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viking-raider · 5 months

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A Christmas Miracle🎄

Summary: You and Henry are celebrating Christmas with family, while expecting your first child together.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 5.9k

Warning: G - Cotton Candy Goodness, Soft!Henry, Fluff, Kal, Papa Bear!Henry, Domestic Bliss, Christmas Decorating, Pregnancy Stuff, Cotton Candy Fluff, Loving Marriage, Christmas Fluff

Inspiration: This story ties into my Easter story, The Golden Egg.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLISTand turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy! @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY

“Babe!” Henry gasped, as he came into the living room, nearly tossing the steaming cup of tea in his hand, upon discovering you.

You were standing on the two-step high stool, to sprinkle golden tinsel on the fragrant and robust branches of an eight foot Fraser Fir that stood proudly in the corner of the living room. You chuckled, shaking your head at your husband, but didn't look back at him, as you picked a bit of tinsel off one of the emerald branches, having adorned the needles with too much of the sparkling, thin strands.

“You shouldn't be up there, love!” He scolded you, setting the tea he had made you on the coffee table as he rounded it and the couch, to come towards you, resting his hands on your hips. “I told you, I would help you decorate the tree, once I was done with your tea.”

“I know you did, Hen.” You answered, sighing softly, finally looking down at him and seeing the wrinkle of worry between his brow. It hadn't smoothed since the Brit found out you were pregnant with his child on Easter, nearly nine months before. “But I'm also capable of doing it myself.” You reminded him, resting a hand on his shoulder and giving his neck a gentle squeeze.

“I'm pregnant, not invalid.”

Henry sighed softly, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to your round and pronounced belly. “I know you're capable, sweetheart.” He assured you, looking up at you with an affection in his blue eyes that always melted your heart. “I just don't want you to get hurt. Especially with you so close to the due date.” He said, helping you step down off the stool. “Just sit down and enjoy your tea. Then, we'll tag team the tree together.” He told you, putting an excited smile on his face.

“All right.” You conceded, settling down on the couch and took up your tea, cupping the mug between your hands and letting the heat seep into your palms, before finally taking a sip.

“Your parents will be here in a couple days.” Henry commented, squatting beside a box of Christmas decorations neither of you had opened up yet. “My parents made up their guest house in preparation for their arrival.” He told you, peeking into the box.

Halfway into your pregnancy, Henry had taken time off from acting and the two of you decided to leave your secluded London home for the coziness of Henry's home island of Jersey. Buying a nice, beach front property, three streets and a five-minute walk from his parents' place, with the intent on having your baby boy born in Saint Helier. You loved being on the little Channel Island, sitting on the back patio or taking walks on the beach, breathing in the soothing sea air, which helped your morning sickness a good deal.

The only downside was your family was far out of reach of you, having to fly into Jersey to visit and check-in on you. Your parents wanted to be on hand when you finally had their third grand-baby, so Henry footed the bill to bring them out and his parents were amazing enough to host them while they were here.

“That's great.” You smiled, flexing your sore and swollen feet, watching him pull out ornaments, garland and other little tree decorations. “I can't wait to see them again.” You commented, not having seen them since your fourth month, just before you and Henry left for Jersey. “I'm sure my mom will bring more knitted items.” You chuckled, glancing over your shoulder to the soft, butter-yellow blanket your mother had knitted a couple months ago.

“I would be shocked, if she didn't!” Henry laughed back, his broad shoulders shaking as he stood. “What garland do you want on the tree?” He asked, holding up a strand of colorful beads and another of red and white, twisted ribbons.

You hummed, pressing your lips together and studied your tree, eyes narrowing slightly, scrutinizing the colors on its branches. “I think the ribbon would work best with it.” You finally settled, nodding content with your choice.

“All right then.” He nodded back, putting the other garland aside. “Ah, nope!” He tisked, when you set your tea down and started the mini struggle of standing up. “You put the tinsel on the tree, it's my turn to put the garland on. You relax.”

“Fair enough.” You sighed softly, picking your tea back up and rested against the couch cushions, just in time for Kal to jump up beside you. “Well, hello there, sweet boy.” You cooed at him, reaching out to give him good scratches between the ears and around the neck. “Have you come to make sure I stay put?” You quipped, the Akita resting his head in your lap.

“I did no such thing!” Henry called over his shoulder, carefully tucking the garland into the branches.

“Sure, love. Sure.” You chuckled at him, though Henry's protectiveness at times could be a little overbearing, you knew he did it out of love and first-time father worries. “He's paying you in treats and promises of all the good turkey, ham and brisket bits he plans on cooking for Christmas dinner.” You accused, lifting a brow at the unphased Akita, before wincing and pressing a palm to the side of your belly.

“You all right?” Henry asked, catching a glimpse from his peripheral, pausing a moment.

“Yeah, your son just kicks like a Fly-Half.” You answered, chuckling halfheartedly. “If he keeps these strong legs, he'll for sure make the England team.” You said, trying to ease the look of suspicion on Henry's face, that it was the baby kicking, and your own, that the pain was something more than a false contraction.

“You missed a branch there, Bubs.” You commented, drawing Henry's attention away from the subjection, motioning with your steaming black, Nightmare Before Christmas cup.

“Mm.” He grunted, narrowing his eyes at you, but turned to fuss over it.

You took a deep breath, rubbing the globe of your stomach, hoping to soothe any would-be pains. Thankfully, you didn't have any more throughout the morning, helping Henry put up the ornaments and other little hanging knick knacks on the tree. Something Henry was comfortable with you doing, since you kept your feet on the hardwood, safely beside him.

“I want to do a little plaster imprint of his hand and foot, to hang up on the tree for next year.” You commented suddenly, gently holding a little needlepoint ornament you'd made. It was a silhouette of Henry and you, with Kal between you, the year above your heads. You had made one every year since the first Christmas the three of you had spent together. “Should make a new needlepoint too.” You added even softer.

Henry glanced down at you, a fond and nostalgic light in his blue orbs. “I think that would be a lovely idea, babe.” He smiled, warmed at the idea. “I like the idea of making and expanding our little traditions.”

“I should have given myself a baby bump in this one.” You joked, carefully adding the stitched ornament on a branch, accompanied with the others around it. “So much for accuracy.”

“It looks perfect, my love.” He assured you, kissing your hair. “Now, let's turn the lights on and see how this thing looks!” He proclaimed, shuffling around the tree and plugged in the two strings of lights skillfully wrapped around the tree.

You stood back to get a good look at the Fir, just as the tiny, cool and warm-white LED, diamond facet bulbs flickered on. Making many of the ornaments glitter and twinkle. It brought a great feeling of delight bubbling up inside of you, tugging on your exhausted and hormonal raged body, until tears spilled over.

“Sweetheart.” Henry cooed, pouting at you sweetly, as he closed his arms around your shoulders, hugging you as closely as your belly would allow.

“It looks beautiful.” You mumbled into his chest, fingers gripping at the sides of his shirt.

He smiled, nosing the hair at the top of your head and rubbing your back with one hand. “It is, dear, and so are you.”

“I'm also starving.” You blurted out, breaking the melancholy mood.

“Butter chicken or pepperoni and feta pizza?”

“Oh god, you know me too well at this point.” You giggled, licking your lips. “But, the butter chicken.”

You sat up in bed, Kal resting between your legs, with his head laying on your belly, as you read your latest book on your Kindle. While Henry was downstairs doing some work on the new Warhammer minis he ordered as a way to keep himself occupied, when he wasn't taking care of you.

“Oh.” You gasped, feeling a sudden, sharp pain. “Gosh, did we disagree on the butter chicken, Bean?” You groaned, pressing your palm to the side of your stomach; Kal lifting his to sniff at your belly as another pain caused you to cramp. “It's all right, Bud. Your brother is just being a little difficult.” You sighed, setting your e-reader on your nightstand and lumbered out of bed, before heading downstairs.

“Hey, love.” Henry smiled, looking up from the Ultramarine mini in his hand. “I thought you were going to bed.”

“I was trying to, but your son doesn't agree with dinner.” You explained to him, looking over his progress on his Warhammer army. “Can you do your trick?” You asked, lulling your head to the side and giving him a cute look.

Henry chuckled, setting his mini down. “My trick.” He smirked, standing up and moving behind you. “Any reason to cuddle.” He teased, reaching around to cup both hands beneath your stomach and leaned you both backwards, taking the weight of your belly as he did.

“Mmm.” You hummed, eyes falling shut, while you let your head rest against Henry's chest. “It feels so good.” You sighed, resting your hands on his.

Henry cradling your baby bump had become a god send throughout your third trimester. Taking the weight of your healthy and active baby boy off your lower back and hips. However in your earlier trimesters, the two of you learned it helped relieve your heartburn and whenever your little one got a bit too restless.

You liked to think it was the baby reacting to Henry's touch.

It was calm for a long, few moments, just you and Henry, slowly swaying side to side, the baby calm. But again, your stomach spasmed and you whimpered, making it clear to Henry, you were indeed having some sort of contractions.

“How long has this been going on?” He asked, eyes wide and brows pinched.

“Since this morning.” You confessed finally, taking slow, deep breaths.

“Why didn't you tell me?” He demanded, startled and worried.

“I didn't have any through the afternoon.” You assured him, patting his hands. “I figured it was just false. But, I'm starting to think otherwise, with how much that one hurts.”

“We should probably go to the hospital.” Henry fret, starting away from you, but you turned and caught his elbow.

“Henry.” You said in a soft, soothing voice. “You remember what the OB said?” You tried reminding him. “Four-One-One.”

“Four minutes apart, a minute long, lasting an hour.” He recited, having listened to your OB, and read numerous baby and expecting parent books.

You had taken a couple of parenting classes as well. Until people started posting photos of you on social media, annoying you and causing Henry to be even more of a papa bear. So, you'd found an online, private class to do in the comfort of your living room.

“Not one has lasted a minute, been four minutes apart or lasted an hour.” You assured him, dropping your hand to his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “If they're the real deal, I'm in the early stages and going to the hospital now will only incur hours and hours of waiting. Which we'll be doing here anyway.”

“What if something happens?”

“Nothing is going to happen, you worry-wart.” You chuckled at him, shaking your head. “Come to bed with us.” You cooed, pushing up on your toes, kissing his bearded cheek and brushing your fingers through the curls above his ear.

“You'll tell me.” Henry insisted as he followed you upstairs to the master bedroom.

“Of course, I'll tell you, Henry.” You assured him. “Then, I'll tell Kal.” You quipped, trying to lighten the mood and get him to smile.

But he didn't smile, his mind preoccupied with making sure everything was ready, should you wake him up and tell him your contractions were growing close together.

Did I get the car seat in the Audi correctly? Where did I put the hospital bag? In this closet or the coat closet downstairs? Everything's in it she and the baby needs, right?

“Babe.”

Perhaps I should just go down and get it, to make sure. What about the nursery? Thank God, I finished the crib last month!

“Hen..”

Do we need more diapers? Are they the right size? What if--

“Henry!” You called out, when he didn't answer you, a far off and growing alarm look in his cerulean eyes, startling him out of his worried trance. “Everything is all right.” You said slowly, holding his gaze steadily. “We have everything we need. Everything the baby needs. If we don't, that's perfectly fine. Your parents and mine have offered their help, should it arise. As have your brothers.”

“I don't know how you're so calm.” He sighed, shaking his head and dropping down on his side of the bed.

You laughed, smirking. “I'm not calm. But there's no use for us both freaking out, especially at the same time. Besides, when I freak out, I have you to pull me back together, the least I can do is return the favor, when you start to lose it.” You told him, maneuvering yourself back under the covers.

“What's a spouse for?”

“You're right.” Henry nodded, turning the light out and resting against the headboard beside you. “One of the many reasons I love you, and married you.” He said, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

Snuggling down, your back pressed against Henry's chest with his hand ever present on your belly, you tried to focus on falling asleep.

“You know.” Henry commented, half-asleep himself. “I sort of miss when you were in your first and second trimesters.”

“Oh?” You mumbled back, with interest.

“Yeah, you were always jumping my bones.” He laughed, shaking the bed with his mirth. “Well, until the end of your second trimester, when your belly got too big to do anything other than waddle and ride my cock.”

You were instantly awake again at his words. A huge smile of hot guilt and embarrassment on your face, that you hid in your pillow. It was true! The first stages of your pregnancy had made you quite frisky towards Henry. Sometimes so much so, he hadn't recovered from the last time you'd had sex and would need to pleasure you in other ways to bring your arousal down. Not that the man complained about it! But a couple weeks into your third trimester, the raging inferno of your passions cooled off. Even beyond what they were before you were expecting. You were just too tired and sore, uncomfortable, and just ready to give birth, to think of such things. But again, Henry didn't complain. You were grateful for that, because you felt bad that your mood didn't match his, at the moment.

Having seen the look of concupiscent on his face more than once, as the two of you showered together, went to bed or woke in the mornings. But you just didn't have it in you, and he took it with grace and understanding acceptance, not pressuring you or making you feel like a bad partner, for not reciprocating.

The two of you calmed down and allowed each other to finally fall asleep.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Henry asked, the next morning as the two of you finished breakfast.

“I feel all right, Bubs. Only a few pains here and there.” You answered, polishing off your usual cup of chamomile tea, something that had been a staple throughout your pregnancy, to battle your morning sickness and heartburn. “Excited to make cookies with your mum.”

Henry smiled across the table at you. “Good. I bet all these sugary smells are going to drive you and wee man nutty.”

It was a Cavill family tradition to get together, before Christmas, and make cookies for the big family dinner party, as well as to give out as tokens to friends and neighbors. It was also considered quite the honor among the Cavill brothers' wives to have Marianne ask to join her in the massive production. Since she didn't ask just anyone to help her; having a couple secret family recipes to protect in the process. But Marianne had asked, surprisingly and much to Henry's pride, you to help her, at your and Henry's first Christmas. Something that made one or two of Henry's sisters-in-law jealous, especially since the two of you were new and still dating, and one of them had never been asked.

Even to this day.

“Our mouths are already watering for your mother's chocolate chip, mocha cookies.” You confessed; it was one of the many things you looked forward to for Christmas. Marianne's chocolate chip, mocha flavored cookies were something you'd start a fight over, as were her chocolate covered, Oreo truffles with peppermint bark crumble on top. “Oh god.” You moaned, stuffing the last bit of bland, buttered toast into your mouth; Henry laughing at you.

“I'm going to roast up another heritage turkey this year.” He commented, finishing his coffee, then helped clear the breakfast table. “Everyone seemed to love it last year.”

“That's fine with me.” You answered, loading the soap dispenser and starting the dishwasher. “I have one small request.”

“You could make an enormous request, love!” Henry snorted, taking a protein shake out of the fridge.

“I want yams with roasted marshmallows on top.” You told him, confidently. “To myself.”

“To yourself?” He echoed, a smirk on his lips. “How big is the dish?”

“A small one is fine. I just don't want to share it.” You confessed your craving to him.

Letting out a laugh and nodding, Henry shrugged. “All right then. I'll make sure you have your roasted marshmallow covered yams, and I'll have Kal guard them.”

“Excellent.” You nodded back, then looked at your watch. “We should get going. Your mother asked us to get there before ten.” You informed him, heading for the front door and eased yourself down on a small bench that was there.

Henry joined you, squatting down to grab your shoes from underneath the bench and slipped them on your feet, tying them securely, since your prominently belly prevented you from reaching your feet to put on your shoes. Let alone tie them. Your shoes on and helping you back up, Henry got his own shoes on, but paused as he opened the door for you and Kal. He glanced back at the hall closet. Biting his lip, he hurried over and grabbed the baby bag from inside, then dashed after you, putting the bag in the back as he got behind the wheel.

“Just in case.” He answered your lifted brow.

“Fair, I suppose.” You shrugged, unable to argue with his logic.

“How are you holding up, my love?” Henry asked, peeking into the kitchen, before shuffling over to you, sure his mother wouldn't shoo him out.

“My cookie restraint thinned dramatically after the second batch.” You confessed, looking around at all the Santa's, snowmen, candy canes and snowflakes that were either waiting to go into the oven or cooling. “However, your mum apparently anticipated this. Making me batch yesterday, so I could nibble on them, while we made these.”

Henry grinned, touched at his mother's thoughtfulness. “That was sweet of her.” He cooed, brushing the back of his fingers over your cheek. “Have you had any more pains?” He asked, his brows pinching slightly, worried.

“Nothing concerning.” You told him, closing your hand around his wrist. “You know I'd come get you.” You tried assuring him, giving him a soft smile. “Or your mum would, should my water break.” You giggled, a smile turning into a smirk.

“That's not funny, babe.” Henry snapped softly, eyes big.

You pressed your lips together, guilty, before pushing up on your bare toes, having taken off your shoes for the long standing in the kitchen, to press your lips against Henry's. “I'm sorry, Puppy.” You mumbled against them, before reaching around him, grabbing a finished Snowman, presenting it to his mouth in place of your own. “I baked and decorated this one myself.” You grinned at him, a glitter of pride in your eyes.

“Oh, did you?” He cooed, opening his mouth to admit the round biscuit of white icing, adorned with two black chocolate pearls for eyes and smaller black sugar pearls for a mouth. It had a carrot nose, made of orange icing and the upper crown of the biscuit was covered in purple, blue and white hundreds and thousands, then outlined with silvery snowflake-shaped sprinkles.

Taking the biscuit from you, Henry nibbled on it, already knowing it would be delicious, since you had made it with his family's age-old recipe. “You know.” He mumbled around his mouthful. “I can't wait to share these with our little guy.” He said, smirking down at the bake, before glancing around the kitchen.

“Well, technically, I've already done that.” You giggle, running your hand over the globe of your belly.

Henry snorted loudly, his smirk growing. “You have me there, my love.” He replied, finishing his treat off, reaching out to lay his hand on your stomach as he saw the moments of your son shift, pressing either an elbow or knee out. “Still trips me out to see him move inside of you.” He commented, feeling something around nudge against his palm.

“You should feel it from this end.” You huffed, making a face at the kicks as he tumbled about, prodding a heel into your ribs and a shoulder into your slowly screaming bladder. “Poor bud is running out of space in there.” You cooed, moving your hand to cup the underside of your stomach.

“That he is.” He agreed, leaning down to press a kiss to your belly. “But, soon he'll be out here with us.”

“Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill.”

A cold chill washed down Henry's back, making the little hairs on his neck stand up as he straightened. “Mum.” He squeaked, looking at her over your shoulder.

“You know the rules of setting foot in my kitchen, while we bake.” Marianne scolded her second youngest.

“I do.” He nodded, biting his lip as he half smirked at her. “I was just checking up on her and our little one.” He explained, motioning to you.

Marianne's gaze shifted, her soft and kind blue eyes looking you over. She had noticed the few contractions you'd experience while helping her bake, and had sharpened her eye on you even more. Everyone in the family had a side eye on you it seemed, with your due date so nearby, like they were concerned you would pop like a water balloon.

“I'm fine.” You sighed softly, offering her a reassuring smile.

“Then, you can pop out of our kitchen.” Marianne said, cocking a brow at her son.

You chuckled, loving the nonchalance she had. “We'll see you later, my dear.” You cooed at him, kissing the corner of his mouth, tasting the sugar on his lips and inciting a need for another cookie from your stash. “Off you go.” You giggled, patting him on the chest and set your eyes on your task.

Henry looked at his mother with a pointed look, gesturing towards you, to which Marianne answered with a roll of her eyes and picked up a sheet of cookies needing to go into the oven.

“My back is to you, Henry, not my senses.” You shot over your shoulder, cutting out more cookies from the dough.

“Christ alive, our son has his work cut out for him.” He chuckled, winking at you as he turned to leave and rejoin his brothers and dad in the living room.

You looked over at Marianne and laughed, your mother-in-law joining in, the two of you amused he didn't realize you'd seen her roll her eyes.

“That boy.” Marianne chuckled, shaking her head as she moved to stand beside you, helping portion out the raw dough.

“He's freaked out.” You commented, gently laying a Santa on the sheet.

“Understandably.” She answered, wielding the snowflake cutter with skill. “The first baby is always the most stressful, and Henry's wanted to be a father for a very long time.”

“I know he has.” You nodded, feeling your stomach lightly bump the edge of the counter. “I'm happy and excited for our little one.” You told her, wadding up the scrap dough, then picked up a rolling pin. “I'm definitely ready not to be pregnant anymore.” You snorted, smiling faintly.

“And your worries?” Marianne asked, tilting her head at you, without pausing her work.

You drew in a slow, deep breath. “I'm worried about the labor. I'm terrified about whether or not I'll make a good parent.” You confessed to her, letting your breath out. “I know Henry will, he's incredible with kids. I love watching him with his younger fans, with his nieces and nephews.” You gush, grinning at the flashes of memories. “Seeing him hold Ellie, when we first met her--” You shook your head, a bubble of emotions overwhelming you for a moment, til you cleared your throat.

“You'll be a great mother.” Marianne reassured you, running her hand up and down your back. “You have nothing to worry about there. You'll have me and your mum to help you, as well as Heather and all the other girls.”

“I know.” You nodded, resting your shoulder against hers. “And I appreciate it, with all my heart.”

“Why don't you go upstairs, to Henry's old room, and rest for a bit?” She suggested to you. “I can finish the cookies with Heather.”

“Are you sure?” You frowned, glancing around the organized chaos of the kitchen.

“Yes.” She nodded, resting her hands on your shoulders and turning you away from the counter. “You and my grandson need all the rest you can get.” She directed you towards the entry of the kitchen. “Soon, you won't have it.”

Henry saw his mum guiding you and instantly jumped up from the couch, where he sat beside his brother Simon. “Are you all right, honey?” He cooed, his handsome face pinching.

“She's fine, Henry.” Marianne replied, looking up at him. “She just needs to rest a bit. Take her upstairs.”

“All right.” He nodded, taking your arm and showed you upstairs to the bedroom that was his as a kid. “Can I get you anything? Some water, maybe.” He asked, helping you lay back on the made, full-size bed.

“I'm all right, Puppy.” You sighed, rubbing your face.

“What's wrong, honey?” He asked, pulling up a chair from the desk in his room and sat down in front of you.

“Nothing's wrong.” You replied, sighing, flexing your plump toes as Henry grasped your foot in his hands. “I'm just tired and sore.” You told him, closing your eyes as you let out a soft moan, feeling Henry's thumbs work your arch.

“I got the Dad Talk from my dad and brothers.” He chuckled, gently touching the tip of your toes, each painted a cute red color, that he had done himself about a week before.

He had started giving you little at home, medi-pedis to treat you to something nice. Though, it had taken him a couple tries to get painting your nails down. Admitting it wasn't as simple as painting his Warhammer Minis, like he'd thought.

You giggled back, smirking. “Did they?” You hummed, letting your eyes fall shut. “Any good advice?”

“Um, Simon said that I should explain my job to him as soon as we think he can understand it.” Henry recalled, biting his lip with an amused smirk pulling across his mouth. “So, we don't have another Thomas Incident on our hands.”

“My dad's Sherlock Holmes!” You replied, laughing aloud. “Or god-knows who else!”

“Exactly.” He nodded, amused by it too. “My dad suggested, should we have any more kids, to have girls, that way it doesn't continue on the Cavill boy madness, like dead arms and throwing each other off the couch.”

“I would like, at least, one girl, anyway.” You told him, laying your hand on your stomach, feeling your son shift and kick again, wincing as he did.

“Same.” He smirked, as excited as he was for a son, he had wanted a girl too. “Maybe the next one.”

“Mmm.” You hummed back, falling silent and drifting slightly.

Taking the hint, Henry rested your legs in his lap and leaned back, closing his own eyes to rest. Both of you were exhausted from the months of preparation for the baby, all the worrying about if you would be good parents and protecting your son against the world of social media and paparazzi. But the pair of you had only laid there for twenty or so minutes, before you jerked at a sharp pain, inadvertently kicking Henry in the stomach as you did.

Henry gasped and groaned at the blow, doubling over. “Babe?” He rasped, frowning across at you, finding you half sitting up, hand cupping the underside of your stomach with a look of shocked horror on your face. “What's wron—oh shit!” He snapped, seeing the wet patch seeping through your leggings and onto the duvet on the bed.

“Was that--”

“Uh-huh.” You nodded, gulping thickly.

“It's okay, all right.” He nodded, running both hands through his curls. “Up we go.” He said, holding his shaking hands out to you, pulling you up and wrapping an arm around your waist. “Broke your water on my childhood bed.” He commented offhandedly, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“It is where we had our first kiss.” You added, lifting a brow at him. “Why not this too!”

“Mum!” Henry called out as you reached the bottom of the stairs. “We have to go.” He said as Marianne rounded the corner from the living room. “Someone's water broke.”

“Oh gosh!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “Go hurry!” She shooed the two of you towards the door, before spinning on her feet. “Code blue everybody!” She shouted at the family gathered in the living room, snapping them into gear, sending brothers and in-laws scrambling everywhere.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Henry asked as he helped you buckle your seatbelt.

“Like I just peed myself.” You snorted, clutching your belly. “Henry.” You cooed at him, watching him make jerky movements but not move from your side. “Hen!” You called, reaching out to grab his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake.

“Huh?” He whimpered, blinking a few times.

“My shoes are still in the house.” You informed him, offering your sweet partner a smile.

“Oh right!” He nodded, kissing your hand and backing away to close your door, then raced back inside, running into a gaggle of his family fighting to put on shoes and coats. “Excuse me, pardon me!” He barked, diving into the huddle, scrabbling for your shoes.

“Henry!” Nik shouted after him.

“I forgot her shoes!” Henry yelled over his shoulder, pelting back to the car. “Got them!” He smiled, sliding home into the driver's seat and dropping them onto the center console. “I'll put them on you, when we get to the hospital.” He told you, starting the car and pulling away from the curb, while ordering Alexa to map the route to Jersey General Hospital, the very hospital where he and his brothers had been born.

“Speed limit, Cavill!” You reminded him, frowning.

“Baby!”

“He's not going to pop out right now!!”

“He could!

“Between the two of us, Hank, I'm damn sure he's not!” You snapped back, through a contraction. “Deep b-breaths! ” You wheezed, through the pain.

“Relax your shoulders, don't clench your jaw, take a deep breath in....and let it out!” Henry reciting your Douala and doing the technique with you. “Amazing, baby doll. I'm so proud of you.”

“Jesus Christ on a motorbike.” You sighed as the pain faded. “We're waiting at least three years before we have our daughter.” You panted over at him.

“Yes, ma'am.” Henry laughed, holding his hand out to you. “Whatever you want.”

“I know what we should name him.” You said, softly.

“Oh?” He replied, pulling into the hospital parking lot. “What?”

You looked over at him, your expression soft. “I want to name him, Charlie.” You told him, biting the corner of your lip, you'd put a lot of consideration into it over your pregnancy. “We wouldn't have met, if your brother didn't nag you to come talk to me at that club.”

Biting his lip, a heart shaped lump thumping in his throat. “You're right.” He whispered; voice raw.

Charlie had prodded him for an hour, while supplying him with shots of liquid courage, to finally cross the club you both were in. You were with your friends, blowing off steam after a long work week, and Henry, Charlie and two other friends of Henry's were just hanging out, since he was in town and not working on any projects.

He never forgot the look on your friends' faces as he approached your table, recognizing him, melting into the dark leather of your corner booth and mumbling to each other with hungry, googly eyes. But you, while surprised a celeb was approaching you, hadn't fawned over him, like they did. You'd kept your cool, with jittery insides. Henry politely acknowledged everyone at the table, but his blue eyes were set on you. He asked, trying to have a persona of cool and calm, if he could get you a drink, noting on the way over, yours was empty, and with relief, you'd said yes. So, you dislodged yourself from your friends and followed him to the bar. Striking up a conversation with him, that moved to an empty table, after getting your drinks and lasted until the announcement the club was closing, at two am.

Neither of you had wanted to move apart, but it was late and you both knew it. So, you exchanged numbers and texted while you got yourselves home, then fell asleep. Making the promise to have a proper dinner the next day.

All of which snowballed to this moment. Sitting in the car at the hospital, married and staring at each other between contractions, discussing the name you wanted for your first born, for your son.

“It's perfect.” He nodded, reaching out to cup your cheek. “I could ask for nothing more for Christmas, than you and our son, for Charlie.” He choked up, leaning across to kiss you deeply.

@winter2112rose / @littlefreya / @kemillyfreitas / @thereisa8ella / @courtlynwriter / @starfirewildheart / @beck07990 / @goldenirishpotato / @pipsqueakkitten

#viking-raider fics #A Christmas Miracle #A Christmas Miracle *Fic*#Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill RPF #British Actor RPF #Fluff #Cotton Candy Fluff #Christmas Fluff #Christmas Story #Christmas Fic #new fic #henrycavill #In-Laws

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murdrdocs · 2 years

Text

eyes on fire | d.antonov

description: after days of being missing, dmitri returns home, back to your arms and your embrace.

includes: SMUT 16+,angst, fluff, creampie, fingering, cunnulingus, they’re married, unprotected sex, crying during sex (but in a good way), cervix hitting, domestic bliss, probably spelling mistakes it’s late

a/n: dmitri deserves everything and i stand by that. title from ’eyes on fire’ by new foundation. probably good to listen to while reading but you do you .

word count: 1.9k+

You think you are hallucinating.

You have not gotten much sleep lately. Nor food, nor human interaction. You talk to Mikail, take him to school, and come back home to worry yourself numb. It’s all taken a toll on your body, and your mind.

Which is why you fully believe that you are hallucinating. But then a hand reaches out to you and touches your face. It is cold, so very cold, but it is his touch. It is Dmitri. Standing across from you, face sunken and bruised, teeth yellow and lips cracked. But it is still Dmitri.

He tells you everything in the kitchen. The place you two spent most of your time, apart from the bedroom and living room. You have a fire going in the fireplace here and in the living room. You are already warmed enough, but you strip down to just a tank and pants if it means that Dmitri can get sufficient warmth.

Tears come to your eyes as he details the sufferings he went through. He tells you about his American friend, and the other Americans that rescued him. He tells you about how Yuri betrayed him, and you briefly feel rage before you remember that none of it matters now.

Because here is Dmitri, sitting across from you on the floor in front of a raging fire.

He lets you clean him up in the bathroom. He asks where Mikhail is and you tell him that he is with a friend for the day and he will be home tonight. You tell him about the soup slowly cooking on the stove as your fingers scrub at his blonde hair. You hold back tears as you clean up his wounds, wiping and bandaging through sniffles and blurry eyes.

Dmitri kisses you and holds you when you break down, one hand thrown over his bruised back while the other holds a bloody cloth.

When he is cleaned up, and your face is as dry as it will get, he sits in the living room while you move around the kitchen. Preparing tea and baking bread that has already risen.

When you are done silently shedding tears in the kitchen, you join Dmitri on the couch. You both hold cups of tea, but only the contents of his decrease, while yours get cold.

When he finishes his, and you place your full cup on the coffee table, Dmitri looks over at you. His blue eyes shine, and his mustache twitches as he smiles at you.

“How much longer until Mikhail is expected?”

You glance at the clock on the wall, thinking for a second before you find Dmitri’s eyes again. “A few more hours.”

“And the bread?” He asks.

“A few more hours as well.”

His smile widens and you get that familiar fluttery feeling in your chest.

You throw your leg over both of Dmitri’s, straddling him and hovering over his lap. His hands find your hips and pull you down, setting you directly over his cock. Your flimsy pants can feel him through the fabric, and you are so needy and desperate that your jaw is already slack.

Your shaky hands hold Dmitri’s face between them as your lips find his, the metal on your ring finger cold against his cheek.

Your lips join each other in a well rehearsed dance, a type of coordination that can only come from knowing each other for years.

When you pull away, you are desperately kissing his neck, lips trying to touch as much of his flesh as you can, scared that he will disappear again.

“What do you want, Dmitri?” You manage to ask through gasps and kisses. “Whatever you want, I’ll give you.”

You level yourself out, staring at your husband head on with your noses almost touching from the close proximity. His hands grasp at your hips and waist as he thinks, his chest heaving up and down.

“You. I just want you.”

You are lifted up in a rush, legs wrapping around Dmitri’s waist as he carries you to your bedroom. He doesn’t drop you on the bed. Instead, he holds you secure as he presses a knee into the mattress, moving the two of you up until you are laying in the center of the piece of furniture.

When you are positioned, he pulls back from you just to sit there before you, blue eyes scanning your frame. Devouring you.

Your legs are bent and spread, arms sprawled out above your head. In an anxious tick, your tongue darts out to lick your lips and Dmitri mimics the action. You want to ask him what he is going to do. But you hold back and instead sit silently, patiently. Waiting.

When Dmitri does move, he is pulling the simple white tee over his head. You avoid looking at his chest in fear that you’ll see the scars and cry again. Instead, you just look at him.

You follow his gaze and movements, until your eyes land on your pants. Your hips lift to make it easier for Dmitri to shimmy your bottoms down until you are bare in front of him, no layer of panties to remove.

Dmitri does not waste time marveling at the view. The patience that you had always known him to have has been lost for the moment. Not that you mind.

You rise onto your elbows to watch your husband lower himself. His eyes hold yours as his mouth comes to your cunt, lips puckering to place a kiss over your clit. Your breath hitches in your throat from the action, and it seems to knock out of your body completely when Dmitri’s tongue comes in contact with the bundle of nerves.

He gets to work. Licking and kissing and sucking along your cunt, delivering special attention to your clit. It’s almost embarrassing with how quick you react, how quick your abdomen begins to tighten.

When his middle finger pokes past your entrance, your hand reaches down to wrap around his wrist. He halts, disconnecting from your clit to stare up at you. Your eyes blink open and you both sit still for a moment or two, but then he begins to move his wrist again and you let go.

“Relax,” He coos. It takes you longer than you liked to do so, but when you do, your muscles tighten. Your arms give out and you lay flat against the bed, back arching, hips moving away from Dmitri only to come back to him again. He speeds up, adding a second finger, his ring finger, to loosen you up all while he sucks and licks around your clit.

One of your hands reach down to tangle in Dmitri’s hair, pulling him closer until his nose is pressed into the groomed hair along your groin. He revels in the small act of authority, moaning around your clit, making you feel the vibrations just when you needed them most.

You come suddenly and with a loud cry, face scrunched up in pleasure as tears prickle behind closed eyes. You want to hold them back, but when you open your eyes to see your lover above you, they spill out on their own.

He lets you cry. Kissing your cheeks and forehead and nose and lips while he lifts your shirt over your head. He kisses your collarbones and shoulders and the tops of your boobs as he unclips your bra and throws it off to the side of the bed.

Your eyes are blurred again while he kisses down the center of your chest, stopping to delicately kiss each of your hardened, and slightly pained, nipples. But when he gets down to your fluttery belly, and kisses your navel, you see him clearly. His eyes staring up at you, cheeks flush, lips glistening and shining pink.

There’s so much behind those eyes. Pain, hurt, worry, frustration, anger, betrayal, acceptance, hope, happiness.

Love.

You pull him up into a kiss, trying to convey everything you cannot say and everything you feel through your lips. Dmitri gets the memo, he always does and you know it.

His pants and boxers were long gone and your legs spread wider as you welcomed him into you. You hook one leg over his back as he begins to rock into you. The curve of his cock pressing into you perfectly, molded into your canal in a snug fit. Almost as if you two were made for each other.

You hold him close to you, arms around his shoulders, heel of your foot pressing him into you. There’s barely enough room for him to move but that’s okay. You would be fulfilled with Dmitri just sitting inside of you, warm and reassuring.

He finds room to move anyway.

Deep thrusts that softly rock you up the bed each time. Each time, he seems to go deeper and deeper. One or two thrusts bringing the tip of his head to your sensitive cervix. Your winces turn into moans when Dmitri presses his lips over yours, soothing you.

You begin to breathe in tune, shallow, sharp and short breaths coming from chapped lips. Your eyes never leave each other. He watches the way your eyebrows furrow. The way your lips part in soft moans, tongue darting out to wet them and then your teeth trapping your bottom lip behind them.

You watch him watch you. The way his eyes scan your face. The way he subconsciously mimics your moans, silently. The way his lips part when he softly groans.

Just as Dmitri always likes it, you come undone first. One of his hands slips in the tight space between your bodies to find your clit, rubbing tight circles with the pads of two digits. You try to hold out, wanting to come undone in time with him like some cliche.

But Dmitri always gets what he desires and when he tells you to come, you do. Your legs twitch, muscles clenching and unclenching everywhere across your body.

It’s that very action that has Dmitri close. Your walls fluttering around his dick.

You were stuttering out words, barely making any sense and unaware of your actions. “I–” Your head is thrown back. “I lov–”

He nods. “I know, darling. And I you.”

His hips stutter for a second and he grunts behind clenched teeth before he recomposes himself.

“Where do you want it?” He asks, voice low and gravely. Hoarse.

“In me.” Your words are clear. “I want you to come in me. Please.”

It’s barely three thrusts later when Dmitri’s hips slam into yours one final time. You feel his cock twitch inside of you and your walls clench, constricting around him and trapping him inside of you.

His come is hot inside of you, sputtering out in thick ropes that cause you to twitch each time. When he finishes, it takes him a while to pull out. Briefly, you think about telling him to stay just like this, body weight atop of you and cock stuffed inside of your cunt.

But you are so tired that you can barely think of anything.

By the time you recover, Dmitri has already cleaned both of you up and re-dressed you in your shirt and pants, bra foregone. He holds you against his chest, chin resting atop your head as you mold against his frame.

“He missed you.”

Dmitri hums, prompting you to clarify.

“Mikhail. He misses you.” His heart skips a beat.

“Does he?”

You nod. “He was miserable without you. We both were.”

Dmitri does not respond and you do not take offense to it. In fact, you feel the exact opposite.

You knew he was overwhelmed and processing the information.

That is okay. Dmitri could take all the time he needed to process.

Both of you could. Because no matter what, he was home.

Dmitri was home and your family was whole again.

#dmitri antonov #dmitri antonov x reader #enzo #enzo x reader #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfic #dmitri antonov smut #dmitri antonov fluff #dmitri antonov angst #stranger things fluff #stranger things angst #celeste writes st #dmitrisworld!

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ambivalencez · 2 years

Text

Only good girl’s…

Summary: No power (Au)Domestic bliss slash Wanda teases y/n and receives the consequences.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem reader

Warning: +18Mommy kink, fingering, (r giving) oral(r giving) minors will be blocked if they interact.

Hissing the coffee puffs steam crackling out the last of the coffee. You can just smell today is another beautiful day. Inhaling the nutty ambrosial aroma tickling your nose. Grabbing your thermos the day commences as you; pour yourself and your wife’s morning brew. Checking the time you still have twenty minutes before you needed to head off. Placing Wanda’s pipping hot snoopy cup at the end of the counter. Screwing on the lid you flip the cap open holding it under your nose inhaling paradise. On the other side of the house, a bang goes off. Followed by a feminine voice wail. “Y/N, why you didn’t wake me up?! It’s 8:30 Billy and Tommy will be late for school!” And there it is you chuckle.

Coming alive out of your coffee leisure. Wanda rounded the pale white corner from the hallway. Entering the open floor plan connecting the kitchen and living room. Attempting to make herself at least appear somewhat presentable. From her wrinkled red cardigan the way her hair defied gravity atop her head. You could see it was failing, stifling a giggle as you continued sipping from your cup. You love her and it felt like you were made to love her from the moment you were born.

“Hey, hey it’s okay sweet. The boys are gone I got them ready and let you sleep.” Deflating Wanda walked over to you sagging her head tired between the crevice of your neck. “Thank you, I’m so ever loving fucking tired.” Breathing in the scent of her wispy hair your lung feel renewed. Before a shit-eating grin crept itself across your face. “Mmmhh, Y/n you better not be smiling.”Humming you keep your eyes closed. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” The vibration of her snort ran a chill along your back. “I felt your chin move,”

Wordless you reach to the side grabbing her coffee. “Wanda, have I ever told you how much I love you? How I adore you with every fiber of my being?” Peeling herself off you the auburn-haired woman's vibrant olive green eyes flickered back and forth. taking in the contents of your face. Long brunette hair pulled back bang combed over to the side. Your gold-framed rectangle glasses.

Placing the cup as a peace offering between the two of you. Wanda maneuvers her hand over it and pushes the coffee aside. Slithering her arms over your shoulders pulling you in close.“Go on, keep talking I want to hear more.” Just meters from your tentative lips eyes lidded and head tilted to the side. Right, where you can see the miniature sun’s at the focal point of her eyes light up from natural light. Wetting your lips seemed impossible “Fuck,” You whisper Tugging at your blazer your suit felt stuffie in here? Or maybe the coffee was kicking in. Adjusting uncomfortably you strain not to pull back your lips.

You could see it now, crashing your lips against her moist soft full ones.

Grabbing a firm hold of her ass and digging your nail in. Dropping her on the hard edge of the mineral counter. Ripping apart her denim button-up dress flinging buttons astray. Kneeling between her knees. The vein throbbing on the side of your neck. Staring at her full-blown eye irises. Daring not to tear your as away, slowly dragging her panties off with your teeth. Parting her legs the pungent smell of want between her folds. Teasing her entrance with your tongue anywhere than where she wants. Forming a strong grip Wanda threaded her fingers through your hair. “Dekta, enough with the playing fuck me already!” Wanda demanded. She must have forgotten who’s in charge. You will change that,

You make your way to her clit. Burying your nose against her wet hood. Planting your mouth on her clit swirling your tongue. Sucking the nectar clean Wanda bites her lips holding her cries. That won't do you want to hear her pretty little cries. You can feel her throb around your face. Stopping everything you lurch forward grabbing her face. Wanda’s chest greets you heaving as you watch throngs of sweat drip. One tit is exposed at the dress's left shoulder hanging loose. while others are trapped by fabric. “What have i told you about holding your voice in!?” You hiss baring your teeth and curling your lips.

“Only good girls cum,”

“Do you think you've been a very good girl? That Mommy should play with you?” You told her sternly. Wanda’s green eyes searched your leaning back nibbling on her lips. “No,” She whispered peering away from you. Relinquishing your grip on her face you begin stroking. “Look at me,” Watery green eyes meet yours. “Its okay baby.” Wanda's shoulders droop. “Now what do we say?” You waited patiently. “Please,” Wanda pleaded. “What was that?” you scolded. “Please make me cum mommy,”

“Thats all I need t-“

“Hello, earth to Y/n? Are you there?” Snapping back to reality a thought flashes through your mind. She got you right where she wanted you, all wound up. Fine, two can play that game.

“Wanda” your guttural voice warned before you pounced. Mmmph! Smashing her against the cupboard the door cracked. The impact sent your glasses clattering to the tiled floor. “At first i was just playing but then you look at me like that. My brain leaves the building and i just want to fuck you.” Melding lips taste one another savory smooth and warm like melting chocolate. Giving her no time for derive. Boxing her in there would be no escape from your retaliation.

Pinning her arms above her head. Sliding your leg between hers. Your reality is so much better~ than imagination at the feel of her juicy lips and tiny whimpers. “Cry for me baby,” You ground deep into her groin. “Mhmm, touch me,” Wanda squirmed. Closing your eyes you ground your against the tender skin of Wanda’s windpipe. Peppering cashmere kisses back up her throat and jaw. You make sure to smear your lipstick all over her neck. “Touch you where?”

Wanda thumped your arm.“Don't play around you did this to me!” Rubbing her chest up and to the side elicited a groan. “Maybe I did, but last time I checked. You answered to me.” You twist the delicate nub from where it rose. Suddenly sending a jolt throughout Wanda crying in the throws between pleasure and pain.

Exhaling your warm breath on her ear. “ You would let me do anything to you, wouldn't you? You would do anything to please me won't you?” Wanda nodded her head. Hiking up Wanda’s dress you slip your hand into her underwear. Kissing her you bit her bottom lip before dragging your tongue along her teeth. “Anything, please just use your fingers.” Wanda tensed up a let-out sob as you began rubbing gentle circles around her clit. “Ok keep your eyes on me if you close them ill have to punish you.”

“Open your mouth,”

“What?!”

“If you want my fingers so bad, then open your mouth.”You bit out. Wanda surrendered control opening her mouth taking in your left hand's middle and ring fingers. “Suck.” She began sucking as you; Wormed your fingers between her folds with your right. Her floral underwear pulled down to the side. She Writhing choking the drool dripped down your wrist.

Knuckling into her with your pointer and middle finger. Massaging her g spot she clamped down on your hand and began grinding. She was so wet it practically dripped down your fingers. Thrusting into her she moaned burying her head into your neck. So close- You could feel Wanda's walls clamping with a vicious grin of victory, she realized her mistake she held her hand over her face.

Pulling back you took two steps away. Walking to the door you turned the handle.“No, no Y/n please you can't leave me like this!” Wanda snatched your arm. “Oh, sweet Wanda.” You wiped the tears of frustration off her face. Licking them off your fingers. “I think i will.” Opening the door and stepping out turning to her. “After all, only good girls cum.”

#mommy wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda fanfic #wanda maximoff smut #female reader #marvel #marvel smut #marvel women #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff fanfiction

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xoxiu · 10 months

Text

my house of stone, your ivy grows - yoongi x reader

chapter thirteen table of contents masterlist join the taglist discord

summary: yoongi carried himself with a sense of pride within himself and his belongings. he worked hard to get to where he was- ethically or not, it made him the man he is today. his latest toy, a young college girl from america, will become his magnum opus. he just needs to work out the kinks.

tags/warnings: mafia au, kidnapping, daddy dom!yoongi, smut, autistic!reader, spanking, stockholm syndrome, little!jimin, vminhope, drug mention, namjin, fluff, domestic discipline

taglist: @allamericanuniverse @llallaaa

The day was nearing the afternoon, and Kiwo still slept peacefully in the bedroom. Yoongi only knew this from the direct line of sight into the bedroom from the living room where he sat. While on what must have been his third cup of black coffee, he relaxed on the couch browsing the news on his phone while he sipped away.

The quiet was quite enjoyable.

Today was a rare day when Yoongi had nothing important to do. He wasn’t sure exactly how Kiwo would react to the change in pace, but by the looks of it, she was enjoying it too. Very rarely could she get the chance to sleep in so late.

The pitter-patter of small feet drew Yoongi out of his thoughts. Soon enough Kiwo appeared in the doorway, eyes still half closed and one of Yoongi’s shirts falling off of her left shoulder. She rubbed her eyes with a fisted hand, trying to rid her eyes of sleep. She looked sleepy still, but absolutely beautiful.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Yoongi said with a smile. He placed his coffee on the coffee table and patted the spot on the couch next to him. “Come cuddle.”

”Wha’ time issit?” She asked voice slurred with sleep. She looked absolutely out of it, still half asleep and drowsy.

“11:45, now come here.”

Kiwo yawned before dragging her feet over to the couch and plopping down next to Yoongi. Wrapping his arms around her waist, Yoongi placed Kiwo on his lap.

“당신을 그 어떤 것보다도 더 사랑해요.”

Kiwo hummed in response, more focused on trying to reach the television remote on the table in front of her whilst being restrained by Yoongi’s strong arms. Besides, it’s not like she understood exactly what he said.

“사랑해…”

Nothing.

“Kiwoie, have you been studying?”

“Mm.”

Yoongi gave a light slap to her thigh to get her attention. In response she laid her head back on Yoongi’s shoulder, nuzzling into his neck.

“네~,” She said, voice light and accompanied by a smile. All Yoongi could do was shake his head. She was too cute to scold.

“You need to study your Korean. Otherwise, I’ll send you to Jimin so he can teach you personally.”

”But I can’t learn from textbooks,” Kiwo whined, kicking a foot ever so slightly. It was true Yoongi had given Kiwo multiple workbooks and textbooks to study and practice with, but Kiwo was a university student- she should be able to comprehend a textbook.

“이것은 뭐에요?” Yoongi asked, pointing to Kiwo’s leg. She stared for a while, deep in thought, while gently kicking her feet.

“Uh… 아-”

”아니요.” Yoongi shook his head in disappointment. “Kiwo, you know this stuff.”

”코,” Kiwo said, pointing to Yoongi’s nose. “눈, 귀, 입.”

Yoongi smiled as Kiwo named off different parts of his face. She was at least learning something. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead before tapping her side, indicating for her to get up. She slid off his lap and onto the seat next to him.

“Is there anything you want to do today?” Yoongi asked, running a hand through Kiwo’s tangled hair. She leaned into the touch, her eyes closing in bliss. It was weird, Yoongi thought, just how much her affection and tolerance for him changed depending on the hour. Hell, just last night Kiwo tried to kill him with her bare hands. Yoongi would pay obscene amounts of money to truly understand what goes through Kiwo’s silly head.

Kiwo shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever you wanna do,” she said.

“Let’s hang out at Seokjin’s again. I don’t think Jimin should be there today.” Yoongi noticed the subtle glare Kiwo sent his way.

“How about no.” Grabbing Kiwo gently by the chin, Yoongi made direct eye contact with the young girl.

“Sass isn’t cute, Kiwo. We’re going.”

Kiwo’s eyes widened in fear for a moment before a mischievous grin appeared on her face. She knelt down on the ground in between Yoongi’s legs, resting the side of her face against Yoongi’s thigh.

“What are you doing?” Yoongi asked with a sigh, not liking where he thought she was going.

And there she went. Kiwo nuzzled her face against Yoongi’s crotch, still keeping eye contact with the cutest, most innocent doe eyes. She acted as if she didn’t know what she was doing to him.

Such a naughty girl.

Using his palm, Yoongi pushed her head back and away from his private area. Kiwo quickly looked down at his crotch, noticing a visible tent in his sweatpants after the endeavor. She had never done something like this before, but the results so far have been satisfying.

“Keep that up and you’ll go to Seokjin’s with a warm bottom.”

“You like it.”

“I do,” Yoongi agreed, “But it’s not the time for that. No means no, babygirl.”

Kiwo behaved long enough for Yoongi to remove his hand from her head before diving in mouth first onto Yoongi’s crotch. Yoongi’s eyes widened as he felt the warm breath and tongue through the thing fabric of his sweatpants. His train of thought derailed as he stared into Kiwo’s eyes looking up at him ever so innocently, and it took a moment or two to come back to his senses.

He pushed Kiwo off of his dick with force, as she was clinging on for dear life. She popped off the fabric with her now red lips smirking and a slight blush spreading across her cheeks. She knew she was in dangerous territory, but she liked it.

It gave her control. And she liked it.

“What. Was. That. For.” Yoongi demanded, his face looking rather unamused. His voice was demanding yet also monotone.

All Kiwo could do was smile devilishly. She saw it in a movie once- the girl did it in response to being told to do something she didn’t want to in hopes of rerouting the conversation. It worked for her, so Kiwo could only imagine it would work for her as well.

“Huh? I don’t speak brat.”

“I don’t wanna go see Seokjin.”

”Seokjin oppa to you.” Yoongi sighed. Kiwo really believed she would have the upper hand in all of this with her actions and blatant disrespect.

Yoongi stood up, and Kiwo was now face-to-crotch with what she had done. Her eyes widened as fear and realization slowly crept their way into her plan. She gulped and scooted backward, repositioning herself so she sat on her butt with her back against the coffee table. Yoongi’s hands moved to the waistband of his sweatpants, fiddling around with the drawstrings.

“You have two options, little one,” he started, “You can bend over the couch for your spanking like a good girl, or you can follow through with your actions.” He pulled down his pants enough to reveal his cock in all its glory. Kiwo’s eyes widened at the pure size of it and began second-guessing her actions. Her eyes were stuck on his dick, staring and studying it and wondering how it even managed to get inside her pussy-

“So, what is it?”

Kiwo stumbled to find her words. “I’ll, uh, I’ll… go to Seokjin oppa’s.”

Yoongi tsked and shook his head. “That wasn’t an option. Or are you too little to make a decision? Do you need Daddy’s help?”

He watched Kiwo’s eyes as they slowly lost focus. She was slipping, just what Yoongi wanted. With a nod, Kiwo indicated that she did, in fact, want Yoongi to choose.

“Good. I think you know what Daddy wants.” A hand grabbed the back of Kiwo’s head, forcing her head closer to his dick. Her mouth opened instinctively and gagged as soon as the tip entered her mouth. Yoongi tugged her hair, forcing more and more of himself down Kiwo’s throat until she was gagging and pushing at his hips. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes as she struggled to breathe through her nose.

“Such a good little slut,” Yoongi praised, rubbing his thumb gently against her head where the rest of his fist roughly held her hair back. “That’s right, you’re Daddy’s dumb little cockslut, aren’t you?”

Kiwo’s muffled cries and gags were the only response. Once it sounded like she was hyperventilating did Yoongi pull her off of his dick, spit and precum trailing off between her mouth and his cock.

Yoongi left Kiwo with a pat on the head to run and get a wet rag to clean up her face. When he returned, Kiwo was laying on the floor full-on crying and sobbing with her arm covering her eyes.

“What happened?” Yoongi asked as he bent down on the ground. He feared something happened while he was gone, like her hitting her head again.

“I didn’t like that,” she sobbed. Confused, Yoongi began wiping her face down. Didn’t she want it? That’s why she teased him, wasn’t it?

”Then why did you start it?” Yoongi asked, his voice incredulous and confused at the same time.

“I don’t know!” Kiwo sobbed her heart out, rolling away from Yoongi as far as she could (which, really, was only one half-turn). Yoongi just shook his head in disbelief. The girl really had no idea what her actions get her into.

It was quite cute.

#bts fanfic #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #mafia au #bts little space #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #bts #vminhope #namjin #my house of stone your ivy grows

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anisecandy · 9 months

Text

So, eh... The economy, am I right?

Summary: Peter isn't sure how to ask his partners to move in with him.

Rating: G

Words count: 3k

Genre: Domestic Fluff

Parings: Peter Parker/Eddie Brock/Venom Symbiote

Author's note: Mindless domestic bliss. Enjoy.

(link to the work on ao3)

Peter wakes up to the feeling of warmth, relaxation and horrid stickiness of drying sweat on his back and sides. Which is weird, since he clearly remembers washing himself before going to sleep. Then he hears a content purr, realizes the presence of muscular arms hugging his waist and the mystery solves itself on its own.

“Eddie…” he mumbles, channeling into it all the frustration he can muster this early in the day. “For the- thousandth time, either shower after jogging, or stay away from the bed once you’re back.”

He gets no reply, so he turns to face the menace currently ignoring his hygienic needs for the sake of prolonging morning cuddles. Eddie just grins at him and Peter hates how much he wants to kiss those absurdly blue eyes and this awful, awful arrogant smile.

Instead, he pushes Eddie off the mattress and hears him hit the floor with an offended groan.

“How typical of you, to restore to violence,” the blonde grumbles, as he climbs back up and Peter gets out of the sheets.

“How typical of you, to smell rancid,” he says, because it’s 7 am and expecting him to come up with witty and intellectually stimulating ripostes just wouldn’t be fair.

When he disappears in the bathroom, the pans are already clanging in the kitchen, no doubt picked about by the Symbiote reaching straight from the bedroom to start the preparations for the breakfast. He hopes Eddie will make some eggs benedicts. After some initial cooking disasters, he’s been getting pretty amazing at achieving what was essentially perfection in the form of neat little egg-pillows filled with runny goodness. His stomach grumbles just at the very thought of them.

But once Peter finishes freshening himself up, the whole flat smells of cinnamon and vanilla. Or at least, that’s how it feels for his enhanced senses. By the table he’s greeted with the sight of a platte tightly stuffed with french toasts and a little bowl of raspberries.

“Did we have those…?” he questions, crossing the room to put the coffee pot on and a cup of water into the microwave, for Eddie’s tea. He’s been meaning to buy an electric kettle for a month now, but it just keeps on slipping his mind.

Reaching for the time can with the tea, he pauses to dwell for a moment on that "we" he used without thinking. Eddie and the Symbiote don't live here. They don't have a shared pantry or grocery lists.

"We've bought them after visiting the gym," they reply casually, setting the plates for both of them.

Right. In theory they don't, in practice they do. They might not even have a toothbrush here, but nowadays the only times when they don't wake up in Peter's bed, are the ones when he wakes up in theirs. Peter doesn't remember when was the last time he had to make breakfast for himself. A month ago? Two? Eddie is way better at cooking, so most of the time he is redelegated to dishes duties. It is obvious, it is the routine and as such, trying to do anything about it feels awkward and out of place.

Because what is the point of asking them to move in, if they basically already sneaked their way into the status of the residents?

Peter finishes making the beverages and sits down after handing Eddie his tea - black and strong, with three sugars. In exchange he gets a peck on the cheek and a rumbling "thank you". They've been together for too long for this to make his heart skip, but it's still so nice. While they eat, the Symbiote comes out for a bit, to tie itself around Peter's hand and that's nice too, just as is occasionally rubbing and poking his legs against Eddie's, until he huffs and glares at him, but completely melts when seeing Peter's smile. It's nice, it's all so nice and the more he thinks about it, the less he knows what to do with himself.

The breakfast goes on quietly, since Peter is caught up in his thoughts, Eddie in his newspaper and the Symbiote doesn't speak unless it's an absolute necessity. The silence stretches like a cat, lazily and comfortably. It's only when Peter collects the dishes and pours soap on the sponge that it's broken.

"You didn't mention you were fighting Tumbler yesterday," Eddie calls out to him over the paper.

"It's not a big deal."

"You know we worry."

Peter sighs, scrubbing the pan out of the oil. It was just a small squabble, given that the criminal was still sore since their last encounter and as such completely slipped his mind.

"Jealous, because I'm kicking other villains' butts now...? Come on Eddie, it's time to move on."

"We just wish you'd inform us when the A and B-listers are involved," Eddie rolled his eyes.

"Oh please, Tumbler is barely an F-lister," he scoffed.

"Yes, but Hobgoblin isn’t and he might come knocking when he hears you've put one of his goons into jail again. We'd just like to know in advance when we might lose an afternoon to playing a damsel in distress."

Strangely enough, that did happen once. But they both agreed that Kraven was always a somewhat kooky fellow and Eddie basically agreed to being the bait out of the sheer appreciation of the hilarity this particular scheme of his jump-started.

"Just say you want to chip me with a tracker," Peter quips, drying the cutlery.

"We might have brought that up to dr Steven once or twice," Eddie says with a sparkle in his eyes and as always Peter isn't sure if he's joking or not. On one hand, it does sound like a joke. On the other, with his track record regarding stalking, Peter wouldn't put it past him.

They have no plan for the day and spend the rest of the morning in the living room. Despite how cramped and shabby it feels when Peter's on his own, it's nothing but cozy once he stretches himself all over their lap, in the position that is the most comfortable (to him) and annoying (to Eddie). That results in Eddie first crooking an eyebrow at him and then using his legs as a mini table for his, that is - Peter's - laptop. He snatches it whenever he has some article to finish but doesn't want to go home yet, and Peter stopped being bothered by it long ago. Plus, the cutouts of the gossip papers and Daily Bugle libeling Spider-man he sets as his wallpaper every time he does so are usually too funny to get mad over. Since Peter for the most part doesn't even need a computer when he's marking his students' tests, which he decides to do at the moment, each of them can focus on their own work. (Although what the Symbiote claims to be “researching human culture” is in fact just watching reruns of some twenty years old sitcoms on the TV.) Eddie puts on some slow song by Sinatra and Peter drifts off, carried by the soft tune.

He checks his students' answers on auto-pilot, which he luckily can afford to do this time since a larger portion of the test were closed-ended questions. His thoughts wander from topic to topic. Still, they keep on circling back to the matter of their, well, living situation.

It has been on his mind for a while now, although he wouldn't be able to tell for how long while. A month? A few? Long enough that he had time to change his decision on what he should do at least fifty times. He doesn't know if Eddie and his Other would want to move in with him. What he does know though, is that he would have to hurry up and ask them before they would have the chance to do so, because if they asked him to move in he knows he would say yes. And he can't afford to do that, because their tiny flat is somehow even worse than his. Which he isn't sure if they are aware of or not.

The problem is that he has no idea how to go about this, the “asking” part, that is. He feels like it should be something special. After all, it would mean, sort of, solidifying their relationship, right? Taking it to... A new level? If they took the initiative, he is certain that they would make it special. With a big dinner date or- a- stargazing picnic or something. They are good with this kind of romantic gestures. Peter on the other hand, isn't. Romantic gestures done by him mean saving his significant others from the grabs of murderous lunatics or proposing after three months of dating. Most murderous lunatics steer clear of Venom. And they have been together for a few years already. Plus, for once in his life Peter isn't sure if he's ready to propose? Sure, usually he would pop the question before he would see leaves change with his partner twice, but this is a special case-

He flinches slightly, roused from his meditations by a gentle pat on his knee.

"Sheesh, are this year's sophomores really this bad?" Eddie asks, confusing him.

"What?"

"You're making a face as if you were dealt a class of intellectually stunted troglodytes."

Peter blinks, before finally understanding what Eddie was getting at and shakes his head.

"Naah, it's just-" he pauses, but since the muse of romance and emotional intelligence doesn't decide to strike him with inspiration in the next five to ten seconds, in the end he just shrugs. "...Eh, you know what... Yeah, they're awful. Just thinking about it keeps me awake at night."

The sigh he ends this speech with must have made it sound somewhat credible, because Eddie gives him a sympathetic look. Unsurprisingly, perhaps, given that it has been the only part he hasn't had to act. He really feels tired and somewhat at loss.

"Maybe you're just bad with kids," Eddie prompts, but it's hardly a serious tease with how he follows it by pecking his forehead.

That makes him feel a bit bad about lying, especially since the Symbiote reaches to tie itself around his shoulders in an encouraging manner, and he internally apologizes to the students whose good names he's been slandering.

"Maybe I am..." He sighs again and the tendrils near his face blend together to form a little tongue that leaves a wet streak along his cheek.

Eddie puts the laptop on the table and instead pulls Peter in their lap.

"I doubt it, honey," he says, softly now and while it's such a mundane thing to be in their embrace, Peter's heart nearly folds in half. "Give yourself some credits. Look, this one for example... They have, what? A 'B+'? That's pretty good-"

Before he can finish, Peter pushes himself upward and captures their lips, still tasting of cinnamon and butter. It's sweet, in both the figurative and literal sense and he finds himself getting lost in how simple it is, at last, how good and how natural it is. He feels them sigh into his lips and then smile against them. They kiss, and Peter’s thoughts smooth out, resting like hounds calming down by the fire. They kiss, and he’s certain everything will work out in the end, because after all they’ve been through they deserve this kind of mundane, everyday hopes. The little faith of buying a kettle to share between two. The little miracle in the form of another hand to hold through the breakfast. They kiss, and they kiss, and they kiss, until he falls on the couch, pulling Eddie on top of himself.

But once his fingers brush on the edge of Eddie's shirt with the intention of slipping under it, the material flows away and clings to the skin. He has no time to react to this, as the very next second he feels a massive bubble of goo swell between them, separating their torsos. It sprouts a bunch of tentacles that promptly drag Eddie away and seat him on the opposite side of the couch. Peter watches this in bafflement, before exploding into laughter. Eddie easily joins him, causing one of the tentacles to turn into a tiny dismayed face, glaring daggers at them.

"No, no, I know love, I'm sorry we interrupted your show," Eddie chuckles, petting the huffing head. "Please don't mind us."

"Seriously? I'm losing to the reruns of Friends too?" Peter tries to appear offended, but his lips stretch into a smile, indifferent to his efforts. Big Bang Theory I could kinda get, but Friends? Really?"

The Symbiote seems to want to sink back into Eddie, but before it has the chance to do so, he puts an arm around its biomass, stroking it affectionately. It settles in his embrace and its big hollow eyes narrow into thin crescents. Soon, Peter absentmindedly joins him as well, playing with the tendrils, lazily sweeping the air like grass in the breeze.

"What can we say? It likes the relationship drama," Eddie shrugs, leaning against him and resting a cheek on the top of his head. "Plus it's the one series you can't complain about on the grounds of realism."

Humming thoughtfully Peter squints up at the other man.

"Wait, is this why we don't watch medical dramas together anymore?"

The Symbiote swipes a tongue at him, which feels meaningful enough that he decides to interpret it as "yes". He blows a raspberry in the response.

"I don't complain that much."

"Sure you don't."

Despite having previously prepared a detailed lecture on the gross misrepresentation of the usage of defibrillators, Peter rolls his eyes. Still, as he picks up the rest of the tests he has yet to mark, he can’t stop himself from making one more remark, glancing at the screen.

“...The fact they have such big square footage with this kind of income is unrealistic though.”

While the way Eddie dramatically throws his arms into the air is something he expected, the exasperation with which the Other collapses over their laps is a bit upsetting. He crosses his arms.

“What? There’s no way they are paying their rent on time. Or like, at all.” He crooks a brow and eyes the show doubtfully. “Thirty years ago to own an apartment this big you’d have to be like- I don’t know, a family of surgeons? And now? For any of those guys to be able to pay due, they’d have to be splitting it between seven, heck, ten people?”

Eddie ostentatiously shakes his head.

“Ah, those scientific mind types… Am I right, darling?” Then, he ruffles Peter’s hair into a bird nest.

“Hey!”

Peter’s shout is nothing but encouragement for more noogies.

“Relax, A. J. Ayer, not everything has to operate on the perfect rules of logic,” Eddie says, finally letting him go.

“I’m just saying that the real estate market is a nightmare,” Peter mumbles, hugging himself into a tight pillar of indignation.

Apparently though his body language isn’t explicit enough, because when Eddie settles back on the couch, he still puts an arm over his shoulders.

“It’s a sitcom, Pete,” he reminds him, reaching for his laptop. “Although we’re not gonna lie and say you’re wrong if we’re talking about objective reality. How anybody’s supposed to keep a roof over their head in this economy is a mystery beyond the scoop of our understanding.”

“Tell me about it,” Peter says, scrunching his nose. “Two thirds of my salary for this dump. And the landlord hasn’t done anything about the faulty boiler in years. I mean, imagine.”

The mood goes sour for a moment and he feels the Symbiote crawling up to form a blanket over their torsos. He sighs and buries the lower part of his face into it.

“Not the best time for the single income households, we’ve got to say,” Eddie agrees distractedly, already returning to his article.

Those words make Peter stiffen. He clenches his fingers before stretching them and wringing them around. While he does so, his mind returns to the topic he's been worrying for the better portion of the morning. What he says next is almost automatic, really. After all, he was never a „thinking before speaking” kind of guy.

“Yeah, right now it's much better to have a roommate... or two.”

He only registers what he's saying when Eddie shoots him a quick glance.

“...Yeah, we suppose so,” they reply, sounding hundred percent casual and Peter catches himself freezing because of the implications.

This would be a bad moment, and a bad way of putting his idea forward. He doesn't even have flowers to go along with the proposal and he didn't even wash his teeth yet, since he sat down to work as soon as they finished eating. So he knows he should just tiptoe around and away from this for now and bring the matter of living together once he'll prepare some sort of romantic date. But let's be fair... Impulse control isn't his strongest suit.

„You know... I was thinking, if we'd move the book stands together and push the table to the left, I think a weight-set would fit over there, no?”

The Symbiote enveloping his body grows hard and stiff for a second and Eddie’s fingers stop above the keyboard. Then, he turns to face him, eyes a bit narrowed, searching. Another second. Two. Their lips tug up, revealing just the tips of fangs.

“Sure,” they say.

And that’s it. By the end of the week the weight set does find its way into the corner of (not-anymore-just)Peter’s studio apartment. After one week more Eddie, the Symbiote and their scarce belongings are fully moved in. There’s no proper fancy dinner to celebrate that because that’s not really something they can’t afford. Instead, they eat takeout Chinese on the top of Central Park Tower. And the city panorama, prettier than any view a restaurant could provide? It’s nice. It’s nothing special. Peter has seen it over a million times already, soaring through the New York City night. It’s mundane, the same way sunsets and sunrises are mundane. Mundane, like the smell of ozone after the storm or a rainbow accompanying it. Like the taste of still warm bread and the first lick of ice cream in the summer.

When Peter falls asleep tonight, in the bed which was his and is now theirs, nothing really changes. It’s mundane and it’s nice.

And he wouldn’t change it for anything else in the world.

(By the way, I've never watched Friends or Bing Bang Theory. Just in case you want to say Symby/Peter would hate it etc. This gal is Polish and knows like 3 American sitcoms. If you have better suggestions - please share.)

#spidervenom #spideyvenom #eddie brock #venom #peter parker #spider-man #venom symbiote #my writing #fanfiction

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nrdmssgs · 8 months

Note

Ok I'm gonna request something! Put it at the back of your list or feel free to ignore!

And my request is... free reign. As in, whatever you feel like writing, to your heart's content, involving Riot or not, but fluffy happy things! Love you! <3

Masterlist

Fluff, a bit of comedy.

Pairings: Ghost x Riot (Riot belongs to @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot ) And a bit of Nikolai x Zhar from A heart full of pity

Summary: Friends gathering. Silly, happy, peaceful. Riot and Ghost just having their little moment of domestic bliss. Nik and Zhar forgetting for one evening, that they have Chimeras to subdue.

AN: This happens wa-a-ay after A heart and your story. Love, I remember, you wanted many kisses. I'm sorry, I really tried, but I didn't want Ghost to feel uncomfortable. At the same time, I wanted them all to spend some time together. So it was either\either situation. How about a pact? If you need a story without my chaotic guys - just send me a req, that says "kisses" and I shall deliver.

“I feel like lately I’ve been asking this question too much, but do I need to know?” Ghost didn’t try to spy on Riot, but he couldn’t make himself unsee that vulgar cover of a paperback book, she just purchased in a duty-free shop.

“That’s a gift from us.” Riots wears a mask, but Ghost learned to read in her expression by this time. If he had to bet, he’d say, she has the most mischievous grin right now and this doesn’t bode well.

“You'll spoil them, and they'll invite you every chance they get...” Simon side-eyed her, but it seemed to have no effect whatsoever.

“Oh, don't get jealous, I'll take you with me occasionally.”

***

They both are secretly happy, no one met them: Nikolai may have been a madly skilled pilot, but his driving style wasn’t something, one would wish to start their relaxing weekend with, and Zhar would immediately start talking about work. Ghost and Riot would maybe not admit it openly, but they lived for these little domestic moments, they got now: seeking for their car rental desk, buying shitty, but so much needed coffee in small thin paper cups and enjoying it on a parking lot, squinting at the bright rays of morning sun, checking their maps, lazily going through unfamiliar radio stations. This is such a desperately needed routine, they both seem to do everything slightly slower to savor every moment.

Riot sets coordinates of their destination and explains something to Ghost, pointing to a monitor on their dashboard, but he seems to not really listen. He looks at her, not tearing eyes from her face for a single moment, and almost unconsciously reaches out and caresses her cheek. An urge to feel her proximity, suppressed by Ghosts power of will, finally manifests in simple, careful and soft touch. It disarms, yet brings peace, catches her off-guard - yet comforts.

They pull to a lonely road that winds through the forest and slowly climbs uphill. Riot looks from her phone to Ghost, since there are no exits from their road anyway.

"You think, he is reckless enough to somehow tinker building of an entire road, just to be able to get to his house comfortably?" She wouldn't be surprised, if Ghost shared her opinion.

"I think, when it comes to Nikolai - it's better not to ask or think too much, if you want to sleep soundly." Ghost glances around, but the road is caged between two thick walls of forest trees, so there is not much to look at anyway.

When they finally reach their destination, Riot opens her door and takes a slow breath. Deep inside, she is ready to admit, that even if some sketchy schemes were involved, while building this all - it was totally worth it. A dark silhouette of a spacious house hides behind pine trees. Distant bird trills and the echo of a babbling brook bounce off the mountain wall, behind them. Apart from that - this place is immersed in a peaceful silence. A freshness of the mountain wind, and a scent of wet pine needles and resin fill the air.

"Long ago there was a safe house somewhere around here. We used to stay there for a few days with Price," Ghosts breaks the silence, coming from the car.

"It's still there. Well, almost there - I converted it into a guest house, so there was a bit of renovation and moving included." A familiar accented voice comes from behind. Riot and Ghost simultaneously turn towards the sound and see Nikolai smiling broadly at them. He emerges from somewhere in the woods, wiping a military knife with a cloth.

Nik nods to Ghost, but when Riot greets him the same way - he shakes his head, extending hands to embrace her. "Idi syuda, solntse. My skuchali po tebe.*" Pulling her into a bear hug, he was still careful enough to keep distance between Riot and a knife in his hand. Any other person on his place would die right after that, under Ghosts death glare, but Nikolai didn't pay too much attention to that.

Leading them into his house, Nikolai invites Riot and Ghost to make themselves comfortable on the veranda or in the living room. "Feel free to explore house and raid the wine cellar. I have some business to tend to." Nikolai was about to leave them two alone, but Riot stopped him on the doorstep.

"Ahem, Nik? You didn't forget anyone?" As shifty as Nikolai sometimes got - even he couldn't escape her, when Riot wanted answers.

"I didn't tell her about you coming here, otherwise, I'd have to tie poor thing up to keep her away from kitchen and cleaning. So she's working somewhere back in town. I think, she'll be back in an hour or so." When Nik talked about Zhar - he always smiled, even when he was obviously not happy with how restless she could get.

"You don't tie a former TF lieutenant up if you value your life," noticed Riot, following Nikolai to the kitchen counter, where some vegetables were laying besides a cook book.

"Oh, I highly recommend it - believe me, those workaholics sometimes don't understand other languages." Nik found a recipe, he was looking for, and left to fetch the rest ingredients.

"¿Qué tonto del culo escribió esto?*" Her voice was so mad, Nikolai shuddered. When he turned back to Riot - Ghost was already by her side.

"You see this? See?! ¡Insultan a toda la nación con estas tonterías!* And it says 'Spanish cuisine' right here! 'Spanish', my ass..." Riot hissed through her teeth as she showed Ghost the recipe.

Before Nikolai could understand, what was happening, he and Ghost were already standing before cutting boards, which Riot loaded with veggies and meat and gave each of them detailed instructions on what to do next. Nik wanted to ask Simon, what was going on and how does one end this, but Ghost was ahead of him. "Don't complain and just do whatever she commands."

Riot stood beside them for a while, supervising the preparation of the ingredients. Convinced that both men were doing exactly what they were told, she turned around. "I guess, I'll raid that wine cellar of yours after all. Let's hope, there is at least some decent Rioja wine there..."

"Fifth row from the bottom, left side," guided her Nik, not turning away from his cutting board.

***

In an hour, another car parked before the house. Zhar flew in with such speed and hurried to the second floor that she did not notice the guests.

"Nebo moye*, I have a surprise for you," called her Nikolai.

"Niigard is out! So as long as your surprise is not a seasoned tactical operator - it has to wait for a bit, ok?" As expected, Zhar was constantly throat deep in her work.

"How about two of them?" Ghost suddenly intervened in their conversation. For a moment, everything felt silent. But then they heard fast steps descending back to the first floor. Zhar was so happy to see them both - she completely ignored the fact, that Ghosts hands were red of the meat, that he chopped, and she shook them anyway. And when she saw Riot - she couldn't stop smiling, hugging her tightly.

"Ok-ok." She finally let go of Riot. "What are we cooking?"

"They are cooking, darling. And we don't lift anything heavier than wine glasses today, so let's go." Riot is about to lead her out of the kitchen, when she notices Nikolai desperately but silently pointing at Zhars pocket. "Yes, this," Riot takes out a work phone from Zhar's pocket and leaves it on the kitchen counter, "This is obviously way heavier, so it stays here." When they both leave, Nikolai turns to Ghost. "Lieutenant, Riot is an angel, and you are a blessed man."

***

At dinner, they all have a relaxed slow talk, remembering how each of them learned to cook. Ghost tells about his and Price's nighttime forays into the kitchen, and the others can't help but laugh. Then Zhar remembers how her parents taught her how to can vegetables so that they would last for ages.

"How come you never told me, you could cook that?" asks her Nik.

"What, that would have helped me in bargaining for higher pay rate in Chimera?" Maybe it's an outcome of Riots good choice of wine, but Zhar seems to be in so rare for her mischievous state of mind.

"Whoa, that reminded me of something!" Riot grins and leaves them for a short moment. When she comes back, Ghosts notices the book, she purchased before their flight, in her hands.

"Before anything happens here - I have to state, I have nothing to do with that." Simon grunts, glancing at the book cover. Zhar and Nikolai look at him in confusion.

"Don't be so dramatic, Ghost, it's just a small gift to make our friends happy. It's... kind of a manual to that one, I guess." Riot points at Nik, but gives book to Zhar.

"Hm, never knew, Nik comes with a manual. I should check if there is a guarantee as well, o-o-oh..." At first, Zhar falls silent, her eyebrows rising in surprise when she sees the cover. Nikolai tries to peek over her shoulder, but she gets up and moves away, leisurely leafing through the book. With each page turned, her face becomes more mysterious. "Ok, there is no guarantee here. But apparently there is 'an exciting and sensual story about the leader of the Russian mafia and a killer who received a contract for him, but found herself falling for him'."

"Riot, solntse moye*, I love you with all my heart, but what the hell?" Nikolai couldn't fight off laughter, asking that.

"I read maybe 2-3 pages, and guys, this has the most hilarious set of all clichés about Russian guys and everyday life. I'm serious, think of all those American movies from 90-s with a scary 'Bandit Ivan' and multiply it by ten - this is how bad it is. Oh, and it has the most inaccurate depiction of armed conflicts, you've ever seen, I promise! I laughed so hard - I just had to share this with you." As Riot explains why she had chosen such a gift, Ghost begins to quietly regret that he hadn't had time to steal a bit of reading. But he immediately changes his mind when Zhar asks if smut-chapters can be considered a manual as well.

"Ok, that's enough of reading for today, love, give it to me!" Nikolai jumps up and tries to grab the book, but Zhar dodges and runs deep into the house.

Ghost gets up from the table, following the two with a glance, and, taking advantage of the fact that the room iss now empty, puts his arm around Riot's shoulders.

"I don't know what scares me more: the fact that these two are older than us and have a private army at their disposal, or that you somehow know how to turn them into giggling teenagers chasing each other in a minute..." Simon whispers in her ear.

Riot relaxes and rests her head on his shoulder. "I guess, I just know how to make menacing beings harmless."

"Oh, that you've mastered for sure," purrs Simon, squeezing her shoulders ever so lightly, before letting her go, as he hears Nik coming back.

"Ghost, I don't know what Price was teaching all of you, but your former colleague almost broke my arm back there." Nikolai runs his hand through his hair, brushing back strands that had fallen on his forehead.

"You knew what you were going for, Nik. She is your blessing now." Ghost scoffed.

"And for that I'll be thankful to every single one of you guys till my last day." Nikolai smiled and offered to escort Riot and Ghost to the guest house, so they could finally rest.

They stepped off the veranda onto a boardwalk winding through the trees. Nikolai promised to turn on the lighting of this path at night. After 15 minutes they came to a small but incredibly cozy wooden house with panoramic windows.

"This place has changed quite a bit since you were last here, Ghost." Nik unlocked the door and tossed the keys to the lieutenant. "Damn, I completely forgot, I was sharpening knives here and left the machine." He hurried to the table in the hall, but Riot quickly caught up with him and grabbed his sleeve.

"Hey, this isn't just a simple knife sharpening machine? If that's what I'm thinking, don't you dare take it with you..." Riot moved Nik aside and proceeded to sit on a couch before a shiny tool station.

"Well, I guess, have fun, guys?" Nikolai chuckled, and left Riot and Ghost alone.

***

Evening silence was broken only by the creak of crickets in the forest and the measured hissing with which the knife blade met the sharpener. Riot took her time; she was mesmerized by the beauty of her knife, that showed through with every move. Simon walked somewhere in the back of the room, immersed in exploring the library that Nik had left in the former safe house. Although it still felt safe - it now looked like the most luxurious version of a safe house possible.

"What are you reading back there," asked Riot, not looking away from the blade in her hands.

"Some poem." Ghosts voice is suddenly much closer, than she initially expected it to be.

"For me the world holds no other delight Than the ring and glitter of your dear name. No rope will be noosed, No stairwell leapt in. Nor will bullet or poison take my life. No power over me, Your glance excepting, Has the blade of any knife." He takes a pause and Riot freezes, heeling his bare hand on her back.

"Oh, I know this one...

Descansar elefante cansado querrá - Sobre la arena quemada se tumbará. Mas que no sea tu amor no tengo otro sol, Y yo no sé, con quién y dónde estás.*" She shifts to the side giving Ghost more space, as he moves to sit beside her. "You know, it's a poem about quite a brutal break-up? That woman, this guy writes about in his poem - she broke him."

Ghost hums. "So instead of books on history or weaponry, those two are stashing stories of broken people... But what strikes me the most in this situation is how many keys your hands bear. Somehow you know even this poem, buried deep in their library." He takes Riots free hand and presses lips against her palm.

"Careful, lieutenant, these hands bear freshly sharpened blades as well." Riot smiles predatory and in one motion straddles him.

"Still worth a risk." Ghost pulls her slightly up, brings closer. His fingers splayed over her lower back. Riots breath slowing as the space between them folds together. Ghosts eyes lid, touching his lips to hers, drinking in her sigh - an answer to some long-standing question and she... she breathes him in. He stills, and then only the warmth of his hands gathering her small frame dissolves the shivery anticipation with the warmth of his relief.

Idi syuda, solntse. My skuchali po tebe. - Come here, sunshine, we missed you.

¿Qué tonto del culo escribió esto? - What piece of shit wrote this?

¡Insultan a toda la nación con estas tonterías! - They insult the entire nation with this nonsense!

Nebo moye - My sky/heaven

solntse moye - my sun

Full text of quoted poem in English and in Spanish

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 2 years

Text

You’re Home

we need a little levity, yeah? dont judge me its excessively self indulgent

CW: geraskier, modern au, roommates, pre relationship, domestic fluff, geralt doesn’t realize jask is home

________________

Jaskier had a blissful morning off work. He turned his alarm off the night before, changed his sheets, and even remembered to set the blinds how he liked them before going to bed so he would wake up to a soft sunny glow instead of blinding direct sunlight. His lie-in would be peaceful and comfortable come hell or high water.

Only in the morning, he woke in confusion, reaching out to slap at an alarm he thought was going off but was totally silent. As he blinked awake and ran his hands through his messy hair, he realized Geralt was playing music. Loud music. His roommate wasn’t usually a morning person, let alone a loud person in general, but then again Jaskier usually got his music playing first. Looking over at his clock once again, Jaskier realized it wasn’t all that early in the morning anymore.

He shrugged and made to scroll through his phone a bit before he gave in to the urge to pee and actually got up. After a few Green Day songs Scotty Doesn’t Know came on and Jaskier smirked. Of course, Geralt would be a grungy emo child. About halfway through the song, Jaskier thought he heard Geralt calling for him, but upon putting his phone down and tuning in, it was Geralt singing along. In the five or so months they’d lived together and years of knowing each other, Jaskier had never heard Geralt sing. He thought Geralt was one of those weirdos who just never sang.

Seizing the opportunity, Jaskier stealthily climbed out of bed and pulled his sweats on before poking his head out of his room. The song changed to Pressure by Paramore and Geralt’s voice continued crooning along if a key or octave lower than Miss Williams. He had a lovely voice, a little gravely like his speaking voice, but still clear and strong. Jaskier found himself grinning as he tiptoed down the hallway toward the kitchen/living area.

It sounded like Geralt was making breakfast during his concert, lost enough in his music that he didn’t notice Jaskier leaning against the archway watching him dance as he whisked eggs. American Idiot came on next and Geralt definitely spilled some eggs on the counter as he jumped and flailed his arms around yelling along. Jaskier’s heart almost hurt it was so cute, he wanted to kiss Geralt on a normal day, but the cute aggression may actually get him in trouble this time. I Just Wanna Live by Good Charlotte was next and Jaskier couldn’t take it anymore. Geralt dancing around their kitchen like a club in 2004 was just too much for his heart to take, let alone how much his cheeks hurt from smiling.

Instead of saying anything, Jaskier just calmly walked into the room and sat at their little breakfast bar, resting his chin on his hands and waiting patiently for Geralt to notice him. He watched him with the stupidest smitten grin on his face for at least two more songs, doing his best not to giggle or give himself away now that he was in clear view.

Geralt finally turned away from the stove in the middle of The Kill by Thirty Seconds to Mars and froze like a deer in the headlights. His eyes nearly bulged out of his skull and the plate full of a massive omelet almost fell right out of his hands.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” Jaskier mused, entirely unwilling and incapable of wiping the smitten smile off his face, still just staring back at Geralt.

Blinking and slowly setting the plate down on their counter, Geralt finally found some words, “You’re home.”

Jaskier nodded, “Mind pouring me a cup of coffee? Since you’re right there?”

Squinting but doing as he was asked, Geralt poured him a cup of coffee and even added his favorite creamer without prompting before setting it in front of him, “We don't need to talk about this… do we?”

“Talk about what?” Jaskier pauses just long enough to see Geralt relax before he grinned and muttered, “You’re adorable and you sound nice,” into his coffee.

Geralt’s nose scrunched up as he cut into his omelet and muttered, “Not adorable…”

“Oh, I beg to differ! That was extremely cute!” Jaskier laughed as Geralt folded his arms on the counter and bent down to hide his face in his arms, “I mean it!”

“Stoooop Jask,” Geral groaned, not able to hide the little laugh as hard as he tried.

“Absolutely not. That was cute and I will never tell you when I have a surprise day off again,” Jaskier insisted, reaching across the counter to steal a bite of his omelet as he spoke.

Still talking into his arms, Geralt’s muffled voice sounded downright miserable, “How long were you there?”

“Since Pressure? American Idiot? A long time.”

“You’re evil.”

“And you’re a fantastic cook. Can I have this if you’re just going to be very cutely embarrassed?” Jaskier reached for Geralt’s plate as he asked, not even caring if Geralt responded and hell-bent on stealing his food regardless.

“No,” Geralt snatched the plate out of his reach before he could grab it, earning him Jaskier’s full-power puppy eyes, “I’ll make you your own. This one has tomatoes in it anyway.”

Jaskier made a mental note to sob over a bottle of wine to Yen about how absolutely fucked he was, but he smiled and let himself enjoy it anyway. Geralt even started humming quietly as he cooked another omelet. No other lover would do for Jaskier, regardless of whether or not he ever told Geralt how he felt.

#geraskier #geraskier modern au #the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskier fic #the witcher modern au #geraskier roommates

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wonusite · 8 months

Note

So while I attempt to get myself together (turns out work is tiring and makes your brain turn to mush while thinking about Joshua), here's a list of nerd!shua headcannons I have in no particular order:

Sloppy kisses. Not only are you and Josh constantly all over each other in public (PDA and you two are basically synonymous at this point) but it's sloppy, there's tongue and spit and touching and grinding and on campus security has definitely had their fair share of stern talking to's with you (you're actually their least favourite to break up too, since it always takes a minute or two for you to break for air and they just have to stand there and wait for you to acknowledge their existence please for the love of God will you guys just get a room holy shit)

Gifting each other a Lovense Lush and a Lovense Gush for the first year anniversary <3 presentations, tournaments, study group sessions, suddenly everything becomes a lot more interesting. I can see josh being so so so mean to you and making you cum and cum and cum until you're so sensitive and overstimulated you're in tears. On the flip side, you edge the shit out of poor little Joshie. His cum is all yours to touch, taste and play with. If he's not making a mess out of you, he's not getting release period.

Moving in together!!! Y'all are so in love that by the time the next year comes around, you don't see the point in living separately when you spend almost every waking moment together and have literally slept in the same bed every single night since you started dating. You can never get enough of your cute little nerd, and now that you live together? You never have to, ever again. He's yours to keep and hold and love forever (at least until the lease ends and you guys have to figure out living arrangements again LOOOOOL)

Also, continuing on with the living together headcannon, previous tenant left behind a bed frame for you guys (score!). Unfortunately, the old Ikea bed frame can't really take the uh, impact, of the activities you get up to, especially not at the frequency of your bedroom activities. You and Josh learn a valuable lesson about investing in sturdy furniture after the fiasco (spoiler: bed collapsed mid-fuck. Unsurprisingly, it didn't stop you guys and you kept at it until you both came)

So!! Much!! Soft!!! Pure!!! Love!!! Although you're horny and fuck pretty much constantly (are we surprised? No. Are we disappointed? Depends on how much studying you were trying to get done that day HWBSJWJSJ) there's that underlying softness of that established relationship and mutual feelings. The sex is good and it feels amazing, but nothing hits quite like the love bitten smiles early in the morning over a hot cup of coffee before school, the way you nestle your head right under his chin before you fall asleep for the night, the domesticity of shua backhugging you while you cook dinner, the soft humming of Sunday morning in your ear as you're trying to make sure the garlic doesn't burn. It hits you all at once one random Tuesday afternoon that this? This is heaven. This is everything you've ever wanted in your life and you've never, ever felt so loved and cared for before. If you could spend the rest of your life just living in domestic bliss with the cute nerd from your calculus class, you would never have another complaint. Joshua is undoubtedly the love of your life, and having him by your side makes your heart feel so, so full

Josh being a TA of a class and you sucking his dick under the desk while he holds office hours. You started entertaining yourselves because usually no one stops by (especially for not prickly little Josh. He's polite, sure, but it always feels like the vibes are off when they ask him for help. The students are scared to piss off the person that grades their exams) but for some reason, there's a pesky little brunette that ALWAYS seems to come by asking for help every single week after Josh wore a particularly tight t-shirt to class one day (though you can't blame her, his tits are to die for). The first time you sucked him off while he was explaining a question to her, you did it because you were ticked off that some first year thought they could come in and sweep your boyfriend off his feet. The following times it's because your dirty little exhibitionist boyfriend cums so incredibly hard at knowing that 1) he could be caught at any moment and 2) you're so possessive over him

Pegging. No explanation needed. It's just hot to think of Josh's sparklikg eyes filled with tears because you're fucking him so good

First I love you coming after an epiphany after a fight (this is gonna be a separate ask because I've thought about it a little too hard oops I'm mentally ill what else is new)

You being soooo annoyingly in love with your boyfriend that you become THAT girl to all your friends. Omg wait did I also tell you that Josh plays gui- Guitar and he serenades you with Sunday Morning every single Sunday morning? Yes Y/N you have now shut the fuck up holy shit

You meet his mom and on paper, you're the absolute perfect girlfriend. Smart, pretty, sweet, outgoing, so caring and so in love with his darling son. She doesn't know what a vixen you are and how you've corrupted her sweet little boy, but it's okay. Even though he doesn't have his virtue anymore, you'll make sure he's nice and taken care of

Joshie needs at least 1 (one) kiss on the lips from you every single time you see each other, no exceptions. You haven't said your proper hellos to each other if you haven't had your kiss. One time you forgot and Josh gave you the cold shoulder for a week. He takes this very seriously, don't try him.

Proposes the day of convocation to celebrate the end of one chapter of your lives together and the beginning of a new one <3

#listen you ATE #i’m literally foaming at the mouth #this was so cute #and hawt #this was everything and i’m never getting over it #ask #thatgirlfromwindsor

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katherynefromphilly · 2 years

Text

Fic Rec: “I Keep Going Over the World We Knew (Over and Over)” by Mellacita

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Multi M/M

Fandom: Merlin (BBC)

Relationship: Arthur/Merlin

Characters: Arthur Pendragon Merlin Morgana Nimue Freya Morgause Gwen (Guinevere)

Additional Tags: Reincarnation Reunions Travel

Language: English

Stats: Published: 2013-09-10 Completed: 2013-09-10 Words: 53153 Chapters: 4/4

*****

EXCERPT:

Merlin Emrys lived an average, normal sort of life.

He lived in London, which was very normal for someone who, as far as he knew, was born and grew up in London.

He woke up in the morning and fed his cat. A freelance writer, he tended to work from home, but he still managed to get dressed most days.

He played cricket on the weekend and hung out at his favourite coffeeshop. He ran in charity races, got shitfaced with his mates, had relationships that didn't work out, and killed houseplants with stunning regularity.

He was, in a word, completely normal.

"That's two words," his best friend Renuka pointed out during their weekly coffee/debriefing. "And I'm not sure they mean what you think they mean."

Merlin drained his coffee—black, no sugar, nothing but pure twitch—and set down his cup with a glare. "I'm a writer," he said. "I know what words mean, Renu."

He'd met Renuka at university; they'd formed an instant bond over an arrogant lecturer they'd both hated. Merlin could never explain it, but they just clicked, somehow.

These days, she made it her hobby to ensure Merlin found domestic bliss with one of her numerous gay friends. "Of course you do, darling. Which is why I got a series of exceedingly angry texts from Stampy after your blind date, all of which, by the way, included the phrase: 'not normal.'"

Merlin scowled.

"In all capital letters, no less," Renu added. "Really. I'm not going to keep fixing you up if you keep creeping them out."

"How was I creeping them out? I was making conversation!"

"Merlin." Renu covered one of his hands with hers. "Not everyone shares your passion for old, dead monarchs, you know."

"They should," Merlin insisted. "It's our cultural heritage. How could they not want to know more about it?"

Renu rolled her eyes. "It's not everyone's cultural heritage. Besides, at the first date stage, I'd say worry more about attraction and less about if a bloke can distinguish between the Vulgate and Post-Vulgate cycles."

Merlin pointed his finger. "Ha. See, you know your Arthuriana. Stampy has no excuse."

"I only know it because it makes it so much easier to take the piss out of you, Merlin, and you know that's one of my life's great pleasures."

"Doesn't matter why. You still know it, thereby proving that you are better than him. If you had a cock I would date you and be done with it."

"If I had a cock, I'd fuck Karen Gillan and not worry about you."

"Thanks."

"Seriously though, I just want you to find someone. You're too lonely. King Arthur isn't going to keep you warm at night, you know."

"You say that at least six times a year," Merlin said.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113950/chapters/159051

#bbc Merlin #merthur #Arthur returns #well written #long fic and complete #slow burn #happy ending

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neonun-au · 1 year

Text

I posted 8,781 times in 2022

That's 1,675 more posts than 2021!

1,473 posts created (17%)

7,308 posts reblogged (83%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@neonun-au

@97-liners

@cheolmatez

@naptimed

@kinohohoho

I tagged 7,947 of my posts in 2022

Only 9% of my posts had no tags

#mads.txt - 783 posts

#replies - 648 posts

#ask game - 256 posts

#srb - 210 posts

#anon - 179 posts

#reviews - 175 posts

#<3 - 109 posts

#lmao - 104 posts

#lol - 72 posts

#fic recs - 60 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#and that control extends to withholding as much of that help as they can legally get away with for the people that they do not see as equal

My Top Posts in 2022:

(un)traditional | kwon soonyoung

alternatively titled: 'til horang do us hae

pairing: kwon soonyoung x fem!reader genre: fluff, wedding au, more...fluff, established relationship, humour warnings: none word count: 1.8k

See the full post

582 notes - Posted April 19, 2022

routine | joshua hong

pairing: joshua x reader genre: fluff, slice-of-life, established relationship warnings: just domestic bliss ;) word count: ~800 song: forever and for always - shania twain

“Good morning,” Joshua’s voice, thick with sleep, greets you as you stand over the kitchen sink, coffee pot in hand.

Sometimes you had to remind yourself that this was your life. That despite all of your preconceived notions about what you wanted and you deserved–you were here. In this moment–with him. The soft amber light of morning that filtered in through your kitchen window was shining in on you. The cold tiles against the soles of your feet were supporting you. The arms that came to wrap around your waist belonged to someone you never thought you could have.

The soft kiss that he pressed to the base of your ear definitely helped to solidify the moment. Pulling you back from your spiraling thoughts as he tended to do–unwitting or otherwise.

“Good morning,” you greet his presence with a smile, leaning back against him as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mhmm,” the affirmation comes out muffled–it hums against your skin as he gives it and a chill runs down your spine as his warm breath follows. Another kiss planted on your shoulder.

“Coffee?” you ask, reaching for a second cup even before he answers. He unwraps himself from you and you miss the warmth of his body against yours almost immediately.

“Please,” he nods, padding towards the small table set up against the living room window. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as you gather the coffee and a small plate of fruit and pastries from the bakery on the corner–a favourite of the both of you since moving into this apartment.

His hair–currently that sandy shade of blonde that you had expressed a liking for–is still tousled from sleep and the desire to run your hands through it, to smooth the strands down, buzzes at the tips of your fingers. He catches you staring and offers a small smile, lips curling up at the corners, before pulling out his phone and opening the daily crossword.

For so many years you had focused on the big stuff. Milestones. Graduations, weddings, birthdays, anniversaries. Big trips and big lessons learned. It was only in the last year or two that you had come to the realisation that the best parts of life were hidden in the smaller moments. Small routines.

Preparing the same coffee every morning. Feeling the same arms–sturdy and comforting–wrap themselves around you, pulling you tight into an embrace you wished would never end but knew would always be there again even after it did. Watching the love of your life do a Sunday crossword as you lazily grazed on an apple.

“Here,” you set the mug down in front of him, nudging it towards his hand as he blindly reaches out for it–eyebrows knit in concentration at one of the clues on the screen in front of him.

“Three-letter word for madness?” He asks, bringing the mug up to his lips and taking a sip.

“Maybe ‘ire’?” you respond after a moment of consideration and his nods once–decisive. You resist a laugh at the consistency of the reaction, settling instead for reaching for a croissant and glancing out at the city skyline outside of your window.

Hundreds of windows. All housing small realities like the one you’re currently occupying. Realities you could have easily found yourself in, had things been different.

You bring the coffee to your lips, taking a slow sip, and decide that you’re more than happy in the one you are currently in.

“Joshua?” you call out his name and he raises his gaze to meet yours, one eyebrow cocked in mild curiosity. “Marry me?”

He barks out a short laugh, head thrown back in mirth, and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your own lips. “Again?”

“Why not?” You shrug, bringing your mug up for another sip.

“Do you remember how exhausting the last wedding was?” He shakes his head, setting his phone down on the table and leaning back in his chair–brown eyes swimming with the memories of the event.

“I remember you passing out as soon as we got to the hotel from the reception,” you nod, grinning into your coffee.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to get mad at me for that again,” he shakes his head, “you know how many shots Soonyoung made me take with him in ‘celebration’ of the big day.”

“We could elope,” you laugh, “what about Italy? You love wine.”

Another laugh–crystal clear in the morning stillness of your living room. “For you my love,” he leans forward, gaze fixed on yours as he does, and plants a soft kiss against your lips, “anything.”

“Anything?” you ask, interest piquing at the platter of opportunity sitting before you.

“Anything,” he nods, “except another ceremony with guests. I cannot afford another open bar.”

“Deal,” you laugh, settling back into your seat and watching as he picks his phone up once more. Settling back into routine.

“Four letter word for a green hue?”

See the full post

639 notes - Posted February 23, 2022

pearl of my heart | choi seungcheol

pairing: seungcheol x fem!reader genre: established relationthip, slice of life, fluff, idk its just dumb word count: 700~ warnings: discussions of sex, mild profanity, not proofread

for @97-liners

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723 notes - Posted July 13, 2022

every page is empty | vernon chwe

pairing: vernon x reader genre: fluff, romance, friends to lovers, college au warnings: none word count: 3.3k song: my love - florence + the machine

The revelation comes as you sit alone in your room, staring at the blank white page of your notebook. Your peach fountain pen falls from your grip just as your mouth opens in a soft ‘oh’. You barely have time to think before you’re on your feet–letting them carry you forward. Out of your dorm, out of your apartment, out into the night.

The assignment was simple when you were given it during your 7:30pm creative writing class: write about love. Simple and easy. There are so many facets to love, you think as you flip open your notebook and begin to brainstorm as the professor elaborates on the topic. Familial love, platonic love, romantic love. The love that lives in the soft folds of a handmade pain au chocolat. The love that lives in the eyes of every dog you have ever met.

“Most people have a tendency towards overcomplicating it,” your professor continues as you scribble down half formed thoughts and whispers of ideas. “Try to avoid that. Write about what you know.”

‘I know love,’ you think to yourself, beginning to list names of friends and family. People that bring you laughter, people that feel like home, people that feel like the bright burst of fireworks illuminating the night sky.

Vernon.

His name sits plain on the page and you pause–pen poised over the ‘n’, threatening to cross it out even as the ink settles into the crisp white paper.

“Write about who you know.” The professor's voice has been reduced to a fading background narration. The words float around your head like stars as you stare at that one name scrawled carelessly by your mutinous hand.

The rain had stopped before you left your dorm. Pockmarks of puddles dot the sidewalks that weave through the campus courtyard as small, wet reminders of the storm. You can feel droplets of water splashing up against your calves as you walk briskly forward, digging your hands into the pockets of your sweatpants to ward off the chill that was beginning to set in.

‘Why didn’t I bring a jacket,’ you chastise yourself, picking up your pace to a brisk stride.

The campus was all but deserted. A rainy Tuesday evening saw most students holing themselves up inside the warmth of their dorm rooms or apartments with only a few brave or desperate souls bothering to emerge. You weren't exactly sure which one you were right now as you padded across campus towards your destination.

“Love is amorphous,” your professor continues to elaborate on the goal of the exercise as you draw one thin, black line through the offending name in your notebook; with only a small pang of guilt reverberating through your chest at the action. “It’s not something tangible, or something that you can quantify by any scientific means. It’s a feeling and yet it’s more than that, also. It’s in everything.”

With an annoyed grimace you snap the cover of your notebook closed and resign yourself to listening. Soaking in the lecture while keeping the whisper of his name locked tight in the back of your mind.

“It’s not something that you can make sense of or will away. I want you to succumb to it. Whatever it is that you choose as the subject for your story–I want you to let it consume you.”

The feelings that had been building to a crescendo over the past two weeks swell up inside of you as you push open the front door of the house at the beginning of the row. Just past the science faculty building, it sits carelessly unlocked as usual–too many forgetful men in their twenties in the constant flux and flow of coming and going to be bothered with those details.

You stalk past the two confused dudes lounging in the living room, ignoring their alarmed shouts, and take to the stairs buoyed by the force of the insistent wave of feeling inside of you. The maze of doors at the top of the stairs only serves to provide a momentary pause as you halt to reorient yourself–the memories of the few times you had been upstairs during parties, listening to vinyls with Vernon and avoiding the crowds downstairs.

Your gaze narrows in on the most familiar door and you inhale a steadying breath before resuming your march.

See the full post

817 notes - Posted March 17, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

other people’s weddings | choi seungcheol

pairing: seungcheol x fem!reader, some mingyu x fem!reader other cast: soonyoung, jeonghan, seulgi, johnny (sorry to johnny for this), saerom cameo, jihoon mention genre: rom com, fake dating au, slight love triangle au, friends to lovers, idiots to idiots in love warnings: language, mature themes, some suggestive content sprinkled throughout and allusions to sex (nothing explicit at all), reader uses she/her pronouns throughout word count: 15.6k

“Remind me again: which wedding is this one?” you ask, head resting in your palm as you sit at your best friend’s kitchen table at 10:30am in your emerald green (and slightly stained) cocktail dress.

Seungcheol glances at you in the reflection of the mirror in front of him, hands halting briefly in the process of tying his bright blue tie. “You didn't bother to look at the invitation this morning?” His expression straddles the line between bemusement and annoyance. An expression you’ve come to know quite well over your many years of friendship.

“No,” you shrug, taking a small sip from your iced caramel macchiato. He audibly sighs. A performance of his annoyance with you–another thing you’ve gotten used to. “You know where we’re going, and since I’m going with you, I just have to show up and look pretty.” you wink at him as he levels you with a slight glare and furrowed brows. “Don’t look at me like that, we have like…six weddings to go to this summer.” Seungcheol rolls his eyes at the exaggeration before turning his attention back to the strip of fabric hanging around his neck.

You watch as his hands weave the tie together, his brows knit together in concentration. It was a scene you were destined to repeat time and time again this summer. For years weddings and marriages had been a distant thought on the horizon of your lives but as with all things in time, you grew to an age where friends, coworkers, relatives, and distant acquaintances had finally begun sending out those delicately calligraphed save the dates and floral adorned invitations.

The blessing and curse of having such a tight knit friend group meant you had all been invited to nearly every single one of these events; simultaneously giving you people to attend with as well as no easy way out of any of them.

So here you find yourself, on a balmy late June morning, in Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s shared kitchen, watching your friend fuss over his appearance and praying that the reception doesn't last past midnight so you can have time to watch at least one episode of Law & Order before you pass out on your couch.

As if on cue, the aforementioned housemate strolls into the kitchen. Beelining for the pot of coffee on the counter.

“Morning,” you greet him over your own drink and he turns around to face you with his eyebrows raised.

“You can leave the house before 7:00pm? Amazing, I thought you melted in the sunlight,” Jeonghan teases, a sly grin spread over his fox face and you bristle at the comment.

“Shut the fuck up Jeonghan, I’m not a vampire.”

“Could have fooled me,” he replies, dropping a single sugar cube into the dark black of his coffee, “this is the first time I’ve seen you in daylight in years.”

“We literally went out for brunch two months ago.”

“My point exactly.” You heave an exasperated sigh and glance over at Seungcheol, eyes narrowed, as if to ask ‘can you help me with this bitch?’ He just shrugs and shakes his head with a grin.

Instead of sparking an unwinnable argument with a friend who never learned how to quit, you shift topics, “Seulgi is meeting us there, right? Where’s Soonyoung?”

“Late,” Jeonghan answers, gratefully taking the bait and dropping the banter, “as usual.”

“What time does the ceremony start?”

“12:30, I think,” Seungcheol replies, glancing at his watch as he does so.

And at that–as if dialled into peak comedic timing–Soonyoung barrels through the front door; loudly tripping over the pile of shoes strewn haphazardly in the entrance, and careens into the kitchen entirely out of breath.

“Hey, sorry my alarm didn’t go off and I think my dishwasher might be on the fritz again cause there was water all over my kitchen floor and–” He’s stopped in his tracks–both literally and verbally–by Jeonghan thrusting a mug of coffee into his hands, “thanks.”

Soonyoung’s current hair–bright yellow, apparently–stands up on end, mussed still from sleep and what was no doubt a frantic four-block sprint here. His suit is mostly intact, though the tie is nowhere to be seen, and his black loafers are slightly scuffed at the tip. It would be a tragic sight if he weren’t so absolutely endearing about it all.

“So–” After a brief pause to take a breath and a sip from the mug while settling into the chair next to you, he picks up his monologue as if it had never been interrupted in the first place. “I had to mop up all of this old dishwater with like…my best t-shirt because it was the only thing I could find and thankfully it did get most of it up but I think Jihoon is going to murder me when he gets back to the apartment later,” he continues rambling as the rest of you share one long, knowing look. Seungcheol rolls his eyes–affectionately exhausted–and smoothes his finally tied tie down before heading down the hallway towards his bedroom.

“Soonyoung,” you turn towards your bedraggled friend, interrupting his raving. He glances at you curiously and you have to resist a laugh at the sheer innocence of the expression, “when did you dye your hair yellow?”

“Oh,” he giggles, reaching up to scratch at the back of his head. “Yesterday actually…do you like it?” there is a hopeful glint shining in his wide eyes and it prevents any potential criticism from leaving your lips.

Unfortunately, it does nothing to deter Jeonghan. “You look like a tennis ball,” he says, striding over to run a hand through Soonyoung’s mop of hair, “and it’s a mess. What did you do, trim it with a weedwacker?”

“No,” he laughs again–more nervously this time. Like a frightened hedgehog. “I just didn’t have time to style it this morning. You know, I think my dishwasher is really busted…”

“We can fix it, it’s fine,” you sigh, glancing up at Jeonghan who just stares down at you like the entire situation is beyond hope before setting down his coffee and disappearing into the bathroom. “Nothing to be done about the colour, though.”

“I thought it was sort of cool,” he says, dragging out the words like a kid dragging their feet at a playground. “Sort of punk, you know? Like Sid Vicious.”

“I mean…it’s not the worst I've ever seen on you,” you offer, an image of him with a blue and green polka dot buzzcut springing to mind, and he beams at the backhanded compliment. Jeonghan returns, handing you a tube of styling gel, and you get to work trying to tame Soonyoung’s mane.

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msmarvelwrites · 3 years

Text

Sunday Kinda’ Love

Summary: You weren't sure when it happened, falling in love with Bucky Barnes.

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: insane amounts of fluff, domestic Bucky, Explicit sexual content, Oral (f receiving), fingering, vaginal penetration, lazy counter-top sex, 18+

Word Count: 1.3K

Authors Note: shoutout to @sweeterthanthis who Puts up with me sending her screenshots of my fics every 10 minutes 😂 love you bitch. Thank you for helping me babe!

all mistakes are my own.

The rain patting on the windowsill pulled you from your hangover induced coma as the smell of coffee wafted into the bedroom. You reached over, running your fingers across the empty bed in hopes to find your soldier, though he seemed to have already made the most of your day off.

You, on the other hand, were fully content to lay in bed all day and sleep away the reminisce of vodka Carol had challenged you to the night before.

The sound of Bucky humming along to the distant radio brought a small smile to tug at the corners of your lips. The way you knew he was shuffling around the kitchen, trying to keep his hands busy until you woke made you melt.

You weren't sure when it happened.

The nights seemed to lull into days spent in Bucky’s apartment. Lazing away the afternoons when you both returned home from a mission too sleep deprived to find your way back to your own bed. And you supposed there were worse ways to wake up.

You struggled, sliding out of the warm covers and onto the chilly hardwood floors. The ground beneath you creaked slightly as you stumbled across the room, grabbing one of Bucky’s old T-shirts and tossing it over your head.

You patted into the living room, leaning against the kitchen counter until Bucky finally spun around. His super hearing, already picking up on your presence, but the man never seemed to let on he could predict your every move.

Even though you knew he could.

“Mornin’, sunshine.” He hummed, his voice melting over you like a warm bath.

You smiled, unable to contain the way he made your tummy erupt into a fit of flutters. The pet name always fell from his lips so effortlessly. As if the old Brooklyn charm was always just beneath the surface of that stormy gaze.

“Good morning, Sarge.” You quipped, sneaking past him as he groaned under his breath, neck luling back as he eyed you pouring yourself a cup of coffee.

“You know, you could get away with murder by calling me that.” He mumbled, caging you against the counter, his hot breath fanning against the shell of your ear.

“Who told you my master plan?” You chuckled, setting down the mug and leaning into his touch.

The man was, in every sense of the word, intoxicating. From the way he called your name to the feather like touches that sent electric shivers to explode through your body each and every time he held you. It was unnerving how easily you gave yourself to him. And completely out of character for you…

That was, of course, until you met Bucky Barnes.

Bucky hummed, a careless laugh rumbling against your skin as he spun you around, his lips instantly melting with yours.

You laced your arms around his neck, breathing him in - the faint taste of his mouthwash tingling against your tongue, rendering you weak.

His vibranium arm whirled, clutching you by your waist and lifting you effortlessly onto the counter as he stepped between your legs. His hands lazily rubbing your thighs, lips dancing across the sensitive skin on your throat.

“Bucky,” You managed to breathe out, head lulling back against the cupboards as he began tugging at your panties. “What about breakfast?”

Bucky chuckled, stilling in his movements as you met his gaze. His eyes, crinkled at the corners as he grinned down at you with a softness you couldn't quite put your finger on. With a soft kiss on the nose, he rested his forehead against yours, warm minty breath fanning against your lips.

“Sunshine, you're all I want.”

You smirked, miring his lopsided smile as you lifted yourself off the counter. In one skilful movement, Bucky had your panties sliding down your leg, hanging around your ankle as he pressed his erection against your dampness.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, blissed out as he dropped to his knees, hands on either side of your knees as he licked a long, hot strip up your thigh. His fingers, easing into your slick folds, opening you up as his tongue lapped against your dripping hole.

“Tease.” You accused, hands tangled in his cropped hair as he slipped his index finger deep inside, curling it against your fluttering walls.

“Is that so?” He mumbled, and though you couldn't see his lips, you knew the exact smirk playing on them.

You head snapped back, crashing against the wooden cupboard as his tongue found your clit, swirling around the aching bud as he drank you in. Your whole body was lit aflame - legs lazily wrapped around his broad shoulders while he made quick work of your impending orgasm.

You couldn't help it, the man knew every weak spot you had. The way he memorized every way to pull you apart in his hands had you trembling, begging to shatter.

“Oh god - fuck, Bucky. I’m-”

He hummed, and with the flick of his tongue, you were falling off the edge. Figuratively and literally and he held you up, your orgasm crashing over you like a title-wave as you drowned in it’s ecstasy.

“Fuck-” Bucky gasped, your slick coating his stubble as he licked his lips clean, the action causing you to shudder. “You taste so sweet. Gotta’ have you.”

Before you could answer, Bucky had you wrapped around his waist, spinning you carefully as you tumbled against the kitchen island, body still quivering. You watched from hooded eyes as he freed himself from his boxers, stroking his cock and lining himself up with your dripping cunt.

He sank into you, slowly at first, hooking his cold fingers under your knee and wrapping your leg around him. You could only arch your back, body aching and used as he carefully rocked his hips into you. You bit back a moan, watching Bucky toss his head back, eyes snapping shut while he slowed his pace.

You knew he was holding back, you had seen him come undone before. And yet, something about the way your bodies tangled together felt different. His actions- more deliberate and calculated. His body conveying something words never stood a fighting chance to.

He kept his agonizing pace, his length dragging against your walls, pulling him deeper into you until he had your eyes rolling back in your head. You begged for more, body vibrating as he pulled you against him. His lips, searing as they found yours, carelessly running down your throat and sucking on that sweet spot that had you moaning his name like a prayer.

“That’s it sunshine. Fuck, just like tha-”

Bucky’s fist crashed down beside you, his hips snapping to meet yours as he chased his high. You could feel the familiar coil building in your belly, his cock pulling you closer and closer to the very edge until he let out a gasp, hands finding your waist as he held you still. Spurts of his hot spend coated your walls, never easing up on his thrusts until he had you screaming his name.

You stayed like that, your head resting in the crook of his neck as you both tried to steady your breathing. Your heart felt like it might explode out of your chest as his hands ran circles across your back, grounding you and bringing you back to him.

“I’m falling in love with you, Buck.”

You didn't even know the words had left your lips as Bucky slipped himself out, eyes trained on yours. The silence before he spoke eating away at you until the gnawing almost became too much. Maybe he wasn't ready for that? Had you spoken too soon? Had you read the room-

“I can't believe you beat me to it.” Bucky chuckled, his lips instantly finding yours as he smiled into the kiss. “You’re full of surprises, aren't you, sunshine?”

“I’m full of something, Sarge.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader smut #msmarvelwrites #bucky barns x reader

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