#The Delicious Lest Course

[beloveds-embrace]

(a start to lady whistledown!reader x poly 141)

You never set out to become a sovereign in shadows.

Born the third daughter of a minor earl with more debts than land, your future had been inked long before you ever touched a quill. Like so many women of your station, you were meant to bloom early, marry well, and wither quietly behind silk curtains and social niceties lest you became one of those dreaded spinsters. Instead, you discovered something far more exhilarating than ballrooms and broken promises: the subtle power of knowing everything and saying just enough to keep the entire gentry on edge.

Lady Whistledown, thus, began as a lark.

A whispered alias, used first in a letter slipped beneath a dowager’s tea cup at a dull spring fête: “The Marchioness feigns fainting spells to avoid her husband’s touch. One wonders if it is for lack of desire… or fear of discovery.”

The reaction was immediate. The ripple that followed, delicious.

You wrote again. And again. And again and again and again.

Now, five seasons later, your words are sold at every reputable bookseller in London and traded like gold dust at every party of note. Men fear you; women envy you. Debutantes pray for your blessing; scoundrels pray for your silence. Your identity is the capital’s most carefully guarded mystery- your voice omniscient, your signature anonymous.

Only a few suspects have come close, but none have dared confront you without any solid proof.

Until now.

The parlor of your modest, yet exquisitely curated Mayfair home is unusually silent. Outside, snow slicks the cobbled street, muffling the sound of carriage wheels and gentlemen’s canes. A fire crackles in the hearth, fed with orange blossom logs you had imported from Florence. It perfumes the air; delicate, expensive, calculated. Like everything else about you.

You sit poised in a straight-backed rosewood chair, gloved hands resting on the pages of your most recent Whistledown column fresh off the press, ink still faintly damp.

Across from you sits Duke Price.

John Price is everything a man of his station should not be; rugged instead of polished (albeit still very, very handsome). Weathered by time and war, not just years at court. His dark hair is peppered with gray at the temples, and his trimmed beard frames a mouth set in a line of quiet command. He does not fidget. He does not look away. And when he speaks, it is not with the idle charm of so many peers but with the weight of a man accustomed to obedience.

He has not come to court you.

He has come to uncover you, uncouth and vulgar as that description may be.

“Lady Whistledown,” he says softly, but without pretense. “How long will you pretend not to be her?”

You smile. Not coquettishly, but dangerously; a smile used to wield power.

“A scandalous claim, Your Grace,” you reply, voice honeyed and lethal. “Do you accuse every woman in London who dares to read?”

“You write as someone who’s too clever to tolerate boredom. Someone who’s always watching.” His eyes narrow slightly. “And you knew things about my trade dealings that were never public.”

Ah. There it is.

That last column had struck too close. You had written, subtly, of a sudden dip in Price shipping contracts. “A shadow looms over Price’s waters,” you’d penned. “One wonders if it’s mere fog- or the presence of a rival wolf in the mist.”

Price had wolves, but so did you.

Behind him, standing just out of frame but not out of reach, looms Simon Riley, the other Duke in this tangle of quiet power. He’s dressed far less richly than his title would allow; dark wool, well-cut but subdued. He is known to London’s gentry as Ghost, a nickname born of war, whispered in mercantile corners and port cities, and a nickname that had strayed your hand from writing about him. But also because the textiles and fabrics Duke Riley had were to-die for, and you’d hate to be on his bad side even anonymously.

He says nothing, and he watches everything.

You had noted his habits before, of course. His silence, his precision, his loyalty to Price that went far beyond politics (and vice versa). And you had suspected the others, too.

Johnny MacTavish, Price’s resident chef, seemed entirely too cherished for a servant. His food was the talk of the Belgrave Quarter- decadent, intimate, nourishing in a way no cook-for-hire ought to be. But it was the way Price looked at him during one of your many watched-from-the-balcony dinners that gave the game away. Not just affection- but also Possession. Partnership far too close to be the scandalous friendship between a Duke and his servants.

And then there was Kyle Garrick, the head butler, whose movements through Price’s household were as seamless as silk and as lethal as a blade. You had seen him once while wandering the Price estate during a dinner, shirt sleeves rolled, hands gloved in soot and ash as he helped reset the hearth to an office room himself, Price’s hand low and secure on his back. He was not just the help.

They were a family of secrets, a tangled constellation orbiting Price.

A scandal in a world where scandals could end entire legacies.

You never published it. Not yet, anyways, and not out of just mercy, but also curiosity.

They were hiding. And you were watching, and now, Price is watching back.

“I suppose I’m flattered,” you say, rising slowly, each movement deliberate. You pace the length of the room, silk skirts swishing. “That a man like you would think me capable of undoing dukes with words alone.”

“Not just words,” he replies. “Truth.”

You stop near the hearth, eyes flickering towards the embers. “Why now, Your Grace?”

“Because someone’s trying to end my influence. Undermine my reach. My businesses are being outbid. My name, subtly slandered. And you”- he tilts his head- “have the best seat in the theatre.”

“I am not your enemy, Duke.”

“But you could be an ally.”

You glance at Simon, whose gaze does not waver, and you know he would never leave Price alone. Not truly.

You close the distance between yourself and John Price, stopping barely a breath away.

“And why,” you ask, voice low, “would I choose to entangle myself with four men whose entire existence is a powder keg of scandal?”

His answer is not spoken.

It is offered.

Simon steps forward first. A gloved hand lifts yours, fingers warm even through fabric. He bows- deep, proper- but there is nothing subservient about it. It is a knight’s oath, not a courtier’s gesture.

Behind him, John offers a letter- your name, not your pseudonym, elegantly scrawled in his own hand. An invitation to the Price Estate.

Not for tea, and not for a masquerade, but for the truth he has seemingly promised you.

You’re silent, for now. Because you are not used to being seen like this, unprotected by a fake name and the gossip columns.

John takes your other hand himself. This time, no glove. Skin to skin, scandalous.

“No masks,” he says, voice like thunder over velvet. “Not for us. Come to the Estate. Let us court you, not for spectacle, and not for society. For us, and what we can achieve.”

Your heart- normally ice and ink- stutters. Trembles and beats, excited; so many opportunities, so many chances, new heights of power and fame and the security of a marriage of your choice rather than being given away like cattle-

You exhale.

And for the first time in a decade, Lady Whistledown is speechless.

[shuastar]

Hey,can you write something about scoups one night stand ?

a/n: tumblr deleted everything i wrote so now im starting from scratch!! sorry about the delay finals and all.... i hate quarter systems with a passion

tumblr runs on a system of reblogs!! reblog/like/comment!! i <3 interacting

warnings: mdni, rich!seungcheol (implied), rich!reader (implied), lawyer!reader, virgin!reader (implied, kinda), daddy kink, multiple orgasms (implied), innocence kink (kinda implied), NSFW, wrap it before you tap it!!! (even though seungcheol doesn't!!!)

one night stand!seungcheol swears he doesn't usually do this -- get so drunken off someone's scent that he needs them viciously. he swears he's not the type -- and he isn't. he prefers a longer relationship, with commitments and sensual sex -- bed frame rocking gently against the hardwood floor of his penthouse, curtains of the giant windows set on do not disturb, the soft glow of his "sexy" yellow lights glowing against your skin. he swears that's the reason -- the reason his hands start to sweat, just a bit, when you step closer.

one night stand!seungcheol doesn't know how this happened. you were his best friend's sister. his fucking best friend's sister. you were supposed to be young, naive, innocent, kind, anything but the woman he was seeing in front of his eyes. anything but the woman with the low-cut dress and the elegant updo and the gorgeous, gorgeous smile that adorned your lipstick-painted lips.

one night stand!seungcheol remembers when you would drag his (shit-faced) best friend into your small studio apartment, throwing him on the pull-out bed. he remembers standing in the doorway, cheeks dusted a light red (from the cold, he told himself). he remembers you in a old oversized k-pop t-shirt and a random guy's boxers (he couldn't think about that for too long, lest he completely lost his shit), hair pulled back in a messy bun with glasses crooked on the bridge of your nose. he remembers your tired smile and dark eyebags as you half-heartedly invited him to also stay the night with a dry laugh. "aren't you too drink to be driving?" you would ask. he would shake his head no. he only had two drinks. it was mingyu that was out after his 12th soju-vodka-cranberry juice shot. "i'm fine. how're you holding up?" he tried to act nonchalant as he spied the law textbooks sprawled on the floor, disrupted by mingyu's loud movements. you gestured to the room. "as good as it'll get, i guess. wish mingyu could stop forgetting his own keys and coming to my place," you grumbled. seungcheol didn't have the heart to tell you that he secretly stole mingyu's keys because this would be the only way he could see your gorgeous tired face.

one night stand!seungcheol is in denial. he doesn't have time for this shit. he hasn't gone on a proper date in two years because all the girls he meets can't top his own work. being a ceo isn't a walk in the park. he has calls to answer and papers to sign and money to donate. he can't keep up a real relationship because every time he goes on a date, the woman leaves in the first thirty minutes and after he comes back from a five minute work call, the only thing he sees is the back of someone's dress. so why does your smile make his throat close up all of a sudden?

one night stand!seungcheol twitches, almost unconsciously when your fingers graze his biceps. your soft laughter fills his ears and your dizzying perfume (creed eau de parfum) fills the rest of his senses deliciously. he could eat you up. (metaphorically, of course). When you look up from your phone and see him across from you, your eyes crinkle and your lips lift in a smile. you and your senior prosecutor position in some law firm (he should know from many times mingyu's mentioned it, but he was too busy scrolling through your instagram posts). you and your twinkling eyes, gazing up at him like you knew exactly what he was thinking.

one night stand!seungcheol feels like a virgin around you. he's had sex before, he swears. but his knees buckle when the first of your begs leave your lips. you beg. you beg. you beg with doe-eyes, filled with unshed tears of frustration. you beg with pouted lips and if he had any less self control, he would have already kissed it off of you. "pplease?" you whisper, hands wrapping around his broad shoulders. you lay your head against his chest and he can feel your hot breaths fan over his pecs. "seungcheol, please? for me?" you beg, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. you were seducing him. and it was not working. you were his best friend's sister.

one night stand!seungcheol can't help but pull away, for a split second. "y'know i can't," he groans, as he sees your teary eyes and pouty lips, lipstick smudged at the corners from your makeout session only minutes prior. "fuck, don't look at me like that, baby," he rasps, arms wrapping around your silken waist. his hands squeeze at your hips, before creeping upwards towards your dress's falling neckline. "why?" you whine, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. he feels hot -- even with his belt unbuckled, shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up dangerously high. your warm body tempts him so much -- the way you press yourself against him, the way you whine against his skin, the way you grasp for his attention. such a virgin, is his first thought. his perverted dangerous thought.

one night stand!seungcheol has to give in. it's you, for gods sake. how can he say no when you're sucking blues and purples against his neck? your hand roams the expanse of his muscled back, a breathy moan here-and-there as he gropes and sucks on your breasts, now free from the confines of your corsetted bodice. he's so addicted. he doesn't even have enough control to stop his hips bucking up against your fleeting touch. your other hand trails down and down -- down his chest, abs, stopping at the straining tent in his business slacks. your soft touches that scatter around his throbbing cock because you don't know.

one night stand!seungcheol curls into you when you finally take him out of his pants. "fuck, just like that," he groans into your ear, as your fingers wrap around his red-tipped cock, tip dribbling pearl precum into your hands. both of your clothes sit discarded on the floor, and you lay your head against his leg as your hands work their magic on his jupming length. one hand rests gently on your head, the other fisting your white hotel room bed sheets with a foreign ferocity. he's never seen you as anythign else but innocent, pure, perfect. but now, the only thought that float around his mind are perverted and horribly dangerous -- breedable, fuckable, devourable.

one night stand!seungcheol has to stop you in the middle of the best handjob because he doesn't want to cum on your face in five minutes flat. "fuck. c'mere, baby," he mumbles, easily lifting you off of your knees and into his lap, placing you gently on his thighs. his hand brushes stray pieces of hair stuck to your face away. he needs to see you. see your expression, your eyes, your pretty face. "you good?" he asks, just in case. just in case you were in a drunken stupor -- cock drunken stupor. just in case you weren't on the same page. just in case- "oppa," you moan gently, hips canting into his. your bare pussy rubs up against his cock and his grip on your waist tightens exponentially. "seungcheol oppa," you gasp as the tip of his length pokes and probs against your puffy clit, hungry for attention. "please. please, please, please. need it. wan' it. been wanting it. ever since-" you cut yourself off with a gasp as two of seungcheol's fingers swipe against your messy core, dripping with want for him. all of him.

one night stand!seungcheol needs to forcefully hold himself back. he needs to, or else he's afraid he'll rip your pussy open, because his cock isn't even halfway in and there are tears falling from your precious eyes. he mentally slaps himself at the way his cock hardens even more at the sight. "y' okay?" he grunts, biceps straining, breath coming out in pants at the tight grip of your pussy. you won't let up. "hurts," you cry, burying your head into his arms. "won't fit, oppa. can't- how- too big," you gasp as he pushes just a little bit more in. he needs to because it feels like you're cutting off his circulation, makign his brain fuzzy and shit.

one night stand!seungcheol rolls his hips into your experimentally. he's not ready for the pornographic moan of pleasure that escapes your opened lips. you're gone. already. you're gone and he knows because there are tears lining your waterline, your kiss-bitten lips are parted ever-so-slightly, your nails scratch down his back desperately, and your legs shake from their purchase around his waist. "y/n, fuck. fuck, y' feel s'good. so g-good for me. just f'me, yeah?" he mumbles in your ear, like you can hear him through your own tumbling moans. every sharp thrust he gives you feels like you can feel his cock in your ribs. none of you toys could compare. if anything, as soon as you got home, every single one of them was going into the trash. seungcheol's deft fingers crawl in between your bodies and rub small circles against your clit. "ah!" your hips buck uncontrollably and seungcheol groans as his hands pin your tratorious hips to the bed. a shaky laugh escapes his throat. "feel good, baby? tha' feel good f'you?" his fingers rub again, and you feel tingly -- like something was building up in your body. you can't help but writhe in his grasp, nails streaking red down his back. "fuck! oh my- oh- holy- da-" you cut yourself off with a muffled shriek as seungcheol pounds into you, fingers furious on your deprieved bud. your tears finally fall. down and down your cheeks. "shit, shit, shit," you moan and gasp, toes curling at this foreign feeling of pleasure. if you knew sex was this good you would've hooked up sooner.

one night stand!seungcheol's hips falter at your next words. "fuck, daddy, fuck me," you moan, throwing your head back against the pillows and your back arching so sexy off the bed. his arms wrap around your waist almost automatically. his hips cant into yours like on autopliot and the only thing that falters is his breath. you moan out a few more profanities, daddy being one of them. he can't believe his ears. you. calling him daddy. the thought of it alone sends another rush of arousal to his cock. and apparently that proved to be the breaking point of him because he lets out his loudest moan, catching himself before he falls on top of you, hips loosing their rhythm as he chases his high. "oh my g-god," he gasps, hands cupping your jaw. you're no better. "wanna cum, daddy," you cry, wrapping your arms around his neck. "wanna cum so bad, please, please, please. please let me cum -- wan' it. wan' yours. daddy, daddy, daddy..." you moan out the words like a fucking mantra. and he's on his breaking point. you cannot be real. you feel like a character out of his perverted fairy tale. "fuck, wan' my cum, princess?" he moans back. he has no idea what he's saying at this point. he's talking with his dick. 100%. "take it" he grunts, fingers desperate to bring you to your high before his last straw finally snaps. "fuckin' cum, baby. fuckin' cum and take mine like a good girl, yeah?" a couple more stuttered thrusts and he has you convulsing, almost not breathing, on the sheets, body tensing as you reach your third orgasm, shaking and moaning like a fucking porn star.

one night stand!seungcheol lets out a jumble of curse words as he goes right after you, body jerking as he empties out his creamy cum inside your pussy. his body falls on yours, the smell of sex and cologne wrapping around your spent form. he stays like that until you sniffle, hand going up to wipe at your eyes. "fuck, you okay?" he pushes off of you, sitting up to gently scan you for possible injuries. you let out a small laugh of disbelief, a smile curving itself into your lips. "m' fine. jus' sore. a little." you mumble, shying away from his gaze. a deep blush coats your cheeks as you look around for something to cover yourself with. seungcheol pulls you towards him, scooping you into his arms. "where you goin' huh?" his voice rumbles in his chest as he gives you a lopsided grin. "can't let my princess go off alone like this." you groan in embaressment. "i didn't mean to call you..." you trail off "...daddy," you whisper, burying your face in your hands as seunghcheol brings you to the bathroom, turning on the bath water.

one night stand!seungcheol can't help but stare at your sleeping face, gently caressing your jaw, arms, hips, waist, everything. he can't help but wonder what would have happened if he had just dated you to start with. his heart almost stops in its tracks when you turn towards him and inches closer, snuggling into his beefy embrace.

one night stand!seungcheol and you have to face the consequences of the night: your brother. but as your brother yells and pulls at his hair and blaches and walks into a glass wall, you and seungcheol stare at eachother, giddy lovesick smiles painted on your faces.

[dlscenarios]

Did I Make You Scream?

Billy Loomis x f!Reader SMUT

"Am I the most fucking fantastic freak you've ever seen...?"

Cw: SMUT, AFAB Reader, Established Relationship (Billy x Reader instead of Sidney), Reader wears a skirt for ✨convenience✨, Reader's called "good girl" one (1) time, Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Orgasm Denial, Cunnilingus, Reader's pu$$y referred to as "she" one (1) time, Allusion to squirting?

MDNI

Act 2 was inspired by this Billy post! (Link to a pr0n video beware)

You've always hated horror movies.

The jumpscares, the excessive gore, the awkwardly-placed sex scenes all never appealed to you, even as you sat covered by a fuzzy blanket on Stu's couch with your boyfriend's hand resting on your leg, his thumb idly brushing over your knee. As the movie droned on, you'd found yourself rather enamored by the sight of the VHS slot instead of the kills that Billy was intently watching. You sighed and rested your head against his shoulder, adjusting yourself in a way that caused his hand to slide just a little closer to your inner thigh.

Without a word or tearing his eyes away from the TV, Billy leaned his head onto yours. As what felt like the hundredth murder scene ended, he turned and nosed your hair with a soft kiss. You cracked a soft smile and nuzzled into his shirt. His hand slipped further up your thigh, getting dangerously close to the hem of your skirt. You leaned up to glare at him, silently telling him off at the sight of his faint smirk.

Billy didn't stop. Instead, he ventured further into your skirt. The tips of his fingers trailed along the edge of your panties all while keeping his darkened eyes on you. In retrospect, you should have known he'd try something. He never wanted to stop touching you, always tracking you down just to hold your hand or wrap his arm around you. You never minded, of course, but with his clinginess came his "horny teenager" side as well and it was never easy to deny him when just the look of a desperate Billy made you want him just as much.

The pads of two fingers ghosted over your clothed clit, causing your legs to widen around your boyfriend's arm before instantly snapping shut as he rolled your clit between the very same fingers. Biting your lip, you readjusted in your seat, praying that your moves didn't seem suspicious to any of the people around you. Knowing them — especially Randy and Stu — they'd make some crude remark even if Billy's touches were completely innocent.

As his hand continued its slow circles, Billy kissed the side of your head again before nuzzling into your hair and whispering, "No sudden noises."

All you could do was side eye him as he turned his gaze back to the movie. You tried to do the same, but your focus was completely on Billy's hand. It pressed against your clit, deft fingers running in deliciously slow circles. As the music in the film rose in pitch, his hand left your clit, sneakily pulling your panties to the side before its teasing returned on your slick heat. You readjusted again in an attempt to hide the way your hips chased after his touch. Billy remained stoic, eyes glued to the movie. When the killer appeared again on screen, his middle finger slowly pushed in.

One glance in your boyfriend's direction told you he was having to hold back too; his body briefly tensed and biting his own lip. His eyes fluttered shut as he inserted another finger, relishing in the way you clenched around the two as another girl on screen fell limply to the floor in a puddle of blood. He carefully pumped into you, wanting to remain as quiet as possible lest the idiots beside him caught on. Your own hand, the one closest to Billy, clutched his forearm, a feeble attempt at trying to find a way to keep silent.

Billy kept fucking you with his fingers, biting back a shiver as your arousal coated his hand. It was surely dripping onto the couch, not that either of you really cared. If it was in Stu's house, it's definitely experienced worse. As Billy slumped further into the back of the couch, his wetted hand slipped out, trailing your slick up to rub your clit again. Your free hand gripped the couch cushion under you. You were close and if Billy didn't stop, you weren't sure you could bite back the sounds when you'd inevitably come. He must have sensed it too as, not missing a beat, he retracted his hand and slid your underwear back into place.

You huffed and attempted to throw a glare at him, unsure if it actually came out upset or more pleading. Billy's hand trailed up your thigh, leaving a trail of your arousal along your skin.

As if it were a miracle, the movie ended not long after, but as Randy got up to grab another tape, Billy announced that you weren't feeling well and offered to take you to Stu's parents' room to rest. You stared at him as he stood, grabbing your arm to bring you with him. He pushed you a step ahead as you made your way out of the living room and up to the nearest empty bedroom.

He shut the door behind him and slid the lock into place before demanding, "Sit your pretty ass on that bed."

You obeyed without a word, immediately sitting at the edge. Billy stalked toward you, brown eyes darting around your form before dropping to his knees in front of you, hands prying your legs apart as he innocently gazed up to your face.

"So fucking pretty...My good girl..," he uttered before biting a kiss into your inner thigh. He placed a few more, inching closer to your wet heat. His fingers looped into the waistband of your underwear, meeting your eyes once more as he tugged them off. His face neared your core. "She's been waiting for me, huh?"

You nodded, watching with bated breath as Billy's tongue darted out to lick a line along your slit. His lips enclosed around your clit, expertly sucking as his eyes fluttered closed. His tongue explored you as if it hasn't in years, like it was his first meal in decades. The hand stationed on your thigh left, pushing two fingers into you one by one. You bit your lip as a whine slipped through with a roll of your hips. His fingers pistoned into that sensitive spot in you, an obvious and deprived switch from how slowly they teased you earlier.

"Fuck..." Your shaking whisper was the first time you'd spoken in hours and it came as your head lolled back, feeling your denied orgasm from before returning. "Baby..."

Billy's lips abandoned you to press a wet kiss to your pubic bone. "Come for me, baby."

At his command, your hand laced into his hair, guiding his mouth back to your clit. He growled against your skin, fingers moving even faster.

"Fuck, it's coming baby..," you moaned, holding him impossibly close as the coil in your stomach tightened. With another, harsher suck to your clit, you bucked into his mouth as you finally came, clutching the bed under you as you threw head back with a gasp. Buried beneath your trembling moans, you heard the squishing sound of Billy's fingers guiding you through your orgasm, your juices trickling down his arm as he continued the assault. You chanted expletives until Billy eased up after your legs began to shake.

He pulled away, looking you dead in the eyes as he licked your arousal from his fingers, a habit he'd grown to love after your first time together. You smiled weakly, following his every move as he sat straighter and brought you in for a tender kiss. As he pulled back, a hand on the back of your head and the other resting comfortably on your thigh, he whispered, "I love you. So damn much, baby."

"Love you too..." you replied before cupping his head and bringing him in for another, passionate kiss.

Maybe horror movies weren't so bad after all.

[saphig-iawn]

Wish Fulfilment

A part of my hypnosis that never ceases to satisfy me is being able to narrow that gap between someone's fantasy and their reality; that I can speak my words into green ribbon and thread those two ideas together in beautiful lacing so that my dear sweet Dolls can experience their deepest fantasies.

While sometimes that may only last in the session I also love to weave that felt fantasy into a spell or an incantation, that whenever I utter it, all of those sense memories and transformations come flooding back.

My session with this Doll was no different.

Her transformation began with a powerful pulse of pleasure deep between her legs; an irresistable ache swelled and it demanded satisfaction.

Every neuron in her brain was firing with twinned arousal and apprehension, as she knew that the moment she'd begin to stroke was a point of no return.

But the ache grew impatient; her panties pleading with her body to give in lest they give way, oblivious to the traps and transformations I had woven to lie in wait.

Her breathing quickened, her chest heaved, she had to do something. She had to do someth-

She touched.

She gave in.

The ache moaned in relief as she began to buck her hips into her hand, but the relief was shortlived.

She felt her body begin to shift and quiver.

Every part of her began to sharpen and focus into a single goal. She wanted to fight, she wanted to just stroke and stroke but she couldn't ignore the urge that was engorging in her chest, trying to break out.

The urge to moo.

She strained and groaned through flushed cheeks and gritted teeth, but her moans began to lengthen, her pleasure would flourish with each one, it just felt so good to milk her udder.

Seeing the moment she gave in was delicious.

Her back arched as she reached for her swelling breasts, and a long and yearning moo burst through her lips.

Her eyes widened.

She questioned her state with the quietest moo, before being tossed about the waves of the pleasure coursing through her.

My sweet dairy cow was helpless to herself now.

Words began to fail her, her vocabulary leaking away through her udder. But that was ok because she could moo.

Mooing felt right, like there was no other way to communicate how good she felt. Every expression of her breasts and udder felt perfect.

She made such sweet milk for me.

Above all, it just felt so good to see her let go. To let her worries and stresses of being human be washed away by bovine bliss.

She keeps telling me how much she wants to be my dairy cow again, and with a simple uttering of the spell...

She'll have no choice but to be.

______________________________________________________________ Did you enjoy? Here's my ko-fi if you fancy leaving a tip or want to talk about being transformed yourself!~

[babybearnation]

cause i've got a soft spot (i've got it for you)

⎇paul aron x m!team boss!reader - you don't play favourites, but with paul... (smau) ⎇author's note: my first ever non-texts post and AHHH this is so nerve-wracking omd!! pls be nice to me PLS ⎇content warnings: team boss/racer relationship, hate comments, suggestive content, implied homophobia, arguing

Paul sighs, wiping his hands on his pants for the umpteenth time. His leg bounces restlessly and he's rather glad he got here after Arthur had already gone into the room to meet Y/n otherwise he's sure he would've annoyed his future teammate before the season could even start.

Paul's about to stand up and start pacing when the door clicks and swings open, Arthur walking out first. Paul watches as Arthur and Y/n exchange farewells before standing up and smiling when Y/n beckons him into the room.

"Paul, hi. Come on in." Y/n says. Paul crosses to the room, smiling as he enters the vast area. He's vaguely aware of the many thoughts he's having about Y/n and how young he is and how insanely attractive he is, but he's pushing them all down.

Professionalism, Paul, come on!

"So, welcome to the team." Y/n says as he sits down, folding his hands atop the desk as he smiles warmly at Paul. Paul finds himself flushing lightly, warmth lighting up his body.

"It's great to be here. Thank you for giving me this opportunity." Paul says, his words feeling thick and heavy on his tongue. Thank you doesn't feel good enough, but his English is clunky and he doesn't want to make a fool out of himself.

"Your post-season test with Alpine showed fantastic potential and we have the finances to invest in more... how shall I put this?" Y/n trails off, tapping his chin before shrugging. "More risky decisions, shall we say."

"Right." Paul says, an embarrassment flushing throughout his system. Do they really think he's gonna be that bad?

"Not that that's a reflection on you or Arthur, of course. I have my confidence firmly placed in both of your hands. But, well, you know how fans and higher ups can be." Y/n says, laughing softly. Paul latches onto the sound instantly, something flickering to life in his gut.

"I totally understand what you mean. Thank you for your confidence. I hope my performance can please you, Mr. Y/l/n." Paul says, all the drilled-in media training entwining with the words that drip from his tongue.

"Please, Paul, call me Y/n. I don't want this to feel like a job to you, but rather a family." Y/n smiles again and Paul finds himself naturally smiling back, all his previous nerves and professionalism replaced with a twisted sense of desire. "Now, about this family thing. Let's go get some lunch with the rest of the staff, shall we? I'm quite famished."

Paul thinks he might like it here.

liked by arthur_leclerc, cbaceracing, and 62,880 others

paularon_ Thank you to @/cbaceracing for signing me on as one of their 2025 drivers. I hope everyone is excited to see me on the grid next year. (And thank you @/aronralf for the silly cake).

comments

user1 let's go, paul on the f1 gridddddd

cbaceracing It's gotta be a good year when you've got Paul Aron on your team, huh @/hitechgp 😉 ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ liked by paularon_ hitechgp Can't disagree with that, can we? 😉 liked by paularon_

user2 This is fucking insane, I'm so happy right now.

arthur_leclerc I look forward to racing with you next year, mate. liked by paularon_

user3 Arthur's gonna fucking run your shit into the dirt. You're awful. user1 ew, who asked you? user2 Jealousy gets you nowhere, mate 🙄

aronralf That cake was delicious, I think we can both agree. liked by paularon_ paularon_ Remind me who ate most of it again?

Y/n sighs, pacing back and forth as he drags his fingers through his hair. He probably shouldn't dishevel his appearance too much lest he come off as unprofessional or unattractive, but it's been his bad habit for years, so bad habit it shall remain.

His fingers drift down to his tie and he's just about to tug it loose and retie it when there's a knock at the door. He crosses over instantly, tugging it open with far too much excitement, smiling breathlessly when he spots Paul on the other side.

"Hello, come on in." Y/n says, stepping to one side to let Paul through. Paul greets him softly and enters the room, sitting in the chair closest to Y/n's one. Y/n's heart most resolutely does not flutter.

"What's happening? Is everything alright? You look like a mess, to be honest." Paul says. Y/n huffs out a laugh as he leans against the desk, gazing down at Paul.

"Something is plaguing me." Y/n says, wincing when a headache decides to form behind his eyelids. Why right now? When he looks at Paul again, the younger man has a troubled expression on his face.

"Is everything okay with the team?" Paul asks. Y/n wants to laugh. Paul's devotion to the team is already showing and Y/n hasn't even had to do anything to make it happen! It's adorable, it really is.

"Yes, yes, all good. It's more myself." Y/n says. The headache throbs and he reaches over the desk, snatching up his water bottle and drinking a greedy mouthful. A stray droplet trickles down his cheek and he wipes it away with a calculated finger.

"So what's wrong? Is there any way I can help? I mean... you must've called me here for a reason, right?" Paul says, as observant as ever. Y/n smiles softly at him.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go on a date with me." Y/n says, puffing his chest out in triumph. He did it, he said it, now hopefully he's not going to get rejected.

"I- is that not inappropriate? Won't people claim you favour me?" Paul sputters, his cheeks a delicate pink.

"I've held feelings for you for a while. No favouring claims have come out, have they?" Y/n says. He's practically baring the very depths of his soul to Paul right now, an embarrassing hue of red surely filling his face and trickling down his neck.

"That's true..." Paul says, looking away from Y/n's gaze. Y/n smiles and leans down, capturing one of Paul's hands in his own.

"You can say no. I won't react negatively, I promise." Y/n says. Paul nods stiltedly before smiling up at him.

"I'd love to go on a date with you, Y/n."

Every single member of staff who currently fill both Paul and Arthur's garages come pouring out as Paul crosses the line to start his final lap, Arthur hot on his tail. They cram along the fences and the walls around CB Ace Racing's pitbox as Y/n smiles at the screens in front of him.

A 1-2 finish. Every team boss's dream. Every team's dream. Whilst Arthur would surely wish he had finished first, Y/n knew he wouldn't hold that grudge and would celebrate just as hard, if not harder, than Paul would tonight.

One last corner. One last straight. One last bit.

"Paul Aron, you are the winner of the Silverstone Grand Prix!" Cheers and thunderous applause rise up throughout the pitlane as CB Ace staff pound the fences and hoot and holler in excitement over their hard work finally paying off. Paul's white and purple car continues on around the circuit as his radio crackles to life.

"We did it! I did it for you, CB Ace Racing! I did it for you, Callum! I did it for you, Y/n!" You smile as Paul thanks everyone, the tears that are probably soaking into the material of his balaclava audible through his voice.

"You did it, Paul. You did it." Y/n says, proud and triumphant. He listens to Arthur's radio and congratulates him as well before pulling his headphones off and slowly following the rest of his team over to parc fermé.

As he goes, Y/n thinks to himself about how big this was for them. A rookie team. Two rookie drivers. Hundreds of points and a handful of podiums under their belt. And now a win. It was a dream come true as well as a big fuck you to everyone who had doubted them.

Y/n lines up front and centre as he watches Paul pull into parc fermé, the white and purple of his car sparkling and practically iridescent under the British sun. Arthur's car comes next but Y/n isn't able to stare for long, Paul clambering out of his car seconds later.

Paul stands atop his car and cheers, all the mechanics and staff around Y/n cheering along too. Y/n claps, slowly and patiently, as he waits for Paul to get weighed. Before long, his helmet has been discarded and he starts running over.

Straight to Y/n.

"I did it!" Paul says as he all but collapses in Y/n's arms. Y/n holds him close, offering his hand to Arthur when the other man appears moments later. He rolls his eyes fondly at Paul and Y/n before moving over to congratulate the rest of the staff.

The interviews and the cool down room waiting period passed so quickly Y/n was almost sure he imagined them. Before long, however, he stands in a crowd of thousands, eyes fixed on his two drivers. On his boyfriend. On his staff. On the legacy they've created in only their first year. And there's still more to come.

As the Estonian and British national anthems fill the Silverstone circuit in rapid succession, Y/n feels ecstatic.

Paul knocks against the doorframe. Arthur's driver's room door is open, but Paul doesn't want to just barge in without getting some sort of consent.

"Paul! Come on in." Arthur says, looking up from his phone with a soft smile. Paul smiles in return and slowly enters the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

"Can we talk?"

"Of course." Arthur says, locking his phone and placing it to one side, all his attention fixed solely on Paul. It's a bit daunting. "What is up?"

"You know me and Y/n are dating right?" Paul says, watching as Arthur's eyes widen almost comically in shock. "That's a no then."

"No clue." Arthur clarifies, laughing softly. A small amount of tension bleeds from the atmosphere at that and Paul finds himself relaxing somewhat.

"Well we are and um, do you think it seems like he favours me?" Paul asks, wringing his hands together. The question was out there now, simmering in the air between them. Arthur hmm's, causing Paul to look up and meet his eyes.

"No, not at all. You two seem closer, but I've never felt like you were prioritised over me." Arthur says, shrugging with a wonky expression on his face.

"Oh thank god. I was so worried someone would think that was the case. People are already getting suspicious about us on Twitter." Paul says, all the tension seeping from his shoulders, allowing him to practically melt against the wall behind him.

"Ah, Twitter rumours. The place of all good F1 commentary." Arthur snarks, both of them laughing at the idiocy of his words.

"That's an understatement."

liked by paularon_, arthur_leclerc and 20,072 others

y/n.cbace Sorry everyone, but this one's mine. (Bonus Arthur with Paul at the end I guess? 🙄)

tagged paularon_, arthur_leclerc

comments

paularon_ Love you, kallikene 🤍 liked by y/n.cbace y/n.cbace Love you more 😘

arthur_leclerc What's that supposed to mean 😐 liked by y/n.cbace y/n.cbace Nothingggg! I love you equally, just in different ways! arthur_leclerc Uh-huh, sure 😒 liked by y/n.cbace

neonpinkleds I TOLD Y'ALL MOTHERFUCKERS !!!!

user3 Eugh, the only reason you got the seat is because you're fucking the team principal. user1 Just say you're jealous you're not getting your dick wet🙄 liked by y/n.cbace

© all rights to babybearnation 2024.

[koolades-world]

Hello! When you have time can you please do headcanons on the brothers (and side characters) reacting to MC pranking them by getting a brussel sprout, dipping it in chocolate and nuts, then wrapping it into a ferrero rocher covering and then going so far as to reseal the box? I think this would be really funny lol

hiii!! yes omg of course

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BESTIE (i think i timed this right? if not, i'm close bc it's still your birthday week lol) y'all go wish atom happy bday! literally so many of my bangers are a request she made. hope you had a wonderful birthday <3333

enjoy <3

Mc pranks everyone with fake Ferrero Rochers

Lucifer

he actually automatically assumes the anti-lucifer league put you up to this

you manage to dodge all liability for something you were totally responsible for

take this secret to the grave lest you suffer the wrath of lucifer haha

Mammon

he loves you so much, so he pretends to enjoy it since he assumes it's just an odd human thing

however afterwards, he immediately throws it away

you might casually mention it again in the future and then he realizes it was a prank all along

Levi

may or may not burst into tears because he thinks you hate him and that's why you gave it to him

please buy him a regular tray and show him it was just a prank

if you really love him, eat one yourself to show how sorry you are

Satan

if you were anyone else, there's no way you'd still be alive

seems the most likely to spit it out, but laughs it off with you

he might play a harmless prank on you back and hopes it's not the start of some mini war

Asmo

will outright ask you if you were being serious or not

that intense look in his eyes gets you to confess

as payback, he has you act as his mannequin for the evening to test out fun outfits and makeup looks on

Beel

he's the wrong one to prank lmao

he will deadpan eat them, tell you how oddly delicious and different they tasted

will ask for more. prank: failed

Belphie

he sees right through your shit

he will eat one, but will immediately realize what you did

won't retaliate but will give you the meanest stink eye ever

Diavolo

will happily eat it

he thinks it's just a human thing and will make sure to let you know he enjoyed it

it seems as if he actually liked it! is this success or not?

Barbatos

that 'candy' will not enter his mouth once

it's barbatos, he saw this coming and won't fall for it

in fact, you somehow end up eating it. well played barb, well played

Simeon

would for sure pretend to enjoy it

he doesn't want to hurt your feelings after all, since it was a gift

unless you ever admit to what you did, he will never say anything about it

Luke

like father like son

he assumes it was a well intentioned gift and will take the fact that he hated it to the grave

honestly maybe just don't do this to him it feels cruel haha

Solomon

he seems like he'd actually enjoy it

just convince him that it's just how they are now and he's been away from the human world for too long

however, this will all go out the window as soon as he buys himself a tray haha

Mephisto

he feels so betrayed haha

here he was, thinking you'd gone out of your way to give him a gift

contemplates retaliation, but decides not to because he deems himself a gentleman

Thirteen

she doesn't contemplate retaliation

her plan had already begun to moment she took a bite of your monstrosity haha

you may want to watch your back from now on, but she'll probably get you anyways

Raphael 

i feel like he would at first be confused

but then, he's going to threaten you with his spear(s)

run for you life mc!

[vagabond-umlaut]

⁙ ensnared

No matter what the world says, no matter what the world believes in, Gojo is nothing but a puny fly to the wily spider that you are. Flying headfirst into the gossamer web your skilled fingers have spun, time after time after time— The silk threads, perfectly tailored. Just for him.

▸ Gojo x Wife!Reader; Tooth-Rotting Domestic Fluff; Very Very Suggestive Themes; Nudity; Mentions of Food & A Plant Dying; Gojo calls his wife 'cookie'; Everything is fair in love and war ;) [This Fic's Rated Mature -> MDNI!!! ^_^]

▸ This is for you, Dilay! *MWAH MWAH MWAH* @roseqzpd

For all that is said about him, Gojo is a man who succumbs to only two temptations.

One:

Sweet dishes, regular intake of which will put anyone into a hyperglycemic crisis. [Good thing, he isn't just 'anyone'.]

And the other one:

You. His wife. His sweet, sweet, sweetest wife, who's currently peering up at him from his lap, wrapped in nothing except a way too tiny bath towel— however– he instructs himself the nth time since you emerged from the bathroom– you are a temptation he refuses to cave in to... just for now.

Strangely cognizant of his mind [like you are, more often than not], Gojo watches you intently stare at his lips for a full two seconds. Then repeat the request you made less than thrice today, but your husband already feels his defenses crumbling.

"'Toruuu," you whine, wrapping your arms round his neck and pressing closer, "Won't you help your wife choose a pretty outfit for today's get-together? I'm so confused... You want your wife to look the best among all the ladies there– tell me, don't you?"

"'Course, I do, cookie!" he exclaims, indignant as to how you could ever think anything otherwise— before a sudden ping! from his laptop sends him careening to the ground like a deflated balloon.

The poor man sighs. "But there's still so much work left to be done–"

"– which you can always complete once you've helped me, 'Toru," you cut him off with a pout, that slowly gathers a playful tinge as you ask, "Why are you behaving like this, though? Usually, you jump at the faintest chance to get out of paperwork. But now..."

Eyes growing comically wide, your voice sinks to a conspiratorial whisper. So worried, so cute. "Did anyone threaten to leak where your secret sweets stash is, 'Toru? If you– you know– submit these reports too late like always, eh?"

The only response your husband manages to eke out for your query is a very strained chuckle... 'cause, yeah, that's right.

Nanami promised to do exactly that– telling his very dear but having-black holes-for-stomachs students where his foreign sweets are stored– besides telling you how the white-haired man hogged ten chocolates one day despite his allowed daily two– and how your favourite star cactus didn't die from age but from him overwatering it, that week you were on a mission in France two months back– should he submit anything late ever again... But, no, wait.

You were on a foreign trip when he was given this ultimatum, and returned only last night. And Nanami promised to not tell you these yet– at least, not any time before that damned deadline's over. So, how...

"'Toruuu," Your petulant self, very adorably so, draws him away from his musings. And Gojo swears, if he wasn't losing before, he certainly is now. Your watery eyes, lower lip jutted out just the right amount and your nails leaving a delicious trail on his undercut— they've always been too strong for the world's strongest sorcerer.

Groaning, he leans forward to rest his forehead on yours. And darts his eyes to bore into yours lest they travel to your soft skin peek– NO, DON'T GO THERE. NOT NOW. PLEASE.

He huffs. "Okay, fine."

You open your mouth, probably to screech in delight, but your husband shushes you with a finger to your lips. He continues, shifting his tone to a graver timbre, "But only to help you choose your outfit– nothing else."

Lips curving into a wide smile behind his finger, your eyes gleam in terribly concealed delight. He has to actively stop himself from kissing you right then and there— there are still three mission reports left to be filed.

"And if I catch you trying to change the stream to anything else," he warns. You nestle closer into him, blinking your gorgeous eyes up at him in silent wait. A chuckle [which sounds more embarrasingly choked than anything] leaves him.

Features shifting into something brighter than a supernova, you push his finger away. And giggling, say, "You won't go easy on me— right, 'Toru?"

[In hindsight, though, Gojo thinks he should have recognised this plan to be yours.

From the way you step out the bathroom, not in your usual bathrobe but a towel... To the way you beg him to help decide your dress, in spite of knowing well how he leans towards only white or light blue choices... To the way your towel– pretty conveniently and accidentally, of course– slips lower not even ten minutes into the task...

To the soft 'Oops!' you exhale but make no move to cover your exposed chest, a mute thrill clear in the curve on your lips as you watch him watch, drink in, mentally devour the delectable sight before— your ever-present coyness nowhere to be found even as he strips you, nothing hiding you anymore from his starving gaze...

To the smug smile you're offering him now, the next day, after he's been thoroughly chewed out by Yaga for submitting his work a whopping four hours late...

Your wicked, brilliant, bewitching eyes go from him, to the mountain of empty candy wrappers on the centre table, to the empty pot of soil on the windowsill– the one that had your annoying, attention-hogging desert plant– then return to him.

A shudder runs down his spine— which doesn't take long to transform into a shiver of excitement. And a very, very warm burst of fondness right in the middle of his chest.

The man shakes his head with a laugh, 'cause—

For all that is said about him, Gojo is a man who succumbs to only two temptations.

And he'll be a fool, if he is to mess with the second– and more important of the two–

You.

His sweet, sweet, sweeter than the sweetest sweet dish, but startlingly sharp wife.]

[Also, no joke, but isn't your 'Toru insanely in love with you, even more for that?]

Gojo, some time later: My cookie is sooo smart– did ya know that, Nanamin? Hehe. Nanami: Why TF do you always hide in my office every time your wife is mad at you?

▸ Divider by @hitobaby. Header from Pinterest. I don't own the characters used here.

▸ masterlist

[munsster]

cropped

A/N: if i had a boyfriend i would simply cut off the bottoms of all of his shirts. it’s not toxic, im just a girl (gif creds: @lomlkeery)

Pairing: Walter “Keys” McKey x GN!Reader

Summary: You convince your easily flustered boyfriend to put on a crop top. 0.7k words

Warnings: a little bit of physical insecurity, fluff, kissing, pet names (sweetheart)

"Keys, get your cute butt out here! I wanna see."

Oh, but he's groaning through the door already. You had burst into the apartment parading an overzised bag full of soft cottons and light denim, dropped it at his feet, and declared you bought him a new outfit. And that he must try it on. You picked it out special for him after all.

"Really? I mean, it fits great, I just..."

You've been pining over his midriff since he yawned one wednesday afternoon, arms stretched high above his head, shirt riding up just enough to expose his navel to your wandering eyes. So, of course, you warmed him up to the idea of shorter shirts. Crop tops, to be specific. You know, like the kind Johnny Depp sports in Nightmare on Elm Street. Or Mark Wahlberg in that cheeky Calvin Klein ad.

Keys wasn't sure for a while, but he noticed the way your face lit up at the mere thought, and figured why the hell not. But now, he's staring down at the crop of this particular top and thinking this whole thing might've been an oversight on his part. The light grey tank is loose around his ribcage, the graphic on the front some generic athletic slogan.

I don't want you to realize you wasted your money on an outfit that's a little lackluster now that I'm wearing it, he thinks. Which is silly, and he knows that you like anything he has on simply because he's the one wearing it. But the thought still creeps in. He startles when you knock on the master bathroom door.

"You okay in there?" you coo, tapping your fingers gently across the wood.

"Yeah," he sighs, "yeah, I'm okay. Just..." Worried he'll disappoint you. Maybe he could try and squeeze through the bathroom window before it's too late.

"Can I come in?"

He gulps, tugging on the droopy waist of the jeans one more time before turning the lock on the door. You gasp.

"Baby, you look..."

Silly?

"Delicious!" you squeal, pawing at his waist and latching your lips onto his neck almost immediately. Your thumbs sink into his sides when you pull away, pupils blown and mouth just barely ajar. "You're a total stud!"

"You think so?" His ego's a little out of wack when you nod wildly.

"Keys, you're so yummy," you tease, "Just like Marky Mark." You grab his hand and tug him into the bedroom, stopping short of the bed, much to his dismay. It gets him all hot and bothered the way you cling to his hips and kiss his cupid's bow. You're the prettiest thing he's ever seen, and you're treating him like he's made of molten gold.

He can barely get a word out without a stutter. God, the way you make him blush should be illegal. He's complete mush in your adoring palms, wishing you'd never take your hands off of him lest he combust. Then, you slip your fingertips just under the waistband of the jeans and he hums.

"Sorry," you snicker, knowing exactly what you're doing to him.

"Shut up," he grumbles.

You draw your hands up the curve of his back, tracing the valley of his spine until he shivers. His cheeks are glowing hot as he pecks wet kisses across your jaw and cheek and forehead. You giggle and drag your nails down to the small of his back with a contented sigh.

"Thank you for trying," you admit. Your head bows low, suddenly shy under all the glory of his honeyed scrutiny.

"What d'you mean? Of course I tried, sweetheart. I'd try anything for you," he says. You pout.

"Mean it?"

"Hell yeah. As long as you ask nice enough," he says, holding your jaw and pressing his soft lips to yours in a chaste kiss. You curl your hand around his wrist like a darling threadsnake kissing his fingertips.

"So much access to your mid section," you say, voice frenzied and eyes wide staring hungrily at his faint happy trail.

"What happened to our anti-objectification economy? What about our morals? Our ethics?" he says. Clearly, he's joking but his doe eyes twinkle dastardly behind his glasses. You wind your arm around his waist and smack his ass.

"What morals?"

"Touché, sweetheart."

masterlist

[dekariosclan]

Hey it's the NNN anon again

(At least I hope it is, I honestly completely forgot that I wrote that to you. I legit had to reread it to see if I did or didn't-)

Anyways,

Thank you for the delicious meal.

Also another thought,

Imagine Gale (somehow) succeeding NNN and Tav greatly rewarding him.

Well! Considering that we are now into DDD it seems an appropriate time to answer this one ���

Full answer under the cut because it got spicy!

18+ only under the cut

So, I am a ‘Gale Cums Early’ truther for times when he desperately, ferally wants/needs Tav. I don’t consider that embarrassing or a flaw, I find it hot as hell.

And I feel like this would be one of those times.

He’s used up every last ounce of willpower to deny himself for an entire month. Would a starving man daintily pick at his food selection if a buffet were to suddenly appear before him? Or would he ravenously, gluttonously feast?

But wait, you might argue, he went without sex or masturbation for a whole year while the orb was embedded in his chest, and yet he managed to ‘control’ himself enough to make love to Tav with no…surprises…on that first night in the shadowlands.

Yes indeed—but he’d also had the benefit of nerves then. Of uncertainty about the future. Of not being able to fully lose himself in the experience because he’d needed it to be flawless for Tav as well as for himself.

And most importantly—he hadn’t yet known just how exquisite and magnificent and life-giving each of he and Tav’s unions would be, and how each time would improve upon the last.

None of the incorporeal lovemaking he’d had with Mystra could ever come close to the feeling of sheathing himself in Tav, their taste already on his tongue, their sweat and musk and arousal combining into the most intoxicating perfume he’d ever known—

—and GODS, the incomparable perfection of their thighs clenching around him—!

So you see, when No Nut November ends and Tav is ready to reward him, Gale is READY TO BE RELEASED UNLEASHED REWARDED.

And of course he wants to reward Tav, too—most desperately in fact, because even though they agreed fully with his plan, he wants to make up for lost time and the pleasures he’s denied them as well.

So when the night finally, finally arrives—

Gale, his fingers trailing lovingly down Tav’s cheek, neck, over their chest. Feeling an incomparable heat rising in him, as he lowers his mouth and takes a nipple between his teeth.

Tav running their hands down his back and clawing at his velvet nightshirt—because of course they insisted he wear it—and saying his name over and over like a prayer.

That same nightshirt being disposed of quickly—lest it risk getting torn apart—and Tav’s following. Gale taking one moment to look reverently at his beloved lying beneath him, before capturing their mouth and feasting. No magic necessary; all practiced tongue, gentle teeth, grasping hands, and a hunger that borders on desperation.

Tav’s hand running through his hair, their other hand running over his back. Feeling him harden as he ruts against their thigh. Moving their hand from his back to his stomach, trailing along until they feel his erection, his precum already seeping through his unlaced briefs. Cupping and squeezing his balls, running their hand along his throbbing length, up to the very tip, and then back down his shaft in time with each of his increasingly desperate thrusts, and—

Well.

When he collapses onto them, spent and panting into their neck, he will be nothing if not apologetic:

“Forgive me, my love. I am terribly, terribly out of practice, and you, well—you are simply intoxicating. A mere mortal such as myself does not stand a chance of withstanding your allure. Something that I’ve been aware of from the moment we first lay together.”

Then he’ll take their hand, palm-up, and kiss it deeply, while looking into their eyes.

“How fortunate, then, that I have restoration spells at the ready for just such an outcome,” he’ll whisper, and before Tav can blink, Gale will be guiding their hand to his hardened length once more.

[vashs-turtleneck]

Reverence

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Pairing: Sinister!Vash x Reader Summary: Vash isn't the monster people say he is. They just don't understand the lengths at which he'll go to save humanity and the plants. A few... sacrifices are necessary to make a world like that, but you will always be his loyal follower. CW: smut, blowjob, religious imagery, god/follower dynamics, blood. Word count: 1.4k AN: wanted a sinister Vash where he's trying to save everyone but in a very delusional way. this was originally supposed to be like a 200 word thing....what happened...

They call him a walking disaster, the humanoid typhoon, the diablo, but you know better than anyone else that it's not true. People are wrong about Vash the Stampede.

Everything he does is for mankind. He strives only for the betterment of No Man's Land, a world where humans and plants can live together in harmony. Can't they see that? How blind can the people be to his blessings that they place a bounty over his head and deem him a demon? The people he hurts, the lives he takes, the towns he destroys, it's all for their benefit - small sacrifices to make for the interest of the many. He doesn't want to hurt people. He doesn't want to take lives, but it's a sin he's ready to bear for everyone's sake. They don't see him in the late hours of the night, when he wipes the blood from his hands and sorrow fills his eyes, his tears mixing with the crimson smeared along his cheeks. Yet, they call you a fool, call you crazy for following him the way these people follow their false gods. At least you know your god is real.

And he always keeps you close. You're not allowed out of his sight, lest you want to be punished. Luckily, you're always right behind him, following constantly at his heel, giving him every ounce of your devotion. You know it's for your own sake that he keeps the leash tight around your neck. He only wants to keep you safe, after all. Whatever he does, you know he has your best intentions in mind. You'd strip and bark like a dog if he told you to because you trust him so completely. That dazzling smile would never deceive you, even if it doesn't meet his eyes.

So when he tells you to drop down to your knees, you do so without hesitation, falling down to the hard wood floors with a resounding *thud*, but you don't mind. The bruises it leaves behind will be a testament of your faith. 

“Always so good. So quick to listen.”

It's instinctual, the way you lean into his touch when he pets you, metal fingers running through your hair while his hand of flesh and bone works to unbuckle his belt, followed by the low purr of a zipper being undone. You watch in awe as Vash frees himself from those tight leather pants, his perfect cock leaking pretty beads of precum down along his shaft, and you have to fight back the urge to go against his grip and run your tongue along the length of him, to savor every drop of him. He pulls you in closer by your hair, brushing the tip along your cheek and leaving behind a wet trail of precum - a promise of what's to come.

“Open wide, mayfly.”

Your lips part immediately, and he gives you no time before every delicious inch of his cock is thrust into your mouth, the tip slamming against the back of your throat. He lets out a long, shuddering sigh that heats you up to the core, and he keeps himself still for a few moments, savoring the warmth of your eager mouth around him. His fingers card through your hair, a dark, breathy chuckle leaving the humanoid typhoon before his hips reel back and slam back against you. He falls into a feverish rhythm, rutting himself against your mouth with his tight grip on your hair pushing and pulling your head back and forth for his own pleasure.

“Suck. Suck hard.”

And you do. Of course you do. Your cheeks hollow as you accept him fully and unabashedly into your mouth, your tongue lavishing the scarred underside of his cock, tracing every vein and mapping out every inch of him with your lips. Even as you choke and gag and tears stream down your cheeks, your gaze stays focused on the man standing above you. He looks down at you with a wide smile, showing off those sharp canines that have left their mark on you too many times to count, his lower lip caught between his teeth, and those dark, hooded eyes fixed on you.

“So pretty with your mouth full like that.”

Every bit of your discomfort is worth it when those saccharine words fall from his lips. 

“So beautiful when you're struggling. You'll swallow every drop I give you, won't you?”

You can't reply when your mouth is being used as a toy for the humanoid typhoon, but the way you mewl so desperately for his cum is more than enough of an answer for him.

“Haah… That's right. Take all of it.”

He tightens his grip on your head, pushing you down on him all the way to the hilt and keeping you still. You watch as Vash throws his head back with a rumbling groan, spending himself down your throat and flooding your mouth with his cum. You moan at the taste of him, and you have to stop your eyes from rolling back, lest you miss even a moment of his pleasure. You gather every savory drop of him with your lips and tongue, swallowing it all down with hungry enthusiasm. To waste even a drop of such a generous offering would be a terrible sin. 

“Mayfly.”

Vash suddenly pulls you up on your feet by the hair with his metal hand. He cups your face and pinches your cheeks between his fingers, forcing your lips to purse as he trails the tip of his tongue up along your cheek, tasting your tears and leaving behind a scorching path along your skin.

“Such a mess. You look delectable, sweetheart.”

He pulls back with a growl, his eyes scanning your face, taking in the view of you looking so completely and utterly wrecked, and he hasn't even touched you yet. He crashes his lips against yours, knocking your teeth together in a hungry kiss. He pushes his tongue into your mouth and caresses it against your own, invading every one of your senses. Whether it's his tongue or his cock, your mouth molds itself to him. Everything you have to give, everything you are, it's all for him. He consumes you, mind, body, and soul. 

“Fuck,” he groans as he pulls away, a trail of saliva connecting your mouths for a moment before it breaks.

Oh, he's being so generous, letting you have a taste of both his lips and his dick tonight.

“I could devour you, but I’m not done with you just yet. Back on your knees. Now. I wouldn't wanna have to punish my precious little bug for being disobedient.”

You lick your lips clean of his flavor and settle back down on your knees. Your hands mindlessly clasp together in front of your chest, akin to a devotee praying at their place of worship.

He cups your cheek in his large, calloused palm, guiding your open mouth back onto him. This time, Vash's pace is much slower, much more gentle. His hips glide in a deep, sensual rhythm, giving you the time to feel every ridge and every inch of him. You've taken care of his initial hunger, that burning need for release, and now he rewards you by letting you take your time with his cock. You hum sweetly as you continue to pamper him, your tongue swirling along his cockhead and teasing the slit with the tip of your tongue, groaning as you taste the remnants of his release.

“Oh, mayfly,” he coos, his thumb swiping away a fallen tear from your cheek. He looks down at you with such tenderness that it makes you whimper. 

“You're so good. So good.”

You want to be good. All you want is to be good to him, show him that despite the venom spat his way, you will always be at his side. You live for him, and you'll die for him.

“My precious little mayfly. I'll be…so sad the day I have to kill you.”

Poor, sweet man. Your heart aches for him, for the martyr he's been forced to become. But you're still here. For now, anyway, and you'll sing his praises to the heavens as long as you draw breath. It doesn't matter how much your throat burns and your eyes sting, as long as you're pulling those deep, succulent moans from him, as long as he praises you so sweetly, you'll be on your knees for him, worshiping him like the angel you see him as.

divider source.

[jmliebert]

♡ halsin x astarion headcanons ♡

Halsin thinks Astarion is utterly beautiful and that's how it begins; through his fascination with a pale elf

and let me say; Halsin is not shy, he will tell Astarion how he feels about him rather quickly, he will be adoring him, showering him compliments and though Astarion may not always show it, he secretly enjoys these

but what Astarion is the most fond of is Halsin's words of devotion, his little assurances that Astarion is cherished and loved

of course he often heard words like these, but it was all a lie, soft words and behind those was lust. But Halsin is not like this, he can't be

Astarion feels good in Halsin's presence. he admires him even, his strong body and he gaze at it unabashed.

sometimes he likes to tease Halsin about his abundant hair (so unusual for an elf), but at the same you can hear a pang of fascination in his voice

Halsin is aware of Astarion troubled past, though Astarion not say much on that matters; Halsin just knows. He can see it, sense it and knows Astarion needs a lot of reassurance, even if he's not communicating it very well

so they play a long game, but Halsin is willing to wait

with kind words and soft touches Astarion slowly opens up, show vulnerability, which is not easy for someone like him

at nights, where there's only them Astarion loves being in Halsin's robust arms, it gives him peace

Halsin caresses his face and he's leaning into his hand like a kitten hungry of affection (which makes halsin's heart melt even more)

sometimes Astarion is snappy, is mean, sometimes he's frustrated and spit his words just to hurt and get a reaction, but Halsin's a true stoic at heart and you can't get him mad like this. he knows Astarion don't want to push him really, he's just scared and lost

Halsin can see through Astarion’s snarky remarks and responding with gentleness (and sometimes sarcasm as well, he can be witty when he wants to)

There is not denying the fact that Halsin is calm and his inner calmness has a soothing affect on Astarion. he slowly learns to accept and live freely

and as for Astarion, he shows his love in small endearing ways I feel

he often surprised Halsin with random kisses, enjoying the simplicity of a kiss being just a kiss

sometimes he sits on Halsin's lap, being in the moment, enjoying his warmth and presence

Halsin allows Astarion to do anything that pleases him basically, he let's Astarion set boundaries in their relationship and he's just enjoying tender moments with his pale lover, no matter what they are

about blood; I think drinking Halsin's blood more often than not ends up in some intimate way, as I can't imagine at lest one of them not getting a boner during the process

Astarion drinks Halsin's blood with such care and eagerness, not letting a drop go to waste and it's hottt

and talking about hot; I feel like they like it rough and intense

like hair pulling, body bruising, wet kind of sex

Astarion often prefers to ride Halsin, enjoying the control and Halsin doesn't mind; if something he thinks Astarion looks breathtaking above him, his milky skin glistening with sweat

his big hands guiding his hips and caressing his body

Halsin want to look into Astarion eyes a lot "let me see those eyes"

and when he comes inside him, he grunts and his hands squeeze Astarion tender flesh, his hips almost quiver

when Astarion is close to climax, he guides Halsin’s big, rough (but skilled!) hand to his own member, whimpering deliciously when he comes

after sex however it's all soft and cozy, Halsin treats Astarion with utmost care and love, cleaning him up and showering him with affectionate words

he kisses Astarion all over his beautiful body, making him feel cherished (as he should!)

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

and here it is, my favourite ship from the game (apart delulu me x halsin of course) ˙ᵕ˙

you can find more of my works about bg3 (especially halsin) ♡here♡

[bloodandoranges]

Ache.

Karlach x femTav/Reader / 18+/ Oral / Karlach loves to service

Tav felt her aching muscles relax as she settled into the warm river by their camp, a relaxed sigh escaping her. Despite it being so close to camp? bathing was a rarity; they were out adventuring and fighting so often that stopping to bathe really was a treat.

Of course, her having the time to bathe meant her companions did, too. She was roused from her thoughts at the sound of water sloshing about, quickly turning to face whoever decided now was a good time to take a bath, eyes widening at the sight of Karlach - as nude as the day she was born.

“Hey, soldier. Mind?” Karlach said cooly, already moving into the water, letting out a soft groan of delight.

“…Not at all.” Tav mumbled, face a little flush as she turned away. “…You know, I don’t mind if you stare. Keeps my ego nice and big,” Karlach laughed loudly, focused on cleaning the blood from her face and hair.

There was silence, for a moment, the two women staring one another down.

Tav gave a wheeze, embarrassed, a little ashamed at being caught staring. “Hey, don’t sweat it. I was staring too.” Karlach laughed loudly - gods, her laugh was so beautiful. Wait, what?

She was moving closer now too, but kept her distance…waiting to make sure she was reading things right. They /were/ both hot-headed fools.

Karlach was closing in a little now, gaze soft as she peered down at their merry little gangs fearless leader. Clawed hands reached for her face, and Tav took a sharp breath as Karlach gently wiped away some blood and dirt. “Sorry. It was bothering me.” She grinned, toothy and gorgeous and by the gods- she was delicious.

“You are such a tease.” Tav sighed out playfully as Karlach gave a loud laugh, squeezing her cheeks softly as she leaned in. “Yeah, yeah…I’m just the worst,” she sighed, forehead pressed against hers now as she took a breath. They stared at each other for a long, long moment… Tav wasn’t even sure who moved first, gasping as their lips locked together.

Her fingers quickly found their way into Karlachs thick, rowdy hair, giving a soft tug when a tongue slipped by her lips. Karlach groaned, body heating up quickly as she desperately grasped at her, lifting her legs around her waist. Shit.

“Karlach, I- gods,” Tav managed to whimper against her lips. She could already feel herself getting slick with desire…well, despite the water. Speaking of water - Karlach was hoisting her out of it, gently laying her back on the dirt… she hoped Tav didn’t mind getting a little muddy, because she wasn’t sure she’d make it to her tent.

Tav gave a bit of a grunt as she was laid back against the ground…it was uncomfortable, but the desire heating her body and flooding her senses was strong on her mind at current.

Karlach was much the same, blue flames flickering in her chest, her eyes…shit. She gave a breathless whine, adjusting to lift Tav’s legs over her shoulders, said woman staring up at her with wide eyes. Fuck.

“…Is this okay? Tell me if I’m getting ahead of myself.” Karlach breathed…clearly, it was taking all of her strength to hold back. “Gods, Karlach, I’ve been waiting for this since we picked you up.” Tav groaned out, and Karlach gave a booming laugh, not needing to be told twice.

She kissed over soft thighs, nuzzling and kissing over the skin, a groan escaping her as she breathed her in. She took her time to lavish her thighs in kisses and soft nips, excited by the sight of Tav squirming below her…at her mercy.

Was she really trying to tease her? Now!? Tav gave a desperate whine, hips bucking into the air slightly. “Sorry, baby…” Karlach cooed out an apology, and moment later, her tongue was sliding through soft, wet folds, a low groan escaping the tiefling.

“Shit!” Tav gasped in surprised, having expected Karlach to carry on the torture for far longer. Her head flew back, hand fumbling to cover her mouth…lest their companions hear.

Karlach lapped at her heat greedily; hands squeezing plump thighs wrapped around her head, gaze never leaving Tavs. She was clearly enjoying this just as much…maybe even more.

“Karlach, Gods-“ Tav whimpered, muffled by her hand as she arched into her touch, just as Karlach gave her clit a hard suck, tongue rolling over the sensitive bud. She was merciless, hardly pulling away to breath as she eagerly drank her in, Tav gasping and crying out below her.

“Shit, shit, shit, Karlach, I-“ she couldn’t even finish, because Karlach had done some wondrous manoeuvre with her tongue, and her orgasm was crashing down, causing her to cry out. Karlach held her in place, not daring to pull away until she was sure she was spent.

When she did tug away, she panted hard, gently untangling strong legs from around her shoulders, giving a booming laugh. “…How’d I do?” She cooed…her chin was dripping. Tav shuddered at the lewd sight - and the sweetness of her question.

“Amazing…as always.”

Tav was about to move to touch Karlach, but the other woman gently grabbed her hands, shaking her head. “Maybe later, hm? I just want to hold you…” she cooed, quick to curl herself around her body, nestling her face into the crook of her neck.

“Mmhm…okay. For now.” Tav cooed, kissing softly at her forehead.

[merakiui]

thinking about how the tweels could have used their influence to "buy" you and your time when you were little. they're immature (floyd more so than jade) and when they want something they get it. always spoiled, those eels... their parents dote on them endlessly. birthdays are extravagant events: tables filled with presents and delicious foods alike. of course it's anxiety-inducing for those who come bearing gifts because they're signing agreements and have to hope the gift is received positively, lest they leave a poor impression and papa leech's men show up at their doorstep.

so when the twins find themselves fascinated with you, a mer from their class, they'll do anything to have you.

at first it was simple things. jade would feign crying so the teacher would politely coax ask you to play with him and floyd, as she was too nervous to get on their father's bad side. everyone is. it's a common rule in their neighborhood that no one messes with the leech family, and if you do you disappear. floyd would throw a fit, thrashing and whining, only ever ceasing if you finally agreed to draw with him or play tag with him. they're greedy brats, monopolizing your time and always circling you until, eventually, your friends start to keep their distance.

no one dares to cross the leech family.

but you do. you glare at the twins and snap at them, saying things like, "spoiled brats shouldn't whine in the first place. you already have everything you could ever want, don't you?" or "leave me alone or i'm never playing with you again!" and the twins listen. sometimes. but they like it when you yell, when you get worked up, when you threaten things that mean nothing because all it takes is a word to their father and you'll become their playmate. they plan when they choose to listen and when they don't. if they leave you alone for one day, you can expect them to return the following days, proud with the logic of "since we listened and left you alone, that means you have to do the things we want now."

it gets worse the older you get. school dances are a pain. the twins fight over you like you're food, throwing punches and biting and snarling, wanting to be the only one to take you, unwilling to share. the first time you were dragged brought to the leech residence to meet their parents was a night you'll never forget. their home is huge, a labyrinthine, rocky structure on the outskirts of town. you remember feeling lost the deeper you swam into their home, reminded of complex cave systems at every turn. there are lots of people in the leech home. servants, mostly. jade explains it away so easily, as if this is normal.

everyone greets the leech twins. servants smile, welcome them in such a friendly, polite manner. they give you similar treatment, all of them seeming to know your name. this unsettles you, but then the leech family is aware of everyone. their connections run deep.

their mother adores you, thinks you're the sweetest thing. "so this is the cute mer my boys talk about!" she pinches your cheeks and says you're much too small and that you ought to eat, but your mer species is one of prey. biologically, you'll always be smaller than an eel mer. their father, though his name is known throughout, isn't as scary as you thought. he is initially when he stares you down silently, assessing you while you bow respectfully, so low to the floor it looks like you're begging. it's quiet still and then he laughs, tells you to lift your head, and he introduces himself. he's outgoing and charismatic in a way that shocks you. but then you're not seeing the cutthroat sides of mr. leech.

that night was a whirlwind. you ate dinner and watched the leech family chat in their natural habitat, witnessing just how similar they all are. jade takes after his mother more, whimsically sharp and sly. floyd is like his old man. in fact, you thought they were rather close in body structure. floyd's definitely going to grow much bigger. so is jade, but then you suspect floyd will have more muscle. bulkier. jade, you think, will remain lean and agile, strong in a silent, less noticeable way.

they have someone come in to dress you and the twins for prom before it comes time to set off. you can't begin to imagine how expensive all of the accessories are, and you're told you can keep them. it would feel like a plot from a romance novel if it weren't forced. their parents take lots of pictures, fawning over you with happy smiles, wishing the three of you a fun, happy night.

the twins take you to every yearly dance that follows, all the way up to graduation. you've tried to say no, but it's pointless to do so. one word to their father and your parents will sit you down and gently beg you to listen. to just say yes. you can't entertain the thought of going with another mer either. the twins will hound them, force them to give you up, scare them so good they'll never swim near you again.

so when they're old enough and they propose, you have to say yes. because it's the twins and they always get what they want in the end. because they've always had you in their palms from the moment they met you. because they'll fight off every possible suitor bold enough to steal you away, gruesome and cruel, monstrously possessive.

because, most of all, no one messes with the leech family, and so your wedding will be yet another spoiled, extravagant event. the ring on your finger is more than an oath of marriage. it's a claim being staked. a little collar. a reminder that you have always been and will always be theirs.

and there's no room for arguing that truth.

[leifygreeens]

🎄 Secret Santa Fic Exchange 🎄

@nebraskashouse I hope you enjoy this, as belated as it is—and don't fret, the second part of this lovely little fic is on its way.

@loverboykirstein and @snailmail444 also posted some very delicious fics of their own for the season, you can find them here and here. Minors, do not interact with either of them, thank you. And as always, thanks to @lendelleaves for being my best friend and editor in chief. I would not be nearly as in love with this if it weren't for him.

Warnings: 2300~ words, Harvey/Fem!Farmer, SoftDom!Harvey, praise kink

Enjoy <3

The Farmer stands just a few feet away, readjusting the ornaments and tucking garlands higher or lower within the branches of their tree. She steps away with a sigh, clearly frustrated, and props her hands on her hips.

Harvey watches quietly for a moment, admiring the soft slope of the Farmer’s back beneath the hideous Christmas sweater she’d picked out for herself. It's a prickly woolen fabric, with the word ‘Naughty’ sprawled across the chest in an even pricklier red tinsel, made to match his much softer and more pleasant sweater, which reads ‘Nice’ in a perfectly comfortable embroidery thread. Then he sets his #1 Doctor mug on the coffee table with a soft thunk. 

He gets up from the couch with a grunt, too quiet to catch her attention when she’s so preoccupied, and he takes advantage of her focus being elsewhere to slip his arms around her waist.

She sinks into him immediately, and he presses a kiss against her head, just behind her ear. The wool scratches against Harvey's wrists, but he doesn’t move.

“Dear, if you keep glaring at the tree like that you’re going to set it on fire,” he whispers.

“Sorry,” she mutters, curling her warm palms over his forearms and squeezing. He shakes his head and pulls her closer.

“Talk to me.” He bumps his nose against the curve of her jaw, just above her pulse point, and smiles when she shivers at the brush of his facial hair against her skin. “Tell me what's bothering you.”

“Nothing,” she says quickly, and Harvey frowns. “It’s just—it’s dumb.”

He watches the side of her face intently, studying the curve of her cheek, the swoop of her eyelashes, and the downturn of her mouth. He knows she knows that he’s watching, but she won’t meet his eyes. Harvey thinks that’s probably okay. He can still work with that.

He pulls back and presses a lingering kiss to her shoulder, just above the collar of her sweater. “You know I’ll never get tired of listening to you.”

“Careful… too much encouragement and I might start waxing poetic about the fermentation process for wine,” she jokes, and Harvey laughs, because he is a weak, weak man.

He hums, his smile turning soft. “Don’t go threatening me with a good time.”

“Well, if you insist,” she starts, taking a big breath, and Harvey spins her around before she can launch into a lecture on the intricacies of sugar and its effect on alcohol content.

The Farmer tastes like gingerbread and espresso.

Kissing her is easy, is comfortable. It always has been, even the first time when he was five hundred feet in the air and his heart was threatening to jump out of his chest and crash back to earth without him. She makes him feel brave, and his feet are on the ground right now, but he might as well be floating among the stars with how light his chest feels.

The Farmer wraps her arms over his shoulders with a contented sigh, and he follows her lead easily, dropping his hands down to her waist. The fabric is rough against his palms, and he wrinkles his nose.

“You really don’t like the sweater, huh?” she asks, grinning—and forcing him to pull away, lest he kiss her teeth.

“Of course I do.” Harvey bunches the horrendous fabric in his fists, and yanks her right up against him. His smile turns wolfish at her gentle yelp. “I love everything you wear.”

“Oh, you’re so full of shit.” She smirks as he shoves his hands under the fabric to grab at her waist properly.

“Language, dear,” Harvey whispers, and then he kisses her deeply. The warmth of her skin burns him alive. She makes a tiny sound, barely perceptible in the depth of her chest, and Harvey breathes in harshly through his nose before pulling a hair’s breadth away. “You’re trying to distract me.”

“Funny,” she says, carding her fingertips through the baby hairs on his nape. “I thought that was what you were trying to do.” 

She tugs him down for another kiss, and Harvey groans, squeezing the Farmer’s sweet waist and—focus, damn it.

“Tell me what’s bothering you, honey. Please.” Harvey tugs himself away only to press their foreheads back together. She frowns through half-lidded eyes, and then sighs heavily. 

“It feels like something is missing,” she mumbles, turning to face the tree. He follows her gaze to it.

Glittering garlands swoop through the branches, and sparkly plastic ornaments peek through the pine needles, flickering with the reflections of warm white lights. The tree skirt is a deep red velvet flecked with gold embroidery—a gift from Emily. It’s a good height, and the branches are full and green, green, green.

By all standards, it’s the perfect Christmas tree.

Harvey’s eyes flick to the very top, and—ah.

Harvey smiles fondly, amusement coloring his voice as he whispers against the shell of her ear: “I think I might know what’s missing.” 

“Are you laughing at me? In my time of need?” she asks, looking over her shoulder at him and doing a very good job of pretending to be outraged. Harvey chuckles low in his chest and kisses her cheek.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harvey promises, gently lifting her chin upward with the first knuckle of his index finger. “I was just thinking of how silly Santa would look without his hat.”

She goes still as she takes in the top of the Christmas tree. 

It is perfectly barren—not a star in sight—and Harvey grins as she drops her head back against his shoulder with a groan. “I knew I forgot something!”

Harvey chuckles heartily, and turns her face toward him so he can kiss the disappointed pout off of her lips.

“It’s a lovely tree nonetheless, honey,” Harvey says. “But I’m sure there’s something in the house that you could use instead of a star, if you wanted.”

“Will you help me look?” She asks, blinking her pretty eyes up at him, and his chest floods with warmth.

“Anything for you,” he promises, leaning down to press a long kiss to her cheek. “I’ll check the bedroom.”

Then he steps away, (albeit regretfully,) and makes his way down the hall.

The smell of cinnamon and sugar are thick even in here, and Harvey takes a deep breath in before crossing their plush rug and tugging open their closet. They may not have stars, but he has bow-ties and regular ties and he knows for certain that there’s ribbon leftover from when they were wrapping presents earlier that week.

Lo and behold, it doesn’t take him more than a minute before he’s walking back with several different options in his hands, all just as festive as the tree itself. He almost cringes at the patterns, actually. It’s a miracle the Farmer thought he was attractive when he was wearing such goofy-looking ties all the time.

“Honey, I think I found a couple things that could work!” He calls down the hall. He stops in the threshold a moment later to find her dragging the kitchen stool in front of the tree.

“So did I,” she says, holding up a pair of reindeer antler clips. “What do you think?”

“A reindeer tree?” He drops the ribbons and ties on the coffee table as he crosses the room. “Sure, why not?”

“Is that okay?” Her voice turns small, and Harvey presses a reassuring kiss to the top of her head.

“It’s adorable, and I love it. Do you want help putting them on?” 

“Could you hold me?” She steps up onto the stool. “I don’t know how sturdy this thing is.”

Harvey settles his hands low on her hips.

She carefully clips one antler around a branch, making sure it sits upright, and then attaches the second one on the opposite side. The antlers are a good size, not too heavy but not too small, and she pulls her hands away to admire her handiwork. 

Then her smile turns sharp.

“What are you scheming now, you little devil?” Harvey asks, fond, but maybe scared, maybe just a little.  He'd count himself a fool if he wasn't.

She peers down at the tree, and he pays her rapt attention as she points at the lower branches. “Could you give me that ornament, down there? The bright red one?”

He nods and reaches for the glittering bauble.

Harvey pauses. Looks up at her.

“You’re not.”

Her grin widens. “Give it to me and find out.”

He shakes his head and slides the ornament off of the branch, careful not to break any needles with the metal hook, and places it in her waiting palm. She gives him a satisfied nod, and then hooks it around the tree, just under the antlers.

“Perfect.” She adjusts the ornament again, though he can't see why. “What do you think?”

“Rudolph the red-nosed Christmas tree.” Harvey squeezes her hip. “Cute.”

The reflections of the lights dance in her eyes, smoldering, like embers in a fireplace. Harvey licks his lips; he doesn’t fight the smile that spreads over his face, when she tracks the movement with catlike attention.

“Well,” she says, barely more than a breath. “As long as you like it.”

Foolish of her to think he could do anything else. He’s obsessed: every thought, every movement, every word out of her mouth is like a gentle caress against his soul. 

He reminds her of this quietly. “I love everything you do.”

“Do you, now?” she asks, and the words are teasing while her tone is anything but. Harvey’s fingers twitch against the waistline of her plush pajama pants. The soft white fabric would look so lovely crumpled on the floor…or dangling from her ankles. He’s not picky.

“You don’t believe me?” Harvey drags one palm down her thigh, and squeezes the muscle there. It's a question, too.

The Farmer steadies herself on his shoulder and bends down to press a long kiss against his brow bone. The hunger in him simmers, and he closes his eyes to lean into the warmth.

“I believe you,” the Farmer’s lips brush against his skin, featherlight and tickling his hairline as she moves to whisper in his ear: “But could you prove it to me again?”

Gladly.

She huffs a laugh, and he wonders if he’d said it out loud.

“Go to the bedroom,” Harvey says, pitching his voice low, and gravelly, just the way she likes it.

Her breath catches, shivering against the shell of his ear and making his hair stand on end. She listens, pulling away slowly and stepping down from the stool. Only when her feet meet the carpet does she look up at him again, her eyes desperate and eager and not at all like those she fixed on him a mere two minutes ago.

He knows that look.

“Meet me on the bed. Keep everything on.” Harvey curls his hand over the back of her neck and drags her up into a heated kiss. He pulls away, sooner than he'd like to, feeling hungry, almost starving.

She swallows harshly, the blush on her cheeks sending jolts through him. “Am I allowed to touch myself?”

Fuck, what a question. “Do you think you could last that long?”

A pause.

“No,” she whispers, and Harvey brushes his thumb over the swell of her bottom lip.

“Would you rather come on your own fingers? Do you think that would satisfy you?”

“No,” she hisses, her hands flying up to grab his wrist. Her voice is just as firm when she repeats, “No.”

Harvey chuckles and pats her ass, encouraging. “Go, then. I’ll be quick.”

She disappears down the hall in a blur of color and quick footsteps, and Harvey gets to work immediately. He doesn’t want to keep her waiting, lest she actually shove a hand down the front of her panties to find some semblance of relief. 

Or maybe she would just rub her pretty little thighs together, and she would never get enough of anything for it to matter—

His mouth goes bone dry, and he sets off for the kitchen with their empty mugs hooked on his fingers. He doesn’t bother washing them, just fills them both to the brim with scalding water to soak, and returns to the living area. The throw pillows on the couches are deflated, but he doesn’t bother fluffing them back up like he ordinarily would. He yanks the plug for the tree lights out of the socket, plunging the room into near darkness, and then marches down the hall.

The Farmer is at the edge of their bed, still fully clothed and white-knuckling the sheets on either side of her hips like a lifeline. So much restraint in those lovely eyes of hers, trying so hard to be good, to be patient. Harvey bites down on a noise that would have come out pained, and closes the door behind him.

“Beautiful,” he says, loud enough for her to hear. She shivers, a tempting blush blazing over her cheeks and the tips of her ears. The effect is near-instant, and Harvey almost laughs. He already knows the answer, but: “You didn’t touch yourself.”

She shakes her head quickly. “I didn’t want to… not without you.”

Harvey pushes off the door, and he thinks he must be going a little mad. He stops in front of her, right between the V of her legs where she’d spread them in anticipation. She cranes her neck back to look him in the eye, and Harvey cups her jaw. “Safe word?”

She sighs into his skin, and turns to kiss the heel of his palm. “Espresso.”

They’ve never needed it before, but he asks—reminds—her every time. Just in case.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, and leans down to give her what she's asked for.

[boneblushed]

Queen when you say all the delicious euro trip writing is gone… does that include the dad! Rafe headcannons 🥺🥺🥺

Omg this is all I have saved !! 😭

As it was

12-week sonogram held in shaky hands, and you felt a little foolish for ever thinking your first trimester would drag out.

Having made Rafe promise, twice, with twined pinky fingers and a good old-fashioned blood oath (alright, maybe that last one was a bit of an exaggeration), you were more than a little relieved that the two of you had managed to keep this secret for so long. It certainly wasn’t easy — your keen avoidance of the Island Club a dead giveaway, but you knew that the risk of jinxing something so special was worth far more than circumventing suspicious text messages.

“Anyway, that’s all from me,” your obstetrician, Dr Winters concluded, having given a moment’s pause for you and Rafe to just — stare. Take in every inch of the ultrasound scan as though your lives depended on it; and really, didn’t they? Once a bundle of cells, now a tiny fetus, and soon, a little someone that would grow and grow and grow. Equal parts you and him, and there was something innately wonderful about that.

“And everything else looks okay?” You questioned finally, peeling your eyes away from the black-and-white image with an anxious furrow to your brow.

“Absolutely,” Dr Winters assured, her voice patient and gentle. “The two of you are doing everything right.”

Rafe murmured an acknowledgement, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “What did I tell you, baby?”

“Rafael,” you reproached, meeting Dr Winters’ introspective gaze with a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I’m a bit of a worrier.”

“It’s completely normal to feel a little stressed during your first pregnancy,” Dr Winters responded, giving your shoulder a comforting pat. “Can I count on dad to make sure you feel heard throughout the process?”

Dad. The address held certain, heavy connotations for his younger self, and he would be lying if he said they didn’t still affect him, a little bit. That wasn’t to say the thought of being a father didn’t bring a wonderful warmth to his chest — it did, and his heart soared at every mention of the unborn baby growing in your uterus. But with the prospect of parenthood came a heavy weight on his shoulders; what if he didn’t do enough, was as forbidding as Ward Cameron was when he was growing up? Or worse — what if he came up short, couldn’t meet the insanely high expectations his mother Lillian had set before her unfortunate death?

“Of course,” Rafe nodded after beat, sending you a soft smile. If his love for you was insurmountable before, it had only grown ten-fold since he had found out that you were pregnant. “Always.”

“Great,” Dr Winters responded, turning off the ultrasound machine and discarding of her white gloves. “Any more questions?”

“I think we’re okay for now,” you answered, absently chewing on your bottom lip. “Thank you, Dr Winters. Seriously.”

“No need to thank me,” Dr Winters dismissed easily, a gentle twinkle in her eye. “Just doing my job.”

She guided you out of her office with the promise of another check-up in a few weeks, her constant reassurance managing to assuage your anxiety, if only just a little. Rafe took over once you were back outside, tucking you into his side protectively lest you trip, or lose your step, or get hit by a parked car or another pedestrian or — the world was a fucking scary place, okay?

“You know,” you grumbled, pushing away from him with a huff, “being pregnant doesn’t mean I’ve lost the ability to walk.”

Rafe frowned a little at the insinuation, wasting no time tugging you right back into his side. “I just want to keep you safe, sweetheart.”

“You,” he took a pause here, placing a large hand on your stomach. There existed the tiniest swell, fairly imperceptible, but it was enough for him to want to keep it there, “and whole-jar-of-pickles, in here.”

How you felt about Rafe addressing your unborn child as your weirdest pregnancy craving, you weren’t quite ready to say. But if the unshed tears in your eyes and tell-tale pout on your lips were anything to go by, all you had needed was a few weeks to properly warm up to it.

The wonderful life you shared with Rafe was growing to make space for whole-jar-of-pickles, and you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed at the fact that everything was changing so quickly. A sonogram, an announcement, and a due-date looming over your head, and the way that it had been for so very long would become the way that it was, past tense.

“Hey,” he murmured, registering the gleam in your eye with a slight knitted brow. “Are you okay, baby?”

“This is real real, now, Rafael,” you managed to croak out, feeling your bottom lip begin to tremble. “Like — getting the go-ahead to tell people, real.”

“It’s just…” you added shakily, allowing him to pull you into his chest. “…aren’t you scared?”

He buried his head in your soft curls, voice muffled, but impossibly soothing all the same. “Of course I’m scared.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, resting your chin on his sternum. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hm,” Rafe affirmed, brilliant blue gaze meeting yours in earnest. “Shit-scared, are you kidding? But…”

He trailed off then, nudging his nose against your cheek. “…but I’m also excited, and crazy happy, and baby — you’re carrying my fucking baby. Sure, I’m fucking scared, but I’m also just… constantly pinching myself.”

“Because I truly lucked out,” Rafe explained, still as hopelessly enamoured as he was in Mr William’s math class, way back when. “And that’s exactly what everyone’s going to say to me when we do finally tell them that you’re pregnant.”

—

You wanted to start with an easy one.

It was how you found yourself on Noah’s large porch, at present, Rafe’s arm draping the back of your wooden chair protectively. Having exhausted all possible topics of conversation (Noah was planning on getting a husky soon, White & Co Finance was doing well, Daisy was visiting family in Vermont at the moment but he was hoping to ask her to move in with him when she got back), you knew it was probably time to confess to Noah the real reason for your visit.

“…anyway,” Noah finished with a sheepish grin, clinking his beer bottle against Rafe’s before taking a sip. “Enough about me. How goes the married life?”

He cocked his head to one side, surveying you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Managed to catch a break from Cameron at all, Y/n/n?”

“Not even once,” Rafe smirked, no longer able to help himself. “And now, she definitely fucking won’t, because —”

“Rafael,” you groaned, burying your head in your hands. “That’s how you’re going to tell him?”

“Tell him?” Noah echoed bemusedly, raising his eyebrows. “Tell me what?”

You straightened a little awkwardly, sending Rafe a meaningful glance. He was grinning roguishly, eyes alight with anticipation, and it was as his arm found its way around your waist that Noah White finally clocked it. There was something about the tenderness of his touch; normally, Rafe was nothing if not incessantly handsy — near manhandling you in an attempt to keep you close. Today, however, his movements were careful, purposeful. Like you were expensive china he couldn’t afford to break, and Noah straightened a little as it registered, his eyes darting down to the space below your stomach, right on cue.

“Fuck off,” he breathed, shaking his head slowly. “Fuck off, fuck off, fuck — wait, shit — I mean, uh… shoot, can I swear in front of the unborn kid? Will it hear me? What if it’s first fuc — word is f — a swear word? I’m —”

“Noah,” you interrupted, letting out a small laugh. “Stop. How did you clock that without us saying a single word?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Noah responded absently, far too busy grappling with his sheer astonishment at the revelation to give you a meaningful answer. He turned toward Rafe, the slightest gleam in his irises, wasting no time standing up and tugging him into a tight hug.

“I’m so fucking happy for you, brother,” he said sincerely, voice thick with happy tears. “Such incredible news.”

“And you,” he added, beckoning you over with bright eyes and a brighter smile. “C’mere.”

He pulled you into the embrace with a strong arm circling your shoulders, grinning wide before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “He’s going to be even worse, now, you know that right?”

You breathed a laugh, crinkling your nose a little. “Unfortunately.”

“And hey,” he continued with a cheeky smirk, beginning to get over the initial shock of the announcement. “You know what else?”

You furrowed your brow, eyes darting between Rafe and Noah bemusedly. “What?”

“He’s finally going to get to call you mommy.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, feeling Rafe’s chest rumble as he laughed. “You two really share a single brain cell, huh?”

“Yeah,” Noah affirmed, grinning appreciatively. “Don’t worry, though. I know exactly how you can make sure he never does.”

He pulled away just as Rafe flushed your figure against his, settling back in his wooden chair with you in his lap.

“I’m listening,” you responded, quirking an eyebrow at his mischievous features.

Noah leaned in close, softening at the way Rafe’s hand had found home on your lower abdomen. “You get everyone else to call you mommy, and Cameron will get sick of hearing it all the —”

“Noah,” you interrupted, knowing exactly where this was going. “I’m not letting you call me fucking mommy.”

“But Y/n/n,” Noah teased, biting back a laugh. “Rose has set the bar pretty high, which means becoming the newest Cameron milf comes with certain expectations —”

“Like I said,” you glowered, levelling him with a playful glare. “Single. Fucking. Braincell.”

—

You decided to tackle Kelce and Topper the next morning, and it felt right asking them to meet you at Daily Bread. You framed the catch-up as an innocent, triple date, encouraging them to bring Chloe and Amber so you didn’t have to make the same announcement, twice.

Caffeine and pregnancy hormones didn’t mix well in your stomach. You hadn’t managed to keep the beverage down at all in your first trimester — it was why you passed on an iced latte, today, purchasing a green juice and chicken and halloumi salad (at fucking 9am?) instead.

“Wait — you’re not even getting a coffee?” Kelce questioned, bewildered. “I thought you liking the coffee from this place was the whole reason you picked it for the triple date.”

“Not the whole reason,” you argued with a frown, a familiar flush creeping up your cheeks. “Daily Bread also holds a lot of cute memories from when we were kids.”

“That’s weirdly sentimental of you,” Topper snorted, raising his eyebrows. “What are you, pregnant?”

Your eyes widened at the question, mouth agape. He was definitely kidding, of course he was. But he was right, this time — life moved at the pace of light-speed internet, and things weren’t as they were when he would make stupid jokes like this back in high-school.

“Holy shit,” Chloe gasped, Amber matching the sentiment with her lips slightly parted. “You are, aren’t you?”

Slowly, you nodded, wordlessly pulling your sonogram out of your handbag. It was more than a little crumpled, having been handled by Rafe a million times over — a gentle reminder that yes, this was indeed real life, he had made his dream girl his dream wife, and she was six months away from giving him the gift of new life. God, he wasn’t ever going to get used to this feeling. You and him and whole-jar-of-pickles, and so much fated love that it illuminated constellations.

“Oh my god,” Amber breathed, stunned beyond belief. Her eyes were trained on the black-and-white ultrasound image, requiring a moment to take it all in before a predictable squeal escaped her lips. “Oh my god!”

She wasted no time standing up and wriggling out of the booth, tugging you into a warm embrace with Chloe close behind. They circled either side of you, squeezing you tight, features still painted in raw astonishment when they did both pull away.

“I don’t even know what to say,” Chloe managed through a watery smile, wide eyes brimming with tears of joy. “Like — happy for you is a major fucking understatement.

“Chlo,” you pouted amiably, feeling your heart swell at the sentiment. “Stop. I’ll cry.”

“No, seriously,” Amber piped up, irises a little glassy. “Happy for you sounds so lame. We’re so, so much more than happy, Y/n/n. This is the best fucking news we’ve heard in ages.”

Your felt your features melt at her sincerity, registering Chloe’s vigorous nod before tugging them both back into the hug.

“I love you guys,” you sniffed, words muffled by the embrace. “So much.”

“Oh, and nice work bud,” Amber grinned when she pulled away, catching Rafe’s eye with a playful twinkle in hers. “How hard would fourteen year old Rafe be going right know if he knew that in ten years time, he was going to knock Y/n up?”

“Forget fourteen year old Rafe,” Topper said then, meeting your gaze with a soft gleam in his eye. “Fourteen year old Y/n would probably end up murdering him if she found out.”

You breathed a laugh, shaking your head bemusedly. “Don’t start.”

“And,” Kelce added thickly, clearing his throat in an attempt to regain his composure. “If she were to tell fourteen year old Kelce, he would definitely end up pulling out a big fat ‘I told you so’.”

Perhaps it was because they had known you far longer than Amber and Chloe had, but Kelce and Topper required a beat longer to digest the surprising announcement. Once over the initial shock, they wasted no time suffocating you in a tight, three-person embrace, ignoring Rafe’s protective grumbles of “don’t fucking squash her, she’s growing a baby” in favour of pulling you even closer.

“Dude,” Kelce whispered, pulling away a moment to take in your gentle features. It was more than a little overwhelming, realising the ten-year-old with nerdy glasses who had once read Harry Potter on his porch was exactly six months away from becoming a mom. “You’re fucking pregnant.”

“I know,” you laughed, understanding exactly what he meant. “It’s so weird. I’m still getting used to it.”

“Doesn’t look like you are,” Topper grinned, bumping your chin affectionately. “It suits you, you know that?”

You pouted a little at that, crinkling your nose appreciatively. “Hey, thanks.”

“No, thank you,” Kelce responded, mussing your curls with a wistful smile on his lips. “We’re going to steal that kid as soon as it’s potty-trained.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “He’s the group’s kid now. I get it.”

Chloe nodded a response, Amber humming an agreeable “You’re not wrong.”

Only Rafe appeared to register exactly what you had said, eyebrows raised as he cracked a roguish grin. “He’s?”

You blinked. “I didn’t say he’s.”

“You did, baby,” Rafe insisted, circling your waist as you separated from Topper and Kelce. You were scowling, and God — he had always been down fucking bad, but something about your pregnancy glow fluttered through his chest like he was seventeen again. “But it’s algood, it was an honest mistake.”

“Honest mistake?” You echoed, surveying him with amusement. “What? You think it’ll be a girl?”

Rafe grinned a little wider, pressing a chaste kiss on your temple. “I know it’ll a girl.”

And though his tone was lilted playfully, sure to just be another joke, there was something about the twinkle in his eye that willed a pause, features softening. You had never had the pleasure of meeting Lillian Cameron in person, but you were sure, in that moment, that her gaze was the same brilliant blue as her son’s.

—

A get-together at your house on the Eight seemed the only plausible way you could wrangle both of your families into one space. Having done so on occasion enough times for it to not raise any suspicion, you requested their company that very same evening, still misty-eyed and sentimental from telling two lots of Very Important People.

There was expensive wine, this time around, beautifully decorated cheese platters that were sure to give Rose a run for her money. You wanted it to be a little more special than the rest — you hadn’t yet managed to make the announcement yourself, you see, frustratingly perceptive friends figuring it out before you had so much as opened your mouth.

“So,” Rafe started, standing up in his chair. Everyone was gathered in the living room with drinks in hand, yours conveniently left in the kitchen lest someone question why it was orange juice and not white wine. “There is a reason we asked you all here tonight.”

“And here I thought you just enjoyed our company,” Sarah sighed, pouting sarcastically. “Of course there is, you idiot. Are you guys, like, preg—”

“I’m pregnant!” You blurted out, interrupting Sarah before she could finish her sentence because you really really wanted to be able to say it yourself, just this once.

“Oh, sweetheart!” Your mother gushed, her reaction almost immediate. She wasted no time pulling you into a tight hug, your father’s figure bringing up her rear with enough shock on his features for the both of them. “This is wonderful news!”

Rose joined the embrace soon enough, a sentimental gleam in her irises as she began planning the baby shower through poorly-timed sobs. Throwing a good old-fashioned Figure Eight party was her love language, and you knew her enthusiasm meant she was absolutely over-the-moon for you.

Your father decided to address Rafe whilst you were pre-occupied, his voice gruff as though he was trying his best not to cry. “Congratulations, son.”

“Thank you, sir,” Rafe responded softly, outstretched palm promptly swatted away in favour of a big, squeezing hug.

“No more sir,” Your father dismissed with a kind smile, giving Rafe’s back several firm pats before drawing backward to scan his features. “You’re going to be a father, now, Rafe. You’re one of us.”

There was something wonderfully paternal about the way he said it, and Rafe’s eyes flickered to Ward’s figure for an infinitesimal beat, far too intimidated to linger. The moment passed as quickly as it had come, and he was busied with the onslaught of squeals his younger sisters had saved up for this very moment.

“Oh my god!” Sarah exclaimed excitedly, pressing her palm on your belly just like her brother always did. “I’m going to be an Aunty!”

“The best Aunty,” you affirmed, placing your hand atop hers with a twinkle in your eye. Wheezie was quick to do the same, and you felt an overwhelming sense of appreciation circle your watery irises — you may have been an only child, but that hole in your heart had long since been filled by your sisters-in-law.

“God, you finally trapped her for good, huh?” Sarah laughed when she pulled away, getting Rafe’s attention with a aptly placed punch to his chest.

“You know I had to,” Rafe grinned, tugging her into his side a moment. “She’s my only redeeming quality.”

“Rafael,” you pouted, feeling your bottom lip begin to tremble. “You’re going to make me cry. Stop that.”

“Baby,” Rafe murmured gently, sliding his hand down your forearm, the curve of your waist, resting it over the space below your stomach. “You’re going to be the best mom ever, you know that?”

“Isn’t that the truth,” your father said then, finally able to gather his composure enough to wipe away straying tears.

You softened at his strained expression, allowing him to pull you close and press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Dad, are you crying?”

“Hey, cut me some slack — I just found out I’m going to be a grandad,” your father reasoned, letting out a watery laugh. “To a kid who’s definitely a UPenn Law prodigy —”

“Dad.”

“Shush, I’m just trying to lighten the mood,” Your father grinned, shaking his head a moment before exhaling, eyes wistful as they met yours. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m going to be a grandad.”

The rest of the evening occurred in much the same manner — teary-eyed gushing and several different hands on your near non-existent baby bump. Though everyone had managed to cycle several different iterations of “Congratulations!” and “We’re so happy for you!”, you didn’t miss the fact that Ward Cameron had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the get-together. But that wasn’t your battle to face, and you knew that Rafe would pull him aside and speak to him alone when he was ready.

When he did finally pluck up the courage to do so, it was because his father was lingering on the porch steps. The rest of the Cameron family were already making for the car parked on the driveway, having said farewell and promised to return soon enough with baby-related gifts.

“So,” Ward exhaled finally, meeting Rafe’s gaze with something akin to returning home after a long day. “Y/n’s pregnant.”

“Y/n’s pregnant,” Rafe echoed, an ache he hadn’t felt in a long while settling back in his chest. “And you’ve been pretty quiet about it.”

Ward swallowed slightly, knowing he was right. “Son —”

“No, whatever,” Rafe interrupted, his shoulders tensing on instinct. “It was stupid of me to think you had it in you to be happy for me.”

“Rafe,” Ward responded heavily, a sad gleam in his eye. “That isn’t the reason I’ve been so withdrawn.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow at the admission, arms folded across his chest. “Alright, I’ll bite. What is it then?”

“Lil,” and it was barely audible, the slightest whisper, but Rafe heard it clear as day. “I’ve been trying to find the words she’d want me to say, but everything I think of comes up short.”

“And,” he added, smiling poignantly. “I wasn’t the greatest dad growing up. Hearing that you’re going to be one now… I guess it feels like I’m officially out of time.”

“Out of time?” Rafe repeated, voice cracking.

“Trying to fix all the damage I’ve done.”

Ward took a small pause here, shaking his head heavily. “Son… I just need you to know — from the bottom of my heart, from the bottom of your mother’s, you’re going to make a goddamn amazing father.”

Rafe’s features softened then, a little glassy-eyed when he responded. “You think?”

“I don’t need to think. I know.”

[houserautha]

Find the Word

How it works: I search for the words previously assigned to me in my latest WIPs and then choose four words for you to search for in your WIPs.

Thank you @psycheetamore and @moonbeammist for the tags!! Sorry I’m so behind! I was given the words sculpted, strong, delicous, covet and shiver, hears, utter, time.

Strong from This Body, This Flesh:

The urge to cross the space between you to touch him, to touch the fatal spot where the knife had slid in, robbing you of him, is too strong. You hope he doesn’t notice you staring. To refrain from indulging in the urge, your hands clench into fists at your sides.

Delicious from Part 19 of TDE:

You're utterly vulnerable as Feyd starts to work the clasps of your stillsuit, fingers grazing over your skin in the most delicious way. The suit falls from your shoulders and you lift up each arm as he tugs it off, mouth following its path with open mouth kisses. He snakes around you to cup your breast, flicking one stiff nipple with his thumb.

Covet from Pain & Pleasure:

“He should know to take care of such a beautiful woman, lest someone start to covet her." He adds boldly, "There are more things a man can offer you than prestige and wealth."

“And what would that be?" You peer up at him from beneath your lashes.

Feyd has given you quite literally anything you could ask for — a home, a protector, an equal. And more orgasms than you can count, which you understand is what this man before you is implying the na-Baron cannot provide.

Shiver from Truth Be Told:

“You can’t wait, can you?” The blade shivers. A wave of ecstasy sweeps over you as he touches it to the inside of your thigh.

You all but thrust your hips into him, a wanton, greedy thing. Mercifully, Feyd-Rautha grazes the blade to your weeping cunt and then outlines your entrance, more gentle than any man with his reputation should allow. But he finds love in this, does he not? The delicate control that he wields, the certainty of a weapon in his hands. You sense this from him the same way someone can look at a piece of art and know the care the artist put into each brushstroke.

Hears from Part 20 of TDE:

A moment passes, the few seconds before your world tilts on its axis. You don't see the poison dart, or hear it. It buries into your shoulder with surprisingly subtlety, cementing it's existence with a rush of heat in your bloodstream. You look at it, shocked. You waver.

Utter from Part 19 of TDE:

Your survival instinct is yelling at you to fight and you thrash, desperate to rake air back into your lungs. But there's no mistaking the utter thrill of him pounding into your cunt over and over again, quite literally holding your life in his hand while he does it. Only Feyd could straddle this delicate line of control — only Feyd would you let hold such power, one infinitesimal decision away from ending your life for good.

Time from Life & Death:

You don’t know who moves first. It doesn’t matter, not when he pulls you into his chest and kisses you until you’re breathless. You give yourself to him like the flowers have given themselves back to the earth, without concern, to be folded away in the darkness until it’s time to come alive again. And Feyd-Rautha, this God of Death and Battle, forged by war and sickness, lowers you so gently to the forest floor.

I am so terrible with tags, but for anyone who wants to participate, please do!! Your words are Feyd-centric, of course: shadow, dangerous, kneel, and graze(s).

I apologize @psycheetamore I couldn’t find “sculpted” and I was so outraged that I haven’t used that word in reference to Feyd that I’m writing it in the last part of TDE😂