’t be daft. I knew you were struggling with the distance but I was too. I hate the thought of you here on your own and I’m sick of fuckin’ hotel rooms and not seeing you everyday. So yeah, I decided to fuck off home a few days early. S’not a big deal, promise.”

Your fingers fiddle with the curls at the back of his neck as you bite down on your bottom lip to suppress another wave of tears, and he nudges your cheek with his nose.

“You know, this was suppose to make you happy. Instead I’ve got you crying on the staircase at fuckin’ 2 in the morning.” He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips and he feels you smile. “I don’t want you to be upset anymore, baby. Please.”

Your wrap your arms around his neck tighter so you can reach his lips properly, pressing a lingering kiss there before you reply.

“I am happy. So happy, I promise. I just hide it really well, apparently.” You laugh against his lips, kissing him again as he wipes away the last of your tears.

“Thank fuck for that.” He sighs sarcastically, returning the kiss. “Can we go to bed now? I don’t know about you, but I’m knackered.”

****

You’ve already climbed back into bed, seeking out the remaining warmth that lingered in the sheets while Matty had a quick shower and brushed his teeth.

You’re still awake when he shuts off the light and climbs into bed behind you, wrapping his arm around your front and pulling your back flush against his chest until he’s cuddled into you as close as he can. He kisses over your bare shoulder, up your neck and across your jaw, whispering sweet nothings against your skin until you turn your head over your shoulder so he can kiss your lips.

“I love you.” He whispers, the room dark and quiet, save the rain still pattering against the window. “So much.”

“I love you, too.” You whisper back, and for the first time in three months, you fall asleep to the sound of Matty’s soft breaths and steady heartbeat, rather than the rain outside.

#matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #matty healy x y/n #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fluff #matty blurbs

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bruisedboys · 1 year

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Cutting/doing Eddie's hair and he keeps trying to distract you but it's the first time anyone's really done it and just being overwhelmed but love and 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

such a cute request!! hope this is okay my love 🤍

0.6k words

“Are you sure about this?”

You’re tentative and nervous where you stand over Eddie, scissors in hand. Your boyfriend twists in his chair, meeting you with a look on his face not far from what a fed-up mother would give her toddler.

“Y/N,” he says deadpan. “I’m sure. Would you just do it already?”

“But …” You trail off mid-protest. You’ve had this argument many times. Eddie really wants you to cut his hair, you think you won’t do a good job, Eddie doesn’t care because he thinks his hair is already totally fucked, you disagree because you think his hair is perfect.

He’s got lovely hair. Gorgeous dark curls that you love pulling on and running your fingers through. You just don’t want to ruin it.

“Love,” Eddie says gently, more gentle than he’s been previously about this whole kerfuffle. “It’s only a trim. I only need like, this much off.” He holds up a hand, showing you his thumb and pointer finger separated by about half an inch. “You’ll do just fine.”

You sigh as Eddie turns back in his chair, facing the mirror you’ve set up. You run your hand through his locks, pushing your fingers through his gorgeous, gorgeous curls. You can’t help but think this is the last time you’ll see them like this, before you ruin them.

“I just don’t wanna ruin your hair,” you admit. “What if I accidentally cut off too much, Eds? What if it looks awful and it’s all my fault?”

Eddie catches your eyes in the mirror, a look on his face that you know all too well. “Darling. You could shave my whole head of hair off and I’d still be a fucking knockout.”

You groan loudly. He’s awful. And maybe what he said is a tiny bit true but there’s no way you’re going to give him the satisfaction.

“You’re full of shit,” you tell him, grimacing.

Eddie gives you a lopsided, too cheerful grin in the mirror. “Thanks sweetheart. Now get choppin’.”

You sigh and do as he says. He’s got a face that’s hard to say no to. It really doesn’t go half as bad as you thought it would. It’s actually quite easy. You chop off about half an inch with ease and you’re making a few clean-up cuts when you feel Eddie staring at you in the mirror. You look up, scissors in midair.

Sure enough, he’s gazing at you like you invented the sun. You meet his eyes in your reflection and wrinkle your nose.

“What?”

“What d’you mean what?”

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

Eddie twists in his chair very abruptly, startling you so much you almost make a lethal chop.

“Eddie!” You scold. “I could’ve chopped half your hair off!”

He ignores you. He‘s got this look on his face, something close the lovesickness written across his features. Suddenly you’re feeling very dizzy.

“No one’s ever cut my hair before,” he says. “Not that I can remember, anyway. I’ve always done it myself.”

He’s talking so earnestly, with so much love, that you flush from head to foot.

“Well, no wonder it’s so bad,” you joke weakly, a sad attempt at hiding your fondness for him.

Neither of you laugh. Eddie rolls his eyes, a grin on his pretty features that makes you want to kiss him silly. His gaze falls back on you.

“Thank you,” he says, dripping in fondness, so sweet you’re sure you’re tummy aches with it.

You drop the act, allow yourself to smile, to touch his face, to look at him with the huge amount of fondness you’re feeling for him in your chest. It seeps from your heart through your ribs and to the tips of your toes and fingers.

“S’okay, Eds,” you say, your hand on his jaw, fingers pushing into his hairline. “Any time, baby.”

His grin is blinding.

#★ mal writes!#ღ eds #I KINDA LOVE THIS #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson fic #✉️

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daisies-daydreams · 1 year

Note

Hey, how are you doing?! btw I like your work and If you don't mind can you please write were 141 + könig is defending they're kids while ur scolding at them 👉👈 🥺💞 can you write plz

Word Count: 1.6k+

A/N: Hello! I'm doing fine and dandy today, thank you! And thank you for your request! Honestly, I can see all of the 141 and König being such good papa's. 🥰 I hope you enjoy!

D/N = Daughter's Name, S/N = Son's Name

Simon “Ghost” Riley

“What were you thinking?” you scowled. Simon stood next to you as he shifted his attention back and forth between you and your daughter. (D/N) pouted as she stared at her feet. The walls of your hallway were covered in crayon markings, from unicorns to dinosaurs. You had just put a fresh coat of paint on them a few days ago, too.

“I-I’m sorry,” she sniffled. Your brows furrowed as your face turned beet red.

“Still, you shouldn’t have drawn all over the walls. Mommy worked hard to make it look better and you just messed it up,” you spat. Your daughter suddenly burst into tears. You blinked, regretting instantly flooding your chest. Simon knelt down on one knee just as you opened your mouth.

“(D/N), why did you color on the walls, baby?” he asked while staying at eye level with your little one. She rubbed her eyes and sniffed.

“I-I wanted to make it look pretty l-like Mommy was doing,” she hiccupped as she pointed at the messy mural on the wall. Simon turned to you, raising a brow. You sighed as you dropped to your knees as well. Your husband patted your back, then squeezed your shoulder with one of his rough hands.

“See? She didn’t mean any harm, love,” he said. (D/N) nodded, tears and snot streaking down her face as she gasped in between her sobs.

“I’m sorry I got mad, (D/N). Will you please forgive Mommy?” you asked. She nodded before she came up to hug both of you.

The three of you spent the evening cleaning up the drawings, though you made sure to spend some time coloring with her on actual paper afterwards.

König

Your son’s shoulders were slumped as he held his hands behind his back. You thrummed your fingers against your forearms and you crossed your arms. Shattered glass lay on the hardwood floor, a gaping hole in your living room window. A baseball rested near the opposite wall.

“I-It was an accident,” he stammered. Your nostrils flared as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“You need to be more careful, (S/N). What if that ball hit someone?!” you scoffed. The boy’s eyes were misty as he swallowed a lump in his throat. Your husband suddenly stepped through the back door, a baseball mitt in his hand. He clapped a hand over your son’s shoulder.

“Please, don’t be upset with him, Maus. I was the one who missed catching the ball,” he claimed. Your eyes shifted back and forth between your two boys. You sighed and shook your head, your facial features relaxing.

“Alright-but you’re going to have to clean up your mess while I call about replacing the window,” you said. König nodded. Your son looked up at his father before running to grab the broom and dustpan from the linen closet. You tilted your head as (S/N) gazed up at you.

“It was our game-so we should both clean it up,” your boy said with a firm nod. You and König exchanged small smiles as he grabbed your husband’s free hand and bounded off to clean up.

John Price

Your jaw felt sore from how long you had it dropped. Your son giggled as he did a little dance in place, his entire body covered head to toe in peanut butter.

The same peanut butter you just bought from the store.

Your jaw clicked as you looked at the empty tub at his feet. You took a deep breath.

“(S/N)…What. Did. You. Do?” you asked through gritted teeth. His smile faltered at your sour tone.

“I gave myself a peanut butter bath!” he beamed. “Now you don’t have to clean me up later, Momma!” he giggled as he raised his arms. Your entire body radiated with frustration.

“No, now I have to give you a longer bath because you got yourself all dirty!” your voice suddenly raised several decibels. (S/N) winced.

“What’s all this, then?” your husband, John, asked from behind you. You whipped your head around, tongue twisted too much to even explain what happened. Your son bounced up and down when he saw his father.

“Look, Papa! I gave myself a bath!” the boy giggled. John blinked before bursting into laughter, tears of amusement pricking at the corners of his eyes as he grabbed his stomach. Your anger quickly dissipated as you reflected your husband’s expression, letting out a small chuckle of your own. John wiped at his eye as he stepped forward, scanning your son up and down.

“Your a cheeky lad, you know that?” he mused. Your son laughed as John picked him up and spun him around, not minding the substance that clung to his clean clothes. His sea-green eyes lingered over to you.

“He didn’t mean anything wrong by it, hun,” he shrugged. Your son nodded before licking at the corners of his peanut-butter covered mouth. You laughed.

“You’re right-I’m sorry, (S/N),” you apologized as you came up and kissed his temple. He giggled and swatted at you playfully.

“Momma! That tickles!” he squealed. John chuckled as your son hid his face in his father's shoulder. “C’mon, (S/N)-let’s give you a proper bath,” John said.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

“FUCK!” your daughter’s small voice screamed. Your eyes widened as you snapped your head up. She still wore a cheeky grin as she spilled a few more grapes on the floor before repeatedly shouting the explicative at the top of her lungs. Your brows furrowed.

“(D/N)! No ma’am!” you frowned as you shook a finger at her. The young girl’s smile fell as you proceeded to chew her out. “We don’t use those bad words!” you barked. Her bottom lip trembled as she hid herself under the table.

“It’s not her fault,” your husband said from the adjacent hallway. You turned to him as he walked towards the table. He knocked on the surface a few times. Your daughter replied after a few seconds of silence with her own rhythmic knocks. Johnny smiled as he crouched down and guided her back to her seat. He kissed the top of her head before looking at you. You raised a brow, expecting an explanation.

“(D/N) may or may not’ve heard a certain word from a certain someone…that someone being her daddy,” his cheeks turned slightly red as he rubbed the back of his neck. You frowned.

“You son of a-”

“Careful. Don’t want her learnin’ any more words,” Johnny said with a raised brow and a smirk. You instantly closed your mouth. Your daughter stared at you sweetly, her head slightly tilted.

“Right,” you muttered. You turned back to your daughter. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, (D/N). You’re not a bad girl-we just can’t say bad words like that because it can hurt other people’s feelings. Okay?” you said. She nodded, her face lighting up slightly.

“Okay, Mommy,” (D/N) smiled. She paused for a moment as she hummed to herself, deep in thought. “Can I say ‘ass’?” she asked innocently. Johnny hid a smirk behind his hand as he stifled a laugh.

You're going to kill him.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

(S/N) swung his feet as you strapped him into the booster seat. Your husband cocked his head as you slammed your door shut, your nostrils flaring.

“Everything alright, love?” he asked. You raked your hands over your face as you glared back at your son. He bobbed his head along to the sound of the song playing on the car radio.

All of you were on a family day out when you remembered you had to grab a few things from the store. Your son wanted to come into the store while Kyle had to take a sudden phone call from Price. Your son pointed at the cashier and asked “Momma-why is that lady so fat?”. You couldn’t erase the shocked look on the woman’s face even if you could try.

You apologized profusely as you took your receipt and quickly hurried out of the store, your son complaining that you were holding his hand too tightly. You frowned as you stared at the young boy.

“Nothing. Let’s just go,” you waved as you rubbed your temples. You didn’t have the capacity to have a talk with your son at the moment. You’ll wait until you get home. Kyle shrugged as he put the car in reverse. The ride back home was rather quiet, minus the songs playing and your son singing along. Your husband pulled up to a stoplight, slipping his hand into yours.

“Why was that lady so fat?” your son asked. You slapped your other hand on your leg as you spun your head around.

“(S/N), we don’t say things like that, ever!” you shouted. Your son shrunk in his booster seat, his lips curving into a frown. “That is very, very rude! How would you feel if someone said something like that to you?” you demanded. Your son sniffed as he wrung his hands together.

“Love, please,” Kyle said. Your face was completely red as you looked back at him. “He’s only four-he doesn’t know any better,” he said calmly.

“I-I was just trying to be honest like you told me, Mommy,” (S/N) pouted. You unclench your jaw as you look into your son’s misty, chocolate-brown eyes. You exhaled through your nose as your shoulders lowered.

“It’s good to be honest, son. But we can’t say certain things because it might upset people. We need to be careful with our words,” you explained. Your son tilted his head as he resonated with your words.

“Okay, Mommy!” he said before going back to dancing to the music on the car radio. Your husband smiled at you, squeezing your hand gently as he moved the car forward.

____

Thank you for reading! ❤️

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biteofcherry · 1 month

Note

POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

TTD Steve's POV of meeting princess for the first time? Pretty please 🥺

Thanks for sending one of these asks, Jaqui ❤️

ahh, that dark mafia Steve holding our panties hearts in his clutches 😏

Touch The Darkness Masterlist

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

warnings: none; Steve is a hot bastard; he's also dark;

Steve was used to being bored, or annoyed by people he faced. Especially people who found themselves toe to toe with him. But there was something different in the way the noses of your pale heels touched his dark boots and your eyes shone simple determination as you strained your neck to look up at him.

It wasn't bravado that he read from your body posture, rather some inner pep talk boosting your confidence to confront him.

It was that moment he realized you were completely clueless about him.

Judging by the way you moved as you walked into your office, you weren't a bold razor type of professional, who cut through the business with balls of steel.

No, you were someone who worked on maintaining your composure.

Which only made him itch to strip you of it.

Of that boring pantsuit, too. It was very chic, not some ugly piece hiding your curves, but it was so proper and bland. As if you were void of any spark.

“Please sit, Mr Rogers.” You tilted your chin up, after closing the door to your office.

Steve waited for you to reach your chair, before he sat down himself. He could be a ruthless mobster, but nowadays to run an empire as successful as his you had to also know how to play to what people expected.

Not that Steve played those games for long.

No, he entertained it to assess the opponent. Then he stroke however he deemed necessary. Usually in brutal ways.

“I’m sure you’re a busy man Mr Rogers,” you forced your jaw to relax. Another sign of you controlling the way you appeared, which Steve noticed. “So I assume your need to see me goes beyond simply wanting to meet the new director of the center.”

Ah, so you do have a spark! Steve felt a surge of wicked elation, hearing that undertone of impertinence, despite your best attempts to remain simply professional and stern.

“It does, but you are a curiosity.” He leaned back in his chair.

“How so?” You raised an eyebrow.

His gaze didn't stray from your face, reading the way the cogs in your head had to turn with possibilities. You were probably mauling over the fact you weren't a socialite, nor a star type of a doctor who usually mingled around Starks and their alike.

Again, thinking of your appearance and all things proper. Not even considering that he could find you a curiosity for how you were not who.

“A pretty, shiny fish being dropped into a tank full of sharks and swimming through it all calm and confident.”

It wasn't meant to be a compliment. Steve, despite his sudden fascination, was clear in his intention of getting exactly what he wanted, no matter if he had to watch you shiver in response to his threat.

There it was - your back going ramrod straight and your hands falling to your lap. You were holding yourself so hard to maintain composure and not claw at him.

Which was good. If you raised your hand, as amused as Steve could be by it, he would not let you get away with it. You were not in his circle to gain any privileges of forgiveness.

Not yet, anyway.

“If you mean dealing with health care system moguls, I assure you I have experience in that." You replied, tone barely restraining the annoyance bubbling inside of you. "Managing donations for a privately based center won’t be much different than wrapping pharmaceutical companies around a finger.”

Steve grinned, entertained with your attempt to cover a shiver as you held his gaze.

“That’s not what I mean at all.” He drawled with a slight chuckle.

“What is it that you mean, then?” You huffed, once again changing the position of your hands.

Though he was tempted to push that button harder, to see you truly snap and reveal something other than bland, clueless naivety, Steve couldn't allow you to treat him like an average demanding client.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” He tilted his head to the side, adding a tone of ice to his voice.

It was best if you learned fast that he wasn't one to play those polite back and forth games for long.

“One of Howard’s benefactors?” You swallowed nervously, while still trying to remain calm on the outside.

And Steve found himself the more annoyed with it. He needed you obedient, but he wanted you to submit while being you, not some persona you were playing.

But he didn't provoke you further, more intent on driving to the point.

“Of sort.” He replied. “I’m someone who has all of those benefactors under my thumb. As well as other people.”

Your eyes ignited with realization, though Steve assumed you were suspecting it earlier, but simply didn't accept it fully. Probably thinking that a nice, unthreatening woman like you simply couldn't find herself face to face with a mobster.

There was no rule book about dealing with someone like him. You had to scramble for defense and self-preservation instinct to continue.

“What do you want exactly?” Your voice returned to the softer tune, the slight tremble in it inaudible.

But Steve was skilled in reading signs of fear. Like a predator sensed its prey's heartbeat and scent.

He saw the little gulp. The widening of your irises. The twitch in your fingers. And found it a different kind of potent thrill for his tastes.

He wanted to keep you on edge: a little scared, a lot of shocked.

Steve wondered, if he could push you to break out of that shell and do something that he'd have to meet with an iron grip and a blade at your throat; and how you'd look at him then.

“A lot of things,” his grin was sharp and threatening, “but now, from you? I want this place.”

Your face again showed that astonishment and clueless confusion. Steve knew there's no way you would be aware of the potential this place had, but there were other possibilities to think of. Well, at least people who grazed the grey area, or were business moguls with a lot of dirt under their carpets, would come up with some ideas.

“You want to run a health center?” You asked slowly and Steve felt his glee rising at the prospect of staining that silly light bubble you were keeping around yourself.

“Not at all.” Steve shook his head, his grin not disappearing. “The grounds it stands on are of value to me.”

He wasn't sure which aspect of it exactly did it, but he triggered your response.

That wild outburst, which stirred his cock with interest as you abruptly stood up and raised your voice at him.

“I am not going to hand over this place, robbing people in need of the help they only recently received, just because you wish to broaden your show-off territory.” You circled your desk in swift steps, standing in front of him with your hands on your hips.

As if you could scold him, or intimidate him.

“I won’t ever sell it. Or hand it over. No!”

Steve remained seated, simply watching as realization of your own behavior dawned on you. He wondered, if you were more scared of his retaliation for yelling at him, or if you were more appalled that you didn't remain this dead statue of professionalism?

“You haven’t yet heard my offer.” His fingers clenched on the armrests.

To restrain himself from touching you. Not in violence.

Well, not in painful kind of violence...

“I’m not interested in it.” Your reply was softer and your eyes widened as you hear yourself resist further, despite what your brain had to be advising you.

“You should be.” Steve slowly stood up.

You made a step back. Of course you did, anyone would. But when Steve followed you, crowding you against your desk, he didn't feel hunger for your blood and broken bones.

“See, I’m not the only one who will show interest in this place. Word goes around, especially in this city. Others will reach out to you, too, when they find out I’ve shown interest.” He clenched and unclenched his fingers, warming them up, though he hasn't decided yet for what. “Sooner or later. For your sake, I hope it’s too late for them.”

Steve noticed the change as he spoke. It was minimal, but telling.

The way your breath hitched as he neared and the look in your eyes flicking from fear to glimpse of need.

It was soon gone as you trembled at his approach, but Steve recognized that tread - that craving for something dark and dangerous.

Honestly, a few minutes ago, when he laid his eyes on you for the first time, Steve wouldn't suspect you hid desires for depravity.

You pushed it all down into your proper box, but you couldn't help your body reacting to the fire of annoyance mixed with fear that made you tilt your chin up defiantly.

“If it’s so desired by many, as you claim, why should I take your offer instead of others?”

Steve leaned closer, catching a whiff of your sweet scent punched up by your heightened temperature due to the rush of adrenaline.

He slowly dragged his gaze down your body and up, thinking of the nice clean cuts he'd make to those dull fabrics you wore.

“Because-” he made his voice softer and warmer, studying your face and chest for reaction- “I can protect you from them. But no one can protect you from me, Princess."

The pet name rolled out on his tongue instinctively.

It fit you so well. Your sweet, proper aura, just begging to be conquered and debauched.

“There’s no need for condescending names,” you blurted out, but it was breathy.

Steve noticed the way your breasts raised in reaction, how your arms dropped to your sides defenseless and your fingers twitched.

There was no hate for that pet name, though he expected you would rage at it later, once he left you to gather your wits.

“Condescending?” He inched even closer. He slipped his hands to rest on your desk, caging you between him and the sturdy furniture.

“A Princess is a title of a royal family’s member,” he lowered his head to catch your gaze. “You may not be connected by blood, but you are now an heiress to Stark, who has been treated like royalty for decades.”

“A Princess-” Steve moved one of his hands and brushed it along your hip- “is also a girl deserving to be spoiled.”

He didn't think of pretty gifts for you, but there were other ways to spoil a woman.

If he was to spoil you, it would be with his mouth between your thighs while your naked body shimmered with gems he boldly stole as youth.

But you'd have to earn it.

For now you gave him merely a few minutes of entertainment. Steve wanted more. He wanted the center and he was going to get it. You'd better accept the fact and comply, before he lost his patience.

“Seize the opportunity while I still consider you deserving of it.” Steve pulled back, ignoring the tilt of your body following his warmth for a split of a second.

“You can keep your center, I don’t need it locked down. But you will sign the property over to my name.” He served you the cold, unyielding tone.

“You have twenty four hours to consider. This time tomorrow, I’ll come to hear you say yes to me, Princess.”

#jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #dark mafia!steve rogers #dark mafia!steve rogers x reader #touch the darkness #no excuses writing meme

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heaven444child · 12 days

Text

What does your future spouse like most about you🫶♥️

which pile drawn your attention choose it and please take what resonates with you and leave the rest ✨🍀🫶💜

AND Read these readings mindfully 👻and if you want a personal reading then DM me✨🍀

Pile 1

pile 1 Your future partner likes your nose the most 💕 He wants to touch your nose and pull your nose the way they pull the cheeks of small children 😅 Because he likes your nose so much, he wants to say something which I know you will be laughing, right? I know you must be thinking I am crazy but what can I do, I am crazy in love with you 😜🤪 I know I used a really cheesy line 🤣😂 But what can I do, I felt the same 🥰 And your partner also likes your hair, smile or your lips, your height and your legs. Maybe it's because you are shorter than him 🤪And I heard this 😅 Maybe your future partner wants to say this to you 😁 I love you baby ❤️

Song channeled 🎧: O O Jaane Jaana - Kamal Khan and Night Changes - One Direction

Pile 2

pile 2 Your future life partner loves everything about you 😍 Your partner finds you perfect in every way, from head to toe ♥️🫶 Your future life partner considers you his or her most precious treasure 🏆💜💕🍀 He or she is scared of the thought of losing you or someone stealing you 🥺 Your partner doesn't need anyone, 💜💕you are everything to them 🌎

Channel Song 🎧 Chahat - Rahat Fateh Ali Khan & Willow - Taylor Swift

Pile 3

pile 3 Your future spouse loves your hair 🧝‍♀️ And it's possible that you have long hair And if not, he still likes your hair ❤️ And your partner loves your neck and hands ✨💕 it's possible that you have long fingers 💜🍀 And your future spouse is feeling very shy You and I heard him telling you darling Maybe your partner wants to lovingly call you darling 😅

Channeled Song 🎧 I need you - BTS And Caught in a Blue - Stephen Sanchez

(I hope this reading resonates with you)

Stay blessed ✨🍀AND thankyou for your support 🫶❤️

#future spouse #pick a pile #tarot deck #tarot reading #love reading #divination #divine #spirituality #pyschic reading #pick a image #heaven444child #follow #radha krishna

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blues824 · 6 months

Note

:) ☆I'm backkkkkkkk☆ I cried

I found this photo of our knight kin in my gallery, do with it as you want toooooo!!!! 🥺🤩🤗 Tehehe

He's sooeo sweet hereeehxuhdh Ahahahhahahah

🏃‍♂️ my simp is showing—

I requested: Making Snowmen + Hot chocolate for the cold

A sequel to this fic that I wrote for Sebek. Turns angsty lol.

Sebek Zigvolt

Because he had the entire weekend off, due to you seeking the help of both Lilia and Malleus when your relationship was on the rocks. Saturday came around, and he had fallen asleep and accidentally stayed the night. He was freaking out, worrying that his Housewarden was going to be angry, but you showed him a text from the Vice Housewarden, that said he was given permission to stay over at Ramshackle for the weekend he had off.

That being said, you told him that you were going back into the snow today, and he let out a groan of annoyance. You should know by now that he preferred humid and warm climates, which is why he loved the Botanical Gardens.

But, this was your payback, as he had spent weeks ignoring you and choosing his schoolwork as well as the Prince over you. That last sentiment was understandable, as that was the code of a knight, but the former statement really hurt. It was like he would prioritize anything over you, and while you first excused it as him adjusting to being romantically involved with someone, it got to a point where you were done.

Anyway, you opened the front door, and a rush of cool air burst into the corridor. You heard Sebek shiver, despite being wrapped in many different layers. Grim was also shivering, but he had claimed that he only needed his scarf and gloves to keep warm. You called his bluff, but he stuck to his guns.

When Sebek had finally joined you outside, you immediately shouted, “LET’S BUILD A SNOWMAN!”

You managed to spook him with the sudden outburst, but he immediately started making a plan. He was going to make the base, as he would be able to roll it to the designated spot you made. You would get its midsection, and he would help you lift it up. Then, Grim would make the head out of snow.

And so you all split up. You had to head inside to grab a spare scarf as well as a carrot and buttons, and then you placed them on the ground at said spot. Then you started getting the snowball for the torso.

It didn’t take too long for Sebek to finish, nor did it take long for Grim, but the difference was that Grim found himself rolling as a snowball with the snowball. He was rolling down the hill, and he suddenly hit a rock hidden in the snow, and he was launched into the air. It’s not like he could aim away from you, so he ended up landing on top of you.

With a loud oomph, you landed on the ground, and your boyfriend rushed over to make sure that you were okay. It turns out that you were laughing as you, through giggles, asked if the cat monster was okay. The crocodile half-fae helped you up, checking over you to make sure that you didn’t sustain any serious injuries, and you just continued to make the torso of the snowman.

Eventually, you and Grim rolled your parts to Sebek’s part, and he helped you lift each part. Grim was insistent on lifting his own, so the knight lifted the cat who, in turn, placed the head on top of the snowman.

Now it was time to decorate it, and you grabbed the scarf and wrapped it around the snowman’s neck. Sebek shoved the carrot in the middle of the head, making it its nose. Grim helped with the buttons, and you smiled at the masterpiece. You turned to see your lover, and the tip of his nose as well as the apples of his cheeks were pink.

Maybe it was time to head inside.

~~~~~~~~

You immediately started making some hot chocolate. You didn’t realize how cold you actually were because of how much fun you were having, but you couldn’t feel your fingers or toes. It felt like a Herculean effort to just blink. The aroma of the sweet ingredients wafted through the air, making the dorm smell amazing.

“I’m sorry…” That was a first. You turned to see the man who you’ve called your ‘knight in shining armor’, looking ashamed and guilty.

“For what, Seb?”

“For neglecting you, and that is the best way to say it so don’t say differently. You had to go to Waka-sama and Lilia-sama for Seven’s sakes because I was prioritizing my work over you,” He was getting a bit worked up, angry about his own failure.

“Just admitting your fault is enough-”

“No, it is not. I hurt you, which is detestable for a knight! What can I do to make it up to you?”

A moment passed of him being close to tears, and you had to hold in your laughter. But, you can’t really be blamed. For the longest time, the First Year who was now on his knees, begging for a way to get you to forgive him, had called you a ‘human’ in such a disgusted tone. Maybe the significant other effect is real?

The hot cocoa was finished, and you poured it into two mugs from the pot you made it in. Your smile dropped, a sombre expression appearing on your face in its place.

“Do you have time to have a cup of hot chocolate with me?” You asked, voice very close to breaking. You had to use both hands to steady the mug as you extended it towards him, and his eyes were surprisingly glassy.

“More than enough,” He responded, taking a sip of the sweet drink.

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst wonderland #sebek #twst sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader #twst sebek #sebek x reader #sebek zigvolt #twst sebek zigvolt x reader #twst sebek x reader #twst angst #twst x reader angst #twisted wonderland angst

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year

Text

VII ║Fleabitten

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 6: Mustang | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: You and Jack spend your last night together in the mountains - for now.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, flirting, insecurities, very light soft!dom overtones, sexual innuendoes, handjob, risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 4.2k

Notes: I know I made you guys wait for this one, I'm sorry it took so long! It's no secret that I'm dragging my feet because I don't want this packtrip to be over, but we all have to brave and face the inevitable 🥺 I hope you enjoy spending the last night in the mountains with Jack and his Darlin' ❤️

Fleabitten: A colour consisting of a white hair coat with small pigmented speckles or freckles.

You’ve never considered yourself a creature of habit.

You have your routines, of course. But habit is more. It’s a dependency, emotional and physical. It’s something that’s hard to give up. It’s a prickle under the skin that is only soothed when said habit is fulfilled.

Surely, habit is hewn over time. A quiet, imperceptible chipping away at your bones until it becomes part of you. It must take more than a week to make a habit out of something.

Except, it feels a lot like habit when you wake up to pink skies and take your first breath of sweet mountain air to start the day. That first mug of coffee warmed over rekindled embers from the night before. How Scotch always prances into a little canter to warm up when you hop on, but not until he knows you’re fully sat with the tips of your toes through the stirrups irons.

It’s the way you angle the brim of your hat and flip up the collar of your shirt even before the sun hits just so. It’s the all-consuming awe that pins you to the spot, wherever you are, whatever you’re in the middle of, when the sunset paints every inch of earth in rose gold.

And for the past three nights, it’s the assuring weight of strong arms around your waist that has lulled you to sleep, the kiss of warm breath on your temple - a familiarity that runs too deep in too short a time for you to comprehend.

Habit.

It’s the sixth day of the pack trip - first thing tomorrow, just after breakfast, Jack will be leading you across the mountain, back the way you came, to get back to the ranch by mid-afternoon.

Words are scarce when the two of you approach the last Statesman campsite on the trail, the neat stone pit now a familiar sight.

Even the horses are subdued. Scotch stands obediently, flicking his tail while you untack him, when he would usually be nudging at your hands with his velvety nose, snickering for a cheeky apple slice before supper.

It’s second nature to you now, hanging the sweaty saddle pad on a low-hanging branch to dry before setting the saddle and bridle on the wooden post for cleaning. Jack follows, standing on the other side, handing you a wet rag. You get to work, scrubbing out the grime and sweat from the well-worn leather.

His eyes are on you, a phantom weight on your shoulders - they’re not exactly sore, having grown used to long hours in the saddle over the week, but you are tired, albeit the good kind. One that a good, long soak in a hot bubble bath would fix, with a certain cowboy in the same tub -

‘Whatcha smilin’ ‘bout, Darlin’?’

Glancing up, you match his arched eyebrow with one of yours, planting your elbows on the spine of the saddle and standing onto your tiptoes to brush your lips against his. Well, a portable shower ain’t the same, but -

‘Shall we clean up, cowboy?’

Jack groans deep into your neck, the taste of soap thick on his tongue.

‘Is this how you jerked off thinking about me that first day?’ you tease, your grip sliding slickly along his cock.

‘Oh fuck,’ he pants, brow scrunched up in pleasure-pain, scraping his teeth on your collar bone. ‘Didn’t feel half as good, darlin’.’

A moan slips from you when one large palm finds your backside and squeezes, his fingers digging into the plump flesh as he whimpers by your ear. Bowing his head, he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking on your sensitive skin until you arch into his mouth.

It doesn’t take long for him to come all over your hand - sticky, milky strands slipping thickly down the gaps of your fingers, stringing between them like spider webs. You’re reluctant to let go, humming soothingly into his ear as the last of his orgasm shudders through his body.

He holds you tight, his heart a sharp staccato against your chest, as the slow trickle of lukewarm water washes away all traces of him.

Once the portable shower is empty, you take your time getting dressed. Jack wipes you down with your towel while you rub his hair dry with his. Walking back to camp hand in hand, you grin when the horses come into sight, chasing and egging each other on like puppies at the dog park.

Thousand-pound puppies, more like.

Dropping the dirty laundry by a tree to be packed later, he whistles with his fingers. ‘C’mon boys, supper time!’

The trio line up smartly by the wooden post as Jack preps the feed, measuring out the grain and hay pellets by sight, filling their buckets. Their nostrils flare and ears prick up at the sight of their dinner, but other than a stray nicker or two, they remain impressively patient.

Their buckets are dropped in front of their hooves when he’s done, and you may be imagining the sharp intake of air as the horses await the okay from their cowboy.

At his nod, all three practically lunge at their supper, munching happily. You laugh, and Jack watches on proudly.

A quiet desperation slinks in when you’re not looking, winding tighter and tighter around your ribs like a vice that leaves you short of breath as the minutes and hours slip by. You’re restless, your legs bouncing in agitation, your eyes darting about, frantically trying to commit everything to memory, yet never lingering anywhere long enough to do so.

But it’s not really about the things you can see. It’s the bitter bite of smoke in the clean mountain air. It’s the orange heat of the campfire that you wear like a favourite cardigan. It’s the simplicity of getting from point A to point B, with nothing but grassland and forest in between.

But real life isn’t simple. Things that you vowed to push to the back of your mind at the beginning of the trip bubble to the surface for an unwelcome moment. You have bills to pay. You have a deadweight of a house to sell. You have an ex not pulling his weight -

‘Darlin’?’

The white noise that you weren’t even aware had filled your ears subsides, and your gaze snaps up to Jack, blinking. The weight of the knife in your hand comes back to you, and you glance down at the bell pepper you were in the middle of dicing up.

You give him a shaky smile and carry on with your errand. ‘Sorry.’

He brushes a thumb on your cheek. ‘You were thinkin’ mighty loud.’

Not wanting to dampen your last night together, you shake your head and lean over to kiss him. You huff, ‘Just hungry. Get cooking, cowboy.’

Jack knows you’re fibbing, but he says no more. He can admit to himself that you’re not the only one struggling with loud thoughts tonight.

You’re right, he should turn his focus to making dinner instead - chili and cornbread, classic southern comfort food. Lord knows the both of you can do with some comfort tonight.

‘Want to help me with the cornbread?’ he asks, knowing you’d want to keep your hands busy.

‘Damn, I sure miss the days when you insisted that I shouldn’t help with anything at all,’ you tease, which makes him chuckle.

‘C’mere, darlin’.’

He’d measured out the dry ingredients for the cornbread back at the Halfway House and tipped it all into a mason jar - flour, cornmeal and raising agents. You whisk the batter with a fork as he cracks in three eggs and pours in the milk (he usually uses buttermilk, but it has to be shelf stable milk on the trail) until it’s smooth and thin. You carefully pour the mixture into a well-oiled cast iron skillet, which he then nestles in the heart of the fire. The batter bubbles like slow-burning lava as it cooks, the savoury sweetness filling the evening air.

‘That’ll cook in a half hour, so we should start on the chili,’ he says. ‘I normally simmer it for at least an hour, but I think we’re both hungry, right?’

‘I’m fine with express chili, cowboy.’

Jack sets a deep-set saucepan on the pit, drizzling in olive oil to preheat it. He knows the recipe by heart, but with no fresh beef mince on hand, he has his usual substitutions when cooking it on the trail. Into the pan goes finely diced cured sausage, onion, red bell peppers, peeled carrot ribbons and celery.

‘Is that Poppy’s recipe?’ you ask, tummy rumbling at the vivid scents as the pan sizzles.

‘It’s my mama’s, actually,’ he smiles, stirring with a wooden spoon. ‘It’s the one recipe Poppy allows on the trail that is not hers.’

‘If that isn’t a stamp of approval, I don’t know what is,’ you chuckle. ‘And where’s your mama?’

‘Still lives with my old man back home in Kentucky,’ he answers, scraping in minced garlic, a good squeeze of tomato paste and one big can of plum tomatoes, which he crushes one by one with the back of the spoon.

‘What do they do?’ you ask, genuinely curious. His family hasn’t come up in conversation in the past few days.

Jack is happy to indulge you. ‘Pop used to run a little corner shop in town, but he’s retired now. My ma’s an equine veterinarian, used to have a practice, but she shut that down a few years ago and is mostly a lady of leisure nowadays.’

You nudge his shoulder with yours. ‘Horses run in the family, I see.’

‘Never stood a chance,’ he jokes. ‘She still helps out on my uncle’s farm if they need an extra pair of hands. My cousins mostly run the place nowadays.’

The saucepan sputters at the generous pouring of barbeque sauce (homemade of course, Poppy’s secret recipe) that goes in next, followed by a can of beer, a beef stock cube (crumbled), Worcestershire sauce, balsamic vinegar and honey.

‘Are your parents from the same town?’

‘No, ma’s from the city, moved to the backwaters to marry my country bumpkin daddy,’ he replies, flashing you a meaningful smile.

Your cheeks heat up unbidden, and you bite your bottom lip, the shyness that rears its head feeling very alien after being so comfortable around this cowboy for these few days. You meet his eyes though, cocking your head to one side. ‘Is that so?’

He grins, stirring the chili as he continues. ‘My papaw Henry nearly disowned her, didn’t even go to the weddin’, but he came round when I was born. Turned out he got on with my other grandpa Noah like a house on fire. They used to come and spend a week in the mountains with Champ and I every year before Henry passed.’

You reach out and squeeze his free hand. ‘And where is Noah now?’

‘He lives in a little cabin off the main house with my uncle. Can barely walk, but he still rides every morning,’ he shakes his head fondly, tipping in the drained kidney and black beans.

He’s quiet for a moment as he studies the chili, simmering away, then gives you a sidelong glance. Despite a deliberate attempt to keep his tone light, the weight of his words cannot be erased by simple inflection. ‘I’m sure they’d love to meet you, darlin’.’

But as soon as he hears himself - the absurd wishful thinking in it - he shifts in his seat awkwardly, clearing his throat. You fuckin’ clown. How is this appropriate conversation when he’s known you for six days? Hell, you’d only just started sleeping together what, three nights ago? Fuck, has it only been three - ?

Two gentle fingers hook under his chin, turning his face towards you, cutting off the jumble of voices in his head. You shuffle closer so that you’re pressed right up against his side, warm and soft, and when you kiss him slowly and sweetly, it tastes like reassurance.

‘I’d love that too, cowboy.’

The chili is the best you’ve ever had - smoky, spicy and balanced out with a touch of sweetness from the barbeque sauce. The cornbread fresh from the skillet is so moreish, there’s nothing but crumbs left in the skillet when the two of you are done.

You’re close to bursting, sprawled lazily on your sleeping bag, your back propped up against a log. The fire has died down to a low-burning flame, and you’re right on the brink of nodding off.

But as it turns out, Jack still has a trick or two up his sleeves.

He reaches over you to grab one of the saddlebags, rifling around and you laugh as he unveils, one after the other - a bag of jumbo marshmallows, Graham crackers, and a bar of dark chocolate.

‘Can’t say I pegged you for a s’mores kinda cowboy,’ you tease as he lays out the ingredients on the ground.

‘It’s a Statesman tradition, we always close out a pack trip with s’mores. C’mon, I’ll show you how to make a proper one.’

You huff a laugh. ‘Oh, are we really going there?’

He feigns ignorance. ‘Whatever do you mean, ma’am?’

‘The shortest way to an argument is anything to do with s’mores.’

‘Don’t worry darlin’, I’m sure we’ll kiss and make up.’

Jack gets up and steps briefly out of the orange halo of the campfire to rustle up a couple of sticks for the marshmallows. Knees creaking as he sits down next to you, he pulls out the knife from the holster he wears on the back of his jeans, sharpening the wooden ends with a telling familiarity.

The chocolate bar is wrapped in fancy, gilded packaging, the words organic and bean to bar glowing gold in the firelight as you turn it over in your hands. ‘Huh. No Hershey’s?’

The cowboy waggles one perfectly pointed end of a stick at you in warning. ‘Rule number one - do not mention the H word in front of Poppy. You will be evicted and barred from the state of Wyoming till kingdom come.’

‘Oh, I believe you,’ you chuckle, tearing into the packaging and breaking up the chocolate into tidy squares along the grooves.

Sheathing his knife, Jack reaches for the saddle bag once again. ‘Can’t forget the secret ingredient.’

You blink in incredulity at what he brandishes, the familiar whiff registering. ‘Is that - applewood?’

He winks, testing the weight of the logs in his hands. ‘The applewood infuses the marshmallows with a sweet smokiness - I’m tellin’ you, the Statesman s’mores is somethin’ else.’

With a shake of your head, you grin. ‘Alright cowboy, show me how to make some proper s’mores.’

Twenty minutes later, you wish you could take it back.

‘Scientific’ doesn’t even begin to describe Jack’s process. You’re huddled in a blanket, hugging your knees, watching as he turns over the marshmallows with methodological precision and infinite patience - neither of which you possess. He’d confiscated yours when you tried to stick them straight into the flames, declaring that you’re unfit to make your own s’mores.

The night air is singed with the delicate note of apple blossoms, while four chocolate squares slowly warm on graham crackers where they sit on stones around the campfire.

You sit poutily, glaring at the fluffy white blobs that look just as pale as they were straight out of the bag.

‘I could’ve made about three s’mores by now,’ you gripe.

Jack doesn’t look up from the fire, but the corner of his mouth curls in amusement. ‘You’re on holiday, remember? Relax. Patience is a virtue, darlin’.’

You tilt your head in a challenge. ‘Do you really think I give a damn about virtue, cowboy?’

His grin turns brash, eyes crinkling mischievously at the corners. ‘No, ma’am, and I thank my lucky stars that you don’t.’

‘C’mon Jack,’ you whine. ‘Let's just eat the stupid s’mores and go to bed.’

‘Good things take time,’ he says simply. And then, with the minutest flex of his tone, he changes tact. ‘Will you be a good girl for me and be patient?’

You watch his smile widen as he obviously hears your breath hitch.

Biting your lip, you goad him, ‘Oh, is that how you’re going to play it, sir?

The gentleman in him recedes, and the rake glimpses through in the way he eyes you with a deliberately smarmy want. ‘I don’t hear you complainin’ when I take my time with you, darlin’.’

Your mouth hangs open in affront. ‘Are you seriously comparing me to roasted marshmallows?’

He leans over and purrs into your ear. ‘Well, your pussy is just as sweet, and soft, and warm -’

You groan and push him hard on the shoulder. ‘Thanks ruining marshmallows for me, cowboy!’

With a laugh, Jack nods towards the fire. ‘Grab the graham crackers please, darlin’. They're done.’

Sure enough, while you were distracted, the fluffy white blobs are finished with a perfect, golden crust, but have enough structural integrity to hold shape on the ends of the sticks.

‘You ready?’ he prompts.

A graham cracker in each hand, one with chocolate and the other without, you admit, ‘I hate this part, I always make such a mess.’

He smirks, ‘Didn’t think you minded makin’ a mess, darlin’.’

You roll your eyes at him, with no real annoyance. ‘You’re insufferable, cowboy.’

Cushioining one marshmallow on the chocolate side of the cracker, he instructs, ‘Now put the other one on top and grip the whole stack firmly. Got it?’

At your nod, Jack carefully extracts the stick, wriggling as he goes, one thumb against the end to keep the marshmallow from sliding out.

With a dramatic flourish, he ta-das. ‘There you go, a Statesman s’mores for my cowgirl.’

Something in your brain short-circuits at him calling you his cowgirl.

Not just his.

But the cowgirl to his cowboy.

Unable to conjure up any words, you fixate on the melted marshmallow on his thumb. Grabbing his hand and bringing it to your face, you wrap your lips around it, sucking the sweet smear of residue right off his smoke-tipped finger.

His gaze is dark even as the red and yellow flickers in his eyes when he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, his voice a soft rasp.

‘Good girl.’

‘So - what happens tomorrow?’

Your question is quiet, half murmured into the hollow of his neck in the twilight zone, on the cusp of sleep. Your head is tucked under his chin, his arms around your waist under the blanket.

‘We’ll get back to the ranch around three. The team will get the horses settled in, unpack everything, and you can have a nice hot shower. Then we’ll have sunset drinks and dinner.’

You hum noncommittally. The silence cackles for a beat, before you venture, ‘And then?’

For once, Jack doesn’t have an answer.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

He holds you close, running a calloused palm against your back when you shift restlessly in your sleep, feeling the rise and fall of your chest against his own.

The sun rises pink and gentle. This camping spot was a deliberate choice - it hangs over a small slope, facing east with an open view of the plains below, where the horses are dozing, the Bighorn rising from the horizon straight ahead.

He must have drifted off without him noticing, because he wakes up to your lips on his.

He blinks, lids heavy with slumber. ‘Mornin’.’

You smile through hooded eyes, cording your fingers through his hair. ‘Morning, cowboy. It’s a pretty sunrise for our last day in the mountains.’

‘Who says it’s our last, darlin’?’

His challenge lingers between you, the tension sinking its hooks into his skin and pulling - until you close the gap and kiss him.

It’s sloppy, clumsy, teeth clunking against teeth - it’s too damn early - and he pushes you back to nip and suck his way down your neck, undoing the top three buttons on his flannel that you’ve taken to wearing to bed before pushing it over your head.

‘Jack,’ you whine as his hands push your tits together, smearing open-mouthed kisses all over them.

‘Fuck,’ he grunts, the harsh sound catching in his throat. Grinding his cock between your thighs, his big hands push your panties down in a hazy frenzy, followed by his sweats, which he kicks off blindly.

‘Please,’ you choke out, voice breaking as your soft, naked body arches into him.

He hushes you, breath hot and heavy in your ear, teasing his length slickly between the wet lips of your pussy. ‘Yeah? Desperate for this cock, are you, darlin’?’

Through a broken moan, you whimper, ‘Yes, please please please, Jack -’

‘So pretty beggin’ for me,’ he grins, but he knows it probably looks more like a pained grimace as he trembles above you. You're soaking the curls at the bottom of his cock even though he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

‘Please, want you inside me, cowboy -’

He holds out, letting the arousal swell and mount between you with a recklessness that is unlike him, demanding, ‘How, darlin’?’

‘Hard, want you to fuck me hard -’

Rolling you onto your side so that he brackets you from behind, he opens you up with one hand under your right knee, pushing it against your front so that he can see your dripping cunt. Running his thumb over it, you jerk in his hold, moaning for him. ‘Jack, please -’

‘What did I say about patience bein’ a virtue, hmm?’ he teases through gritted teeth, dipping one finger shallowly into you, which is enough to make you keen.

You’re babbling incoherently as he lines himself up against your entrance. ‘Fuck me, please, need you inside me -’

You break off into a strangled sob when he pushes the blunt tip of his cock into you, a hoarse groan in his windpipe as he feels you stretch around him. It feels different, more intense, but his sleep-clouded brain can’t grasp why. He pumps into you slowly and deliberately, eyes screwed shut as your cunt squeezes him, his fingers sure to leave marks where they hold onto the swell of your hips.

‘So - so good, Jack,’ you pant.

‘Yes, darlin’,’ he rasps into the back of your neck, fucking you in firm strokes now, palming your tits from behind. ‘This gorgeous pussy grippin’ me so tight, gettin’ so wet on my big cock.’

‘Only for you,’ you declare, rolling your hips so he hits a particularly deep spot inside you.

‘For me,’ he echoes with a groan, planting one foot on the ground to fuck into you harder.

Snaking one hand between your legs - hot and sticky - two thick fingers find your clit, drawing back the hood to rub circles where you can really feel him.

‘Fuck!’ you exclaim, almost bending backwards.

‘Good girl, takin’ me so well,’ he cooes into your ear. ‘She’s goin’ to cum on my cock, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, Jack,’ you whine, getting impossibly wet now. You leak messily down your thighs as he feels you begin to clench around him, your voice running ragged. ‘Please, sir -’

He fucks you through it, jaw clenched so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t crack under the pressure, his hands holding you down as you buck and writhe.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he growls into your cheek, his pace slackening to a languid rhythm. ‘Do you hear yourself? Hear that drippin’ pussy when I fuck it nice and slow?’

Turning over your shoulder, you kiss him, pupils completely blown as you slur drunkenly against his lips, ‘Yes, cowboy. S’ fucking good.’

Jack smiles and he sucks on your bottom lip, you’re so wet that he barely has to roll his hips to sink deep into you.

But even as he lets the moment consume him, something niggles at the back of his mind. It feels too good, as if there's some detail he’s missing -

And then it strikes him, like lightning on a clear day. Every joint and muscle in his body locks up when it does, and he feels you stiffen instantly in response. His words tumble out in a panicked jumble. ‘Oh fuck, oh fuck! I forgot the condom, shit, I’m so sorry darlin’ -’

When he tries to pull out of you, you hook one foot around his shin and stop him with a hand on his hips. ‘Wait, Jack - just wait.’

He shakes his head in confusion. ‘Wait - why?’

Twisting around so that you’re looking him in the eye, you tell him quietly, ‘I got tested after my ex and I broke up, and - I haven’t been with anyone since.’

While he takes a moment to process, his cock throbs almost painfully inside you. He answers, ‘I haven’t had unprotected sex since my last girlfriend, and I got tested afterwards as well.’

You smile, one hand finding his and slipping your fingers into the gaps between his. ‘I’m just - I’m not on the pill, so we can keep going as long as you don’t cum inside me.’

‘Fuck, darlin’, it's dangerous, talkin' about me cummin’ inside you like that,’ he chides, brow creased in mock reprimand.

You wink. ‘We’ll save that for next time, cowboy.’

‘Next time,’ he promises, with a determination that soothes the anxiety in him.

And so your breaths mist and intertwine, catching the morning light as he thrusts into you, again and again. He doesn’t know where this will go, except for the vow of a next time, but he knows he has this -

The orange wash of dawn over you, his spend on the soft skin of your stomach and your beautiful tits when he cums, his heart beating - hard and sure - with what has deserted him for long years.

Notes: I didn't have as much time to edit this chapter, and I'm still trying to get more comfortable with spending less time overall on both writing and edits, and being more ok with mistakes/typos. The flip side is that what goes on the metaphorical paper is more spontaneous.

There will only be two more chapters before Palomino wraps up. Thank you for sticking around and for being so supportive despite the slow updates recently. It's strange that we're approaching the end for real now, excited isn't quite the right word, but I am looking forward to giving this story the ending Jack, Darlin' and you guys deserve ❤️

Thank you for the love. Comments, reblogs and asks are always appreciated, as always 🥰

Update: I can’t believe I forgot to mention a huge thank you to everyone who gave me all the cool tips for the s’mores and ideas for their last dinner on the trail! This one is for you guys 😘

#palomino series #jack daniels fanfiction #agent whiskey fanfiction #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x fem!reader #jack daniels x female!reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x fem!reader #agent whiskey x reader #kingsman golden circle #jack whiskey daniels

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sirthisisa-wendys · 1 year

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The way I am EATING up your “Hand Her Over” series ahdkdjaklsdj 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 your Ran parts are so SO spot on, exactly how I envision him dealing with it, we need moreeeeee!!!! (please🥺)

Hand Her Over I (Part 6): Ran Haitani x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.7k

tw: lots of fluff

masterlist

Hand Her Over Megapost

It's quiet.

Ran awakens right before dawn, his arms around your body and his face nuzzles your neck. With a deep inhale, he takes in your sweet scent before gently disentangling himself from you.

It's difficult - undoing himself from his protective posture - but somehow, he's able to do it without waking you. You don't even stir, and Ran's feet press against the carpet gently. It isn't until he's unfolded himself and crept into the bathroom that he realizes...

She slept through the night.

The realization doesn't blow him away at first, but then, as he stands in front of the mirror, he feels his entire body un-tense. By some miracle, the weight that used to sag on his shoulders day in and day out has lightened a bit.

Ran racks his brain for any memory of what he did last night before you went to bed. You both read a novel you'd picked out, creating a sort of book club for two. He'd massaged your feet as you told him about your day, and then put on the white noise you love so much as you fell asleep in his embrace. Nothing out of the usual was done. He'd even ordered takeout for dinner, nothing special.

So, maybe... just maybe...

Ran doesn't let his hope bloom too quickly, though. His hands turn the knobs of the tub's faucet, and water trickles out before becoming a more substantial - but quiet - stream. Making a bath for you is a treasured ritual, one that has given Ran a very easy start to the morning.

In a few minutes, the white noise would fade away, and you'd awaken before joining him in the bathroom. You'd give him sleepy kisses and whisper your daily greetings, and he'd repeat them back to you as he helped you out of your clothing.

He remembers the hurried mornings when he was in Bonten; the mornings that were filled with hisses of stubbed toes, stumbling into the kitchen to find something to eat, the urges to leave without kissing you goodbye so he could make it to the never-ending slew of meetings...

But now, he doesn't have to do that anymore. And he's fucking glad.

Your grunts and moans tear Ran away from his thoughts, and he peers at you, stretching and grumbling and perfect. But you're still sleepy. He can see it in the way your head aches to lay back on the pillow, in the way your eyes are still closed and praying for a few more minutes of rest.

"Good morning," Ran murmurs and you turn to him, eyes still closed. "Did you sleep well?"

"I slept so good," you croak, and Ran grins lazily. "Want some more sleep, though."

"I can stop the bath," he offers, then turns to shut the faucet off. That never really mattered anyway. Ran joins you in the bed, letting your head rest on his crease of his elbow. "You slept straight through the night," he notes, and you open your eyes, shocked.

"You're lying."

"Not," he replies, tapping your nose with one finger. "You didn't even wake up when I got out of the bed." Ran can see the hope blooming behind your own eyes, and he tries with all of his might to stuff his back down. This could just be a fluke. You might go back to the crying fits tonight, and then, he'd be right back at square one. Still devastated.

"You think," you begin, but it's cut off by a long yawn. "You think we can go to the bakery downtown for breakfast?"

"Of course," Ran whispers, kissing your forehead and pulling you close. "Whatever you want." You hum and fall back asleep, your hands bunched up in Ran's shirt.

"You should grow your hair back out." Ran stops mid-bite.

"Huh?"

"Your hair," you murmur, pointing your fork at his head. "You should grow it out again." Ran chuckles, trying not to think about himself with long purple hair.

"And have a purple, long-haired husband?" He shakes his head gently, Rindou's hair flashing in his mind. They only had a similar haircut one time for a reason. "I don't think so."

"You don't have to dye it again," you add, shrugging. "Could grow your roots out and cut it like you have it now." When you shrug again, Ran watches the straps of the sundress slide around on your shoulders. And he can't help but think - mid-conversation, no less - how beautiful you'd look if they inched down a little, and--

"Would you two like anything else?" Ran's gaze moves to the waiter, and he looks between the two of you.

"Can I have another strawberry smoothie?" you ask, and the waiter nods before looking at Ran.

"I'm alright, thanks." Once the waiter is gone, Ran looks back over to you, and he watches the way your red lips curl around the straw. It's not sexual in any way but Ran can't help but think about how lucky he is.

"Have I told you lately that I love you?" You look up at Ran in surprise, and your face brightens immediately. And it takes his fucking breath away.

"You tell me all the time, my love," you reply sweetly. "Why? Are you forgetting that you love me?" You're teasing, but Ran's heart still skips a beat.

"No," he breathes, taking your hand in his. "I'm just making sure I tell you often." He kisses your fingers, noting that they're a little cold, then he warms them up with his own fingers. You smile even more.

"Can I tell you something?" you whisper, a mischievous look in your eyes.

"I love secrets," Ran jokes, leaning forward. You lean forward and Ran expects you to whisper something scandalous, but you kiss his lips instead. The waiter comes by right at that moment, but if he hadn't, Ran would have said something absolutely scandalous.

He's still considering it as you both walk out of the bakery hand in hand. "You know what," he begins, looking at the colorful window display in a boutique shop. "We could make a few stops on the way home..."

"Yeah?" You follow his gaze, and smirk. "Shopping?"

"Maybe..."

Ran's devious plan comes together in the dressing room of the boutique, his hands roaming up your thighs in an exaggerated way. The garters brush against his fingers and he shivers, delighting in this image of you.

“This reminds me of better times.”

“Does it?” You look down at him, and he chuckles, taking in your lusty expression.

"Why don't you do this..." Ran takes his credit card and slips it between the lace of the belt. "Buy this one. Then buy another one that makes you happy. I'll be waiting outside for you."

Goosebumps follow the brush of his fingers across the tender flesh of your ass, and Ran leaves the store, a twinge of excitement settling in his stomach. You emerge minutes later, holding your items with pride.

"Did you get what you wanted?"

"Of course," you answer, kissing his cheek and slipping his card into his pocket. "Would you like to see it?"

"Do I like to breathe?" Ran jokes, and you take his hand, lacing your warm fingers through his.

"Ran!"

"My hair's still wet," Ran answers when you call his name.

"I need you," you call out, and Ran tosses a towel over his head, rubbing it back and forth hurriedly as he leaves the bathroom.

"Coming," he replies, stepping into the dimly lit room and expecting something other than what he's met with. "B-babe?" You're lying in the bed, covered in a blush pink lingerie set Ran's never seen before. It must've been the one you bought when he wasn't in the store, but flashes of your wedding night come back in quick bursts.

"I thought you'd like this since..." You run your hands up the garment and smile coyly. "It might remind you of 'better times'." Ran's towel drops from his head and lands on the floor behind him. "You looked just like that, too. All awed and..." You point a swirling finger at Ran's body. "Aroused." His eyes look down at the towel around his waist, and of course, there's an indication of his enjoyment of the moment. You crook a finger at him and whisper,

"Come and get it; if you dare." Ran's hesitation lasts for longer than it should have. When he doesn't make a hasty path toward you, he knows he has to ask. He knows he has to make sure.

"I..." He pulls himself together, and his brows furrow. "We can take things slow."

"Never said we couldn't," you murmur back, propping your head up on an open hand.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Never said you would." God, Ran feels so childish saying these things; he knows you know he loves you and wouldn't dare hurt you, but... The breath catches in Ran's throat, and he's unsure of what to say. And for all of the tears he's shed in private, he's not sure why he's crying. Everything's better now, right?

"Oh," you coo, watching Ran tear up and scrub at his face furiously. Ran hears you get up from the bed and feels your hands wrapping around his wrists, leading him toward the comfortable sheets and pillows. When his cheek rests against your skin, Ran can't contain himself. Crying is not his thing, but when he feels you, touches you, and remembers all of the years he's spent by your side, he's overwhelmed.

"I'm... sorry," he hiccups, tucking his face into your body in shame. "I shouldn't be crying."

"That's bullshit," you whisper, stroking his hair lovingly like his mother used to. "Cry whenever you feel like it." Ran doesn't add how he's felt the overpowering need to be strong for you always, but he senses that you understand and you love him despite it.

He finds himself curling into your embrace and lulling himself into a night of sleep he's unable to fight. It's warm, it's comfortable, almost exactly like your wedding night when you both collapsed in the bed, utterly exhausted... but full of joy.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #ran haitani #ran haitani x reader

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