ditch-witches

[ditch-witches]

Hii there! Can you believe it that I've re-read 'the majesty' series almost 5 times? The story's so wonderful 💖

Oh my goodness! I’m so glad you enjoyed it; it’s one of my favorites to write. Hopefully, I’ll be able to deliver you another installment soon!

♡ 𝓖𝓻𝓪𝔂𝓬𝓮

[ditch-witches]

CAN U DO A GEORGE MACKAY NSFW ALPHABET IF U HAVENT

*cracks knuckles* WE’LL SEE I GUESS

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

George’s aftercare game is peak honestly. He’d help clean you up and be the first to initiate a spooning session afterwards. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

George is your #1 hype man, so picking a favorite part of your body would be difficult, yet he can’t help but favor the small space where your hips connect to your leg. It’s such an intimate part of your body, he’s almost always pressing gentle kisses to the area. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

George has a massive breeding kink, it’s obvious, so his favorite place to cum is probably inside you. Something about marking you as his and sharing that intimate moment just gets him fucking going. 

Also, the idea of releasing on your chest has always sparked unnecessary horniness in the man. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

George has always wanted to be in a threesome with you and another guy, just to try it. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

George gives off massive childhood-sweethearts vibes so I have a feeling you guys were each other’s first and had to grow sexually together. That being said, he’s down for anything as long as it makes you happy. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Cowgirl. Man loves being dominated and being able to watch you get yourself off on him. That imagery is often what keeps him company when he’s away for a film or press tour. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Whenever he feels the tension in the room heavying between the two of you, he cracks a joke. Even when he’s finally returned from being away, he finds a way to lighten up the room. 

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s well-groomed, not like completely smooth, but not enough hair that it gets in your way when you’re on your knees for him. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Romantic? Hell yes. This man would do anything for you, especially if it’d have you moaning his name. He’d go out of his way to please you, whether that be upon request or he gets a hunch you’d like more passion. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

As previously stated, he doesn’t do it until you’re apart. The man is loyal asf so even his pleasure fantasies involve you, whether it be the most recent time the two of you were tangled together in the shower or when he was taking you from the back before he left. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

This man is hella submissive. He loves when you absolutely take control, tying him to the headboard or degrading the fuck out of him. If you’re in charge, he’s absolutely smitten. 

That doesn’t mean he’s not down for absolutely demolishing you if you requested. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anytime anywhere. 

No, I’m joking. He’s more into unwrapping you at home, but once the front door locks, he’s down for anywhere. 

The steps? Watch him grip your hips harder to “keep you in place.” 

The kitchen? Bon appetit. 

Wherever you wanted, just as long as you liked it. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Whenever you nonchalantly mess with him in public. You could be eyeing him from across the dinner table at a restaurant, slipping your hand up his thigh in the cinema, or whispering in his ear while you were standing in line at the grocery store. When he calls you on it and you play innocent is what sends him into a feral friendsy. Wait until the two of you got him. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

George hates when you cry, so anything that made you uncomfortable or something that you weren’t 100% into. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loved pleasing you, so probably prefers giving, yet as soon as you remotely hint at wanting to get him off he’s treating it with the same kind of worship as if you were giving him a piece of your soul. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It really depends on where you guys are at and what the context is, but more times than not he’s into the roughness. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

George loves quickies just as much as he loves the latter. When he’s finally back from his press tour and can’t keep his hands off you before you leave for work, quickies tide the two of you over until you get back and can cherish the fuck out of each other for a few hours. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

George is down for absolutely everything. If that includes pegging, fun. If it revolves around buying a cheap knight costume, he’s on his way. Literally whatever you want, he’s down with no questions. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

George probably has the stamina but that doesn’t mean he can last. Example: your first round probably lasts only a few seconds just out of his pure excitement. He’ll make it up to you almost immediately but just expect it. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

The two of you have probably bought toys together, but the condition is that if it’s outlandish, you both have to come up with random other uses for it just for fun. They have to be a multipurpose tool. Those nipple clamps work as chip clips too, George. Chile. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

George sucks a teasing and most of the time forgets that was his intent as you beg for him, neediness in your eyes. He’d just give in no matter what. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

This man is a praise seeker, so he’s probably pretty loud. His accent drops like three octaves when he asks you if something feels good or if he’s doing something right. When your moans turn into words of affirmation, he’s completely unraveled for you, his noises low and guttural like an animal. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

This isn’t exactly sexual (unless you make it like that), but George loves to be the little spoon when you guys are cuddling. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Look at your hand, the space between the tip of your middle finger to the base of your palm is his size. 

Hello, to my tall readers ;) 

I’m joking. 

Unless…. 

Anyway, George is pretty average but knows what he’s doing so you have no complaints in that department. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s usually out like a light after the two of you get cleaned up. He’d wrap your arms around him tighter and just drift off. 

Hey, y’all! I hope this is okay! As always, let us know what you think and leave us requests if you’d like :) 

Also, this is unedited, please throw tomatoes. 

[ditch-witches]

Hey there! I was wondering if you could write about Dean making you breakfast for the first time? I love your Dean content btw and am in the mood for some domestic Dean :)

pairing: Dean Charles Chapman x reader

warnings: suggestive language, cursing, this doesn’t really give off domestic vibes and is a little thin I apologize :/

You groaned slightly and rubbed the sleep from your eyes, stretching your hands towards where you usually kept your phone. You panicked momentarily as you realized your table wasn't there anymore, opening your eyes and finding that you weren't in your room. And then you remembered going out with your friend and not making it home. You knew she had gotten up for work probably hours prior to you waking up. You rolled out of bed and headed for the shower, needing to pull yourself together in some way before you headed back out into the world, grateful you didn't have plans for the day. The shower was hot and soothed your hangover as you let the water roll over your body, your smudged makeup being stripped away like you were shedding a previous life. 

Your friend's clothes were soft and neatly pressed in her drawers, making you smile at her tidiness as you pulled a few articles from their piles, careful not to disrupt anything too drastically. Her hoodie fit you snugly and as you looked into the mirror, you furrowed your brows slightly, debating if you should put makeup on or not. After all, you weren't planning on running into anyone special. As you stepped out of her room, noises from the kitchen startled you. You crept down the stairs quietly and pushed open the kitchen door, the creaking of the hinges revealing a man at her stove. The two of you looked up at each other and jumped, him almost dropping his bowl. 

"Who the fuck are you?" You demanded, grabbing the nearest household item to serve as a weapon. You swore under your breath as you realized it was a remote. 

"I live here. Who the fuck are you?" He mimicked your tone, furrowing his brows at you. You let out a breath of relief. 

"Oh thank God. You're the new roommate?" You asked, setting down the remote and walking into the kitchen. 

"Yeah. I'm Dean…" he hesitated, his eyes watching you pour yourself a cup of coffee. 

"I'm the best friend," you greeted, mumbling your name soon after. 

His eyebrow raised at you. "Want some breakfast?" You looked over him slightly to see what he was making. "There's going to be tons leftover." 

"Alright. Don't poison me, Dean," you jeered, moving to sit on the kitchen island. 

He chuckled, turning back to the stove. "I won't. Just don't hit me with the remote." You giggled slightly at his jest while he smirked. It was now that you fully took in his appearance. You had been too blinded by adrenaline and excitement that you hadn't noticed how broad his shoulders were and how his dark hair was just the right amount of curly. He peered over his shoulder at you before turning to lean against the counter beside the stove while the pan got hotter. His blue eyes were vibrant due to the contrast of his black hoodie. You had to admit, he was cute.

"So, where are you from, Dean?" You asked, swinging your legs and taking a sip of coffee. You studied where his clothes hugged his body and the easiness in his appearance, your eyes trailing down to his grey sweatpants. Nice. 

"Essex," he muttered, searching your face for something. “Romford, Essex.” 

"You're a long way from home then, aren't you?" You asked without skipping a beat.

He smirked. "Sometimes distance is good, don't you think?" 

"Not if you're around the right person," you commented, sending him a mildly flirtatious grin, making the tips of his ears ghost red. 

His eyebrows perked as he grinned. "Cheeky." His eyes raked over you as well, almost like sizing up an opponent. 

You wet your lips, feeling rather bold. Men in domestic situations were always your weakness. Especially when they were as attractive as Dean. "Do you have that right person?" You quizzed. 

He grinned fully, shrugging and turning back to an egg frying. "I don't think I would be living in a flat like this if I did." His sly wink made you smile. 

"Really? Even if you've only dated a girl for like a month, you'd move in with her?" You hopped down from the counter to lean beside him. 

He swallowed, fighting his ever-growing grin before looking back up into your eyes with a mock sincerity on his face. "Oh no, I'm a hopeless romantic, you see. I'd get married within the week if I met that right person." 

You giggled at his comment and he smiled. "How many times have you been married then?"

"In the past year? Four," he shrugged. You laughed a bit harder. "Damn, I could get used to that," he commented, almost too quiet for your own ears, making you bite your lip. 

You crossed your arms. "I could get used to having a man in the kitchen." 

"Good, because usually, I sleep in the kitchen," he quipped.

"Oh yeah?” You crossed your arms to keep from giving in to your temptations. ”Under the kitchen table or on top?" 

"Under. I'm not a heathen," he faked offense. 

You bit back another chuckle, deciding to probe further. "So you like to be on bottom?" 

His face twisted smugly before his eyes turned to yours. The blue in his eyes seemed to have grown darker. "If that's what the table would prefer.” 

"And if the table wants you on top?" He leaned towards you, closing what little distance there was between the two of you. Your heart began to race a mile per minute, as his musky yet woody scent invaded your senses. God, he smelled more enticing than the food he was cooking. 

"So be it," he answered, a sly smirk creeping across his face, as he reached around you to grab a bottle of some kind of spice. You almost reached out and touched him.

"I like you," you uttered and he grinned at what he was doing. 

"Feelings mutual, love," he added keenly. 

"Too bad we're not roommates," you leered, stepping ever so slightly closer to him, your thigh ghosting against his leg.

He leaned towards you again, his beautiful scent once again enveloping you. "Careful, I marry on the first date, remember?" 

You smiled, biting your lip, his attention drawing to your mouth. "I thought you said within the week?" 

"Different circumstances," he threw back, a grin still playing on his plump lips. He moved to hand you a plate of a variety of foods. 

You took it but kept him holding onto the other side. "Would you want to get a drink later?"

He chewed his bottom lip. "You ready for the commitment?" He joked. 

"I'm ready for whatever you want from me, Dean," you commented, taking the plate and nudging his side as you walked out of the kitchen with it, basking in his deep chuckle. 

this is so cheesy bls forgive me

[ditch-witches]

do you think you could write a smut where dean is stressed out so the reader gives him a blowjob to help him out?

pairing: Dean Charles Chapman x reader

warnings: nsfw (18+ but i'm not your mom [unless like,,, you ask nicely]), oral (m. receiving), suggestive language, there’s only so many words for dick im SoRRY, also i'm writing this at 4 in the morning so who knows what else. 

Dean ran his fingers through his hair, pulling the cap off a highlighter with his teeth as he broke down another scene from the script he recently received. For no reason in particular, this character was getting on his nerves and testing his weaknesses as an actor. You wrung your hands as you silently paced in front of his office door, debating whether or not to intrude on him while he was so obviously frustrated. You listened as he shifted in his chair, the plastic creaking as he leaned back and rubbed his eyes. You took a deep breath before rapping your knuckles against the wood of the door frame, pulling his attention towards you as his eyes softened at the sight of you. 

You noticed how his hair was getting almost too long as it curled around his ears and framed his face, dark circles around his light eyes making him look a few years older than he actually was. "How's it going?" You asked, stepping into the room as his eyes followed you to turn on another lamp. 

He sighed tiredly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desktop. "Well," he paused, a small grin tugging at his lips before continuing, "it's going." You moved across the floor to stand behind him. Your hands settled against his shoulders, letting your fingers dig into his skin softly to soothe the knot forming between his shoulder blades. He groaned at the feeling, reclining back into your touch happily. 

"Anything I can do to help?" You inquired softly, stooping down to smooth a kiss to his cheek. He hummed in response, his eyes shutting momentarily as he relaxed as your hands kneaded against his arms. You combed your brain for how to ease his mind as he exhaled. 

And then it hit you. “Fancy a break?” You asked, your hands continuing their motions and he muttered an agreement before swinging out his chair to stand. You stepped in front of him, pushing his chest so he plopped back down. Dean’s eyes flashed up to you with a raised eyebrow and a small grin on his face. He studied your every move as you blatantly pushed your hair out of your face and tied it back into a ponytail as you bent down between his legs. 

His lips parted into an almost shocked expression as if he was waiting for you to back out and tell him it was some kind of a prank. You dragged your nails alongside his thigh as he leaned forward slightly. He smirked at you, settling one of his hands into your hair. You turned your head to press a kiss to his palm and bat your eyes at him suggestively. “You’re doing such a good job. Don’t tire yourself out,” you cooed, coyly. Dean nearly rolled his eyes, knowing what you were up to. 

You sat up on your knees to capture his lips against yours, eliciting a small moan to echo from his throat at the taste of you. Your hand traveled up his thigh and towards his zipper, his other hand moving to assist you as he grabbed your wrist. You allowed his tongue to slip into your mouth as he pulled you into a deeper kiss. Your fingers icked to please him as you began to palm him through his jeans, his body responding quickly to your advances like it was the first time you’d ever touched him. 

As he began to harden beneath your gesture, your lips found their way to his jaw, your teeth skimming across his skin to tease a blush to his cheeks. You coaxed his erection further before you began to unclasp his pants. “Relax, baby,” you murmured against his skin. He moaned softly as your lips traced the divots of his collar bones, your tongue swirling as if to hint at what was in store. You sank back on the balls of your feet, your hand reaching up to push him flat against the chair back. He bit his lip to fight the smile threatening to break across his features as your fingers curled around the base of his cock. He tensed under your grip as you began to pump your hand, drawing out another hushed moan from the man above you. “Does that feel good?” You taunted, looking up at him through your eyelashes. 

He exhaled heavily in response, one of his hands moving to rest on your forearm for some kind of support as you encouraged his further arousal. You let your tongue dart out across your lips before pressing them to the sensitive skin of his tip. You focused on how each of your actions caused his body to relax, a small sense of pride swelling deep inside of you at the fact that it was so easy for you to pleasure him. You eased your mouth around his erection, your tongue swirling around his shaft. As your head began to move in tandem with your hand, you basked in the growing vulgarity of his words. 

You pulled your mouth off of him, continuing to speed your hand motions gradually as your teeth etched into his thigh. You could watch him unravel for you for the rest of your life; his gaze hazy as he avoided your sultry eye contact, his lips red and aggravated from harsh attempts at keeping himself quiet. Some of his curls were tugged back from being pulled at, his blissed-out expression creating a more prominent redness to his cheeks. Your lips slowly traveled back to his cock, an almost pleading look settling into his bright irises as your intentions were now directed on taking him deeper. 

His grip on your arm tightened as you pushed his tip past your lips once again, a strangled groan of pure pleasure hissing through his teeth. As he reached the back of your throat, tears began to brim in the corners of your eyes and his arousal twitched in your mouth. You began to bob your head once again, edging him on further with each of his moans of your name which you knew was a warning that he was close. You alternated the movements of your mouth and hand, making him fight against bucking his hips towards you. His cock tensed and in an instant, hot sticky strands of pleasure were filling your mouth. 

You brushed a hand across your chin and Dean leaned forward, digging his fingers into your hair to capture your lips in a worshiping kiss. He moaned against your mouth, sending a vibration straight to your core. You severed the action and stood, leaving him nearly breathless. “Don’t overwork yourself,” you taunted with a small wink, making him look up at you with an almost submissive undertone as he nodded. 

[ditch-witches]

Would you ever write some more with King Dean and his witch wife

Yes! I would like to. I’m currently condensing what I’ve written for part 3 (because n O ONE wants to read 10k words of that bs).

But yeah, it’s on its way ;)

[ditch-witches]

idk if you do things like this but i love love love your writing and was wondering if you could do george and dean when they're jealous. seriously i will kiss you if you do

Shit, I can't pass up an offer like that 😘 

I really like writing these so if y’all want more, let me know. Happy reading!   - 𝓰

G. MACKAY

- George wouldn't get jealous often, he's pretty stable in your relationship

- but whenever one of his friends gets a little too giggly when you're around, it's like a switch has flipped

- hear me out, but I can see him stereotypically butting into your conversation and putting his hand on your waist

- or threading his fingers with yours as he gives the friend a knowing look

- and of course, you're completely unbothered and hadn't even realized the other person was hitting on you

- but George could pick that up from across the room like he's got a radar for it

- I don't see him being weird and possessive, but more in need of validation because ~~~~soft boy

- usually after you figure it out, it's all squeezing his hand and muttering in his ear when you both join a bigger conversation

- on the way home he'd probably laugh about the situation anyway, but you'd assure him with a small kiss on the back of his hand

- maybe later the two of you would take a bath together, forgetting the situation as you share a bottle of wine ;)

D. C. CHAPMAN 

(bit more NSFW)

- as a foil to George, Dean would probably notice someone touching your arm or leaning in to speak to you and a fire would light within him

- the type of fire that leaves him plotting something for you later

- he'd let the person flirt with you, and you'd feel Dean's eyes on you from across the room

- you'd probably guess what it's doing to him to see you flirt back but you'd let your actions tease him anyway

- as the two of you would leave the event, he'd be kind of tense in a sly type of way and you knew what was coming

- Dean was usually pretty ~r0ugh~ in bed after one of these situations, making sure you knew it was okay to have a little fun but at the end of the day, you'd be moaning his name.

"You sure you don't want your little partner to join us?" He'd jeer, peering through the corner of his eye to look at you with a small. His hand would settle on your knee before curling his fingers around the inside of your thigh, making you tug the flesh of your bottom lip between your teeth. "You two really seemed to hit it off."

You'd titter at his comments, spreading your legs a bit more as his grip would tighten. He'd stop at a deserted red light and take your chin between his thumb and index finger, bringing your lips to meet his briefly. "Oh, now you're at a loss for words? We'll see how long that lasts," he'd comment with a smug look on his face has a blush would spread across your cheeks.

[ditch-witches]

I love you. Glad we can be a part of your 2:30 😘

casual 2:30 in the morning things: listening to calming christmas music and reading through @ditch-witches george fics. this is my prime. i feel at peace. my stress is ✨gone✨ for the moment

[ditch-witches]

Wine Shade (George Mackay smut)

request: “Can we get any smutty George fics??” (yes :))

warnings: nsfw, language, sMuT, fwb situation, drinking, idk if you find something else then add that 

word count: ~2700

a/n: hey guys, i hope you enjoy this! lowkey i miss this typa stuff but i am still a bit rusty. lemme know what you think :)

         - also thank you, Hannah, for your assistance on the 18+ content

You listened intently to your father as he detailed a story from work earlier in the day, a small smile creeping onto his face as he got to a lift in his point. Laughing at one of his remarks, your eyes drifted to the wine glass in front of you. The aromatic liquid threatening to stain the glass sent your mind to the night before George left for his new movie. The image of his lips twisting into a devious grin sent a flush to your cheeks with the mix of your memory of his hands on your thighs. You hated to admit it, but you missed having the cocky bastard just a phone call away to make a bad day fade. The thought of the cloak of night broken by the soft glow of candles around your bathtub and his sinful fingers brushing against your neck to chase his lips sent shivers along your spine. It was becoming clear to you that he had, in fact, been gone too long. George had a way of sneaking into your mind throughout the day, like he was some kind of infestation you couldn’t exterminate. 

You brought the glass to your lips, letting the tart liquid swirl around your tongue as your mother’s shrill voice broke into your daydreams as she offered up yet another man to you. You rolled your eyes in protest, stating once again that you were focusing on your career, not on becoming a breeding machine to fill her spare bedrooms. Her snide expression was cut short as she began to rattle off all the people you graduated with that still lived in your hometown and were now as pregnant as pigs in summer. The thought was even more repulsive when matched with the imagery of sweaty, pregnant pigs. 

You excused yourself from the table to get more wine. As you leaned against the counter, attempting to read the small print on the label so you could answer your father’s wine trivia in confidence, your phone buzzed, lighting up with George’s name attached to a notification. You chewed the inside of your cheek, debating whether or not to look at the message. You clicked on the device, giving into your curiosity. Your mind turned at his simple words. 

You closed your eyes with a sharp inhale, every possible scenario of how to get your parents out of the way flashing behind your eyes. And finally it came to you: make him wait. 

G. Mackay

Fancy a pick me up? 

Can’t. My parents are over. 

You sat patiently as the three typing dots bounced beside his name. What was his disgusting mind coming up with now?

Did you misread my message?

G. Mackay

Get rid of them. I’m on my way.

You fought not to groan in frustration, rolling your head on your shoulders. You could practically see the shit-eating grin plastering his face as if he were standing before you. 

You took a deep breath, attempting to think on your feet. You couldn’t say you were ill or your mother would never leave. You couldn’t say you were tired because you’d get badgered about your job. You still hadn’t decided as your feet carried you into the dining room without the bottle in hand, but your phone. Your mother stood, stacking her plate on your father’s and you furrowed your brows. “I just looked at the time. It’s much too late to be out at this hour when your father’s the age he is.” You snorted at her comment as your dad brushed her off. You moved to help them get to their jackets and get them out the door. Some push of fate had come to grace you tonight. What did you do to deserve this? 

G. Mackay

Nope :)

Your heart stopped with the knock at the door that broke up your conversation. You pursed your lips and moved to answer the call, praying to everyone above that it was just the mail carrier needing you to sign for the new coffee table you ordered from IKEA a few days prior. Instead, you were greeted with a cocky smile and a picturesque George leaning against the side of the door. Your eyes widened and your teeth clenched, hoping your parents were too engrossed in your father’s coat buttons to notice the rather tall man on your doorstep. “Hey, gorgeous,” he remarked and you felt your whole body tense in anger at his calm, smugness. He looked over your head slightly, his face lighting up with mischief. “Oh goody. Mum and dad.” 

“Who is it?” Your father called from the living room and you moved to shove George out of the way of the door as you heard your father shuffling towards the entrance. 

You swallowed, eyes burning into George. “I don’t know-”

George straightened up, digging into his jacket pocket and pulling a crumpled piece of paper into one of his large hands. “I’m looking for,” he paused, pretending to squint at his writing as your father joined your side, “SluttyGirl69. Am I pronouncing that right? SluttyGirl69?” You looked up at the ceiling, wanting to shrivel up and die rather than be in this place at this moment. Seriously, what had you done to deserve this? 

Your father drew in a breath, sticking his hand out to George. “Well, that’s me. I’m SluttyGirl69,” he answered with a sincerity you couldn’t believe existed in the man. George nodded intently. Knowing the both of them, it was difficult to decide whether you’d rather laugh or scream in embarrassment at the notion of the two men attempting to take the piss out of each other. “Would you like to come in, son? I can’t remember if I paid you or not.” George sent you a subtle wink as he brushed past you into the living room behind the small man. You crossed your arms, trying your best not to show how disturbed you were at the fact that your usual booty call was meeting your parents only minutes after your mother was trying to sell you off to an ex-frat boy. “Dear, I think it’s time we go,” your father commented to your mother trying to hide the snicker beneath his words. 

Your mother furrowed her brows at George before looking at you. You pinched the bridge of your nose between your thumb and index finger, pushing back your looming migraine. George smiled at her sweetly. “Who is this man?” 

“He’s no one. I’ll call the police when you leave,” you answered gruffly. You decided finally. You’d rather die than be here. Your mother began to object to leaving as your father shuffled her out, wishing you a goodnight as he shut the door. The click of the lock finally sent you over the edge. “What part of my parents are here do you not get?” George shrugged off his jacket and threw it over your staircase banister before sauntering further into your house to the dining room. He picked up your glass and bit into a piece of bread as you put your hands on your hips. 

The thickness of your anger was almost too much to contain. Maybe you weren’t angry, maybe only shocked at what had just occurred. One of his fingers swiped against the glass, his finger pad turning the shade of your lipstick that had rubbed off against it. “I always did love this color on you.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you before taking a sip. 

“I seriously cannot believe you.” You ran your fingers into your hair in an endeavor to settle your boiling nerves as he took a seat in your chair. 

“I think I might catch feelings for you just to hang out with your dad,” he mused as if nothing had happened. You let out a long exhale, sliding into the seat adjacent to him. 

You set your chin in your hand, realizing there was no getting through to him. “Why don’t you just date him?” You nearly sneered. “Cut out the middleman.” 

He tilted his head and looked off into the distance. “Why don’t I just- There’s an idea! See, I knew you were smart but not THAT smart.” You narrowed your eyes at him as he flashed you another haughty expression, his eyes sparkling as if he knew exactly what he was doing. “You missed me, didn’t you?” You groaned at his light mood, taking a rather large drink from your wine glass. “Don’t worry, I’ll fuck you good tonight,” his comment should have been deep and lustful like it usually was, but his joking demeanor was setting it off-kelter. 

“Just how many STDs did you pick up on set?” You queried, raising a brow in his direction. He sat forward an inch from your face. 

His vexing eyes danced across your blunt expression. “You have nothing to worry about.” 

“Uh huh,” you answered flatly, stacking the dirty plates from the table into your arms and trudging towards the sink in the kitchen. You heard his footsteps travel across the tile floor and his hands settle on your hips, his lips lingering closely to the base of your neck. You felt his chest against your back as he leaned against you, sighing into the crook of your neck like he had missed this one part of your body. You swallowed harshly, your hands covering his own before you turned in his grasp to meet his lust blown eyes. 

He sloped towards you, his lips settling against yours in an almost flutter as you relaxed into his touch. He deepened the kiss rapidly, pressing his tongue into your mouth hungrily as his hot breath hammered against your cheek and his fingers dove into your hair. You weren’t sure how swiftly he had coaxed you into wrapping around him so submissively but all you could focus on was the blending taste of the wine on his lips and the ghost of his cologne. His hips softly brushed against your own, both of your hands sent to roaming the other's body, searching for the perfect resting place after exploring the new features you had both gained while he was away. 

George’s hands firmly grasped your ass, crashing your body into his after sizing you up. You could feel his body dip beneath you pulling you up to rest on the counter top. Giggling slightly at the cliche gesture, you were beginning to notice George slowly slipping his hands under your shirt. He pulled away from you almost reluctantly to leave you breathlessly yearning for more of him already. His gorgeous head of auburn hair swiftly followed his slow coarse hands. His mouth littered your abdomen with sloppy kisses, sending your head tipping back and your knees weak from just his touch. Your hands found the hem of your shirt, lifting the material up over your head allowing you the ability to watch George praise your deprived body. 

His arms snaked around your torso as he seemed to grow more impatient with the tension between the two of you. He was steady and smooth at unclasping your constricting bra and replacing it with his unforgiving hands roughly handling you as his lips moved to caress yours briefly. His mouth soon replaced his hands, roughly sucking on your nipples and swirling his tongue against your sensitive skin. A repressed moan slipped past your lips, much to your dismay as you nearly strung your legs around his waist to urge him to make you scream. Your sounds seemed to cause George to perk up as he bound you tightly in his arms once again, hooking an arm across your back and around the back of one of your legs and moving you to the dining table this time. He rather enthusiastically swiped an arm through whatever frivolous decorations had been clustered there. 

Your pants seemed to work their way off as your mouths danced together in an attempt to quietly speak all the words you both wanted to say the time he had been away. Your fingers dug into his button up shirt, ruffling the cloth clad against his back before slipping your hands down his chest to pry apart the clasps. You almost groaned at the realization that he had been conditioning as your nails raked against his skin. George moved to position himself between your legs, pressing himself against your core also as if almost teasing you with himself after you so clearly had waited for months for this moment in particular. He pushed you back into the table, his hands locked with yours and raising them above your head to achieve some type of control over your body. He pushed into you finally, a breath of almost relief washing over the both of you at the feeling of finally fitting together. He curled his hips against you. You squirmed underneath him as he outlined your body in kisses and nips to mark you with his growing dominance. His hips ground against your exposed skin making you crave his touch more feverishly as he began to move, but you knew begging was exactly what he wanted from you and you were too stubborn to give in so easily to his manipulative touch. 

His lips grazed your neck almost inviting you to succumb to his reticent requests with his coaxing movements. Your body thirsted for more of his friction. Your hands gripped against his exposed torso almost begging him to forget his need for your submission and he chuckled deeply. You both wanted control, but you both knew that someone was going to have to cave in order for your pleasure to be fully reached and, god, it had been so long; just a look could send you whimpering. George began offering you sweet, dark rewards for your compliance to his desires. His hands grazed against your throat offering to choke you, but only if you asked him to. You knew he was about to give in soon as his teasing thrusts began to quicken. 

Before you could even attempt to open your mouth to oblige his need and beg him to take control, he swiftly turned you over as if he had been classically trained in the action. His body pinned yours against the table, finally gaining the dominance. His actions were quick as you both were threateningly close to climax. His actions flipped on a switch, much to your excitement. He forcefully shoved into you allowing you no time to adjust to him as he plowed into you. Your body fought every urge to succumb to his power and ride out your high so soon, not letting yourself orgasm before him. His body crashed against yours holding you down against his force, your skin slapping together pushing you closer to your edge. You could feel his heavy breath against your skin. You could feel his high was threatening to spill over as his member twitched slightly. You knew yours was close as well, your breathing began to shallow, driving George to quicken his movements. His pace threw you over the edge finally succumbing to your pleasure and screaming out as you nearly saw stars from the feeling of him. With you both finishing, George pulled out and dragged his hand up the length of your spine to settle in the crook of your neck again. 

You exhaled deeply and stood up straighter, bending to the feeling of his hand as his arm slid to hook around your shoulders and bring your lips to his again: a searing kiss to your now smeared lipstick you hoped to remember for the nights when he wasn’t around. Your mind seemed to click into reality once again and you pushed him away slightly, earning a furrow from him. “The best you could come up with was SluttyGirl69?” 

“Would you have preferred DaddysGirl?” He jeered aimlessly, pressing his lips against yours briefly once again before pulling his boxers up and slinking into the kitchen. 

[ditch-witches]

Yo

Oi

[ditch-witches]

Silhouette (Dean Charles-Chapman x reader)

request: Dean x Kiwi by Harry Styles (idek if this is okay im sorry)

warnings: smoking, drinking, weird au, some adult themes

word count: ~3000 (IM SORRY)

a/n: hey guys! since I’m now on break, I’m going to try and get back to writing. let me know what you think (literally even if it’s like ‘lol this sux’) and---as always---our inbox is open and we love to hear from you. happy reading! ♡

𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓷 𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓲𝓶𝓵𝔂 𝓵𝓲𝓽 𝓫𝓪𝓻; the buzz of his surroundings vibrating through his bones with the slight nervousness he yielded. His heart skipped a few beats, his mouth drying as he shed his jacket and ran his fingers into his hair. The smoky atmosphere was cut by the strong scent of Acqua di Parma and sweat as he was drawn further into the gentlemen’s club via the deep wine-colored curtains twisting this way and that to cover the bare walls beneath. The accents of gold lights barely illuminated certain corners of the large room, sending a small rush of claustrophobia pulsing through his veins. Girls of various silhouettes seemed to sway between the tables, tending to the desires of sundry men gathered around tables and stationed in lavish, velvet chairs. 

He felt out of place, to say the least. The only time he had ever found himself in such a setting usually occurred when his garrulous boss and his group of kiss-asses wanted to slip away from their loyalties of marriage for a dirty tango with a nameless courtesan. They often disguised these faults of character as “letting off steam after a biting week.” By a simple survey of the room, Dean recognized several of the men from the last times he was dragged to the underground business. Appalling. 

“Chapman!” A husky voice beckoned Dean from one of the prominent tables. His eyes drifted towards the noise after his feet had already begun to carry him away. The man who’d called to him was one of the heirs of the company Dean worked for; a capricious bastard who could and would liquidate Dean’s position at the drop of a hat. He was pinned to his seat beneath a woman no older than Dean yet the years against the outside world painted her face, twisting into the lines framing her eyes and mouth. The Heir held onto the woman a bit tighter as he flung his hand in the air almost like he was trying to wave down Dean in the middle of the Colosseum. 

Dean nodded in acknowledgment and gestured towards the bar, hoping to kill enough time and gain a bit of patience before having to withstand the course of a few hours with the group of heinous Yale alumni. He slumped onto one of the bar stools, pushing his fingers against his temple and mumbling a drink order to the suave bartender. Dean was no prude, but the thought of paying for women to throw themselves at his colleagues seemed like a waste of money. 

She worked her way through a cheap pack of cigarettes / Hard liquor mixed with a bit of intellect.

As a tumbler of copper-colored courage was set in front of him, Dean chewed the inside of his cheek, glaring at the glass as if it were containing everything distasteful about the position he was seemingly cemented into. Raising the crystal schooner to his lips, his eyes drifted towards the end of the bar as an ick of being watched by smoldering eyes slithered up each of his vertebrae. The dark shade of your lipstick seemed to be cut from the same fabric as the curtains; the hue pressing around the thin paper of the cigarette you were drawing from. The slender elegant swirls of smoke dancing around you gave your appearance an almost ghost-like aura as your eyes analyzed Dean. The corner of your mouth drew up in a small smirk as he tugged his eyes away from you. Dean knew not to let himself look frigid and square under your gaze, plucking as much courage as he could from the depths of his being to ease his mannerisms and seem unbothered. 

And all the boys, they were saying they were into it / Such a pretty face, on a pretty neck.

You seemed familiar to him in a way he couldn’t place, yet as his eyes lifted once more they fell onto the Heir who smoothed his hair back into place, a mission in his eyes like you were an untouched civilization waiting to be colonized. His lasering stare glued to you as he fastened his jacket button and straightened his pant legs. You lazily took another drag from your cigarette, brushing away the slight smear of your lipstick with your pinky and blowing your spiraling clouds directly towards the Heir as he bluntly approached the vacant seat beside you. The acrid expression in your eyes only seemed to beckon him further into your personal space as he leaned towards your ear to whisper a leerish bribe. You tilted your head away from him as his breath fanned over your neck, your eyes kindling a fire deep within Dean as he watched the man practically drape himself over your shoulder. 

The Heir leaned back from you faintly to dig into one of his suit jacket pockets for a fold of money. Your eyes fluttered to the bar in front of you, the ice in your drink decomposing like a forgotten animal as the Heir pressed towards your ear with a brutish attempt at holding your attention. 

She’s driving me crazy, but I’m into it… / It’s getting crazy, I think I’m losing it. 

Dean scorned himself for staring, yet he couldn’t bring himself to jerk his gaze away from you. Your sultry eyes knew what the Heir’s actions and your subtle reactions were doing to Dean as his cheeks warmed with each trailing glance and wordless comment. The air seemed to grow thicker as Dean took another drink, watching the small conversation pass between you and the Heir.

When she’s alone, she goes home to a cactus / In a black dress, she’s such an actress.

It only just hit him that you were one of the popular performers. The Heir had been a regular of yours, something Dean had only mildly been attentive to in his previous visits. You had been the one he had talked about during business dinners, trying to persuade Dean into becoming a regular at the club. You were the one he visited during the “droughts” with his wife. You were the other woman. Dean shook his head in mild disbelief as an almost venomous ache settled in his bones at the realization of just what kind of game he could be getting into with you. 

The Heir settled a hand on the back of your neck, the first graze of his skin against yours under Dean’s scorning eye. You wet your lips, flashing your sights back towards Dean as if commanding him to watch. You held an almost debonair attitude towards the Heir; humoring the snobbish brat like he was a toddler too easily upset with not getting his way. Your graceful figure withdrew from under his grasp, sending a few parting words to the Heir before you vanished from Dean’s peripheral. Dean struggled to finish his drink, knowing he would have to face his colleagues after nearly falling into your maniacal web. 

She sits beside me like a silhouette. 

Dean tilted the glass around its base, your eyes still scorched into the depths of his consciousness. The way you disappeared forced the thought to cross Dean’s mind that maybe you were just a figment of his imagination. He could almost picture the shape of your figure as the Heir twisted his ownership and title around you like a thick, suffocating bow as heavy as the draping curtains. Dean gestured for a top off on his drink, his mind wandering to where you were now, and god-forbid if you were at the mercy of the Heir once again. He scoffed to himself, cursing at how late it must be if he were catching a fit like this over a lady of the night. 

And in an instant, it was as if he had manifested your apparition as you settled into the seat beside him. “Stinger please, Joe,” you hummed, sending a small grin to the bartender and crossing your legs. Dean smirked to himself as you nonchalantly popped open your compact mirror and touched up your lipstick, your leg in danger of grazing his own. He gnawed on his bottom lip, searching for the correct string of words to figure out how cautious he had to be around you. 

He side-eyed you, your features more stunning at close contact than from a distance. He was nearly surprised you hadn’t looked as… tired… as the other woman that had been entertaining the Heir earlier in the night. “Did you take the money?” He asked you, a sharp inhale of pride stinging his lungs as he gave into his curiosity. He noticed your sly smile at his words, hating the way you nearly coaxed his thoughts from the tip of his tongue. He took another sip of his drink, pretending it was a struggle for him to make eye contact with you. 

You seemed to chew on your response, the suspense killing Dean as he hung on a line for you. “No, I told him that he got me pregnant,” you quipped lightly, your words reaching out to backhand Dean. It felt like too much information for him but the way you confidently muttered your response had him wondering whether or not you were serious. “He left to phone his wife. I have a feeling I won’t be seeing him for a while,” you continued, a smile threatening to break past your lips. 

Dean perked an eyebrow at the knots in the wood grain beneath his hands, forcing himself to swallow. “What are you gonna do then?” He chided himself for pursuing the topic even further when the thought of it (you and the Heir) made him ill. He stroked his chin, feeling your eyes dance to him. You were close enough that he could smell the mint in your drink. He could swim in the aroma of your delicate perfume and biting liquid. Your voice was a lulling tone he wanted to live in his ears forever.

You wet your lips slowly. “Celebrate, no?” This time Dean did look at you, nearly falling into a trance at the realization that your eyes were more brilliant and cunning than he had remembered. Your gaze jumped from his own eyes to his lips and then back, making him want to slink away from your observance of him. On the flip side, he wanted to pass your inspection. He wanted you. Your voice dropped into a quieter octave, leaning towards Dean faintly, “Men are so easy to break. Tell one white lie and they run for the hills.” You sent him a sneering grin, making him roll his eyes playfully. He watched your fingers as you popped open your cigarette case, striking your lighter and inhaling deeply. The swiftness of your movements sent his thoughts to dark places. “Who are you? I’ve seen you in here a few times but you never leave with any of the girls.” 

Dean chuckled slightly, “I work with your baby daddy at the firm.” Your face flushed with mock realization. Dean turned back to his glass, his facade of confidence adherently fading under the close proximity to you. You were so intoxicating to him, it reminded him of the first time he had dabbled with absinthe in his early college years. You were probably just as dangerous. 

And now she’s all over me, it’s like I paid for it. 

You turned in your seat, facing the floor as you leaned against the bar and closed in on Dean. He knew what you were doing and didn’t dare object to your actions. “Why don’t you ever pay for one of the girls?” You asked, prying over eggshells as Dean fought not to smile. 

“Doesn’t do it for me,” he answered after a moment's hesitation. Your eyebrow perked at him as if to call his bluff, your interest inflating his ego. He would never admit it, but despite his calm exterior, his heart was beating at an ungodly rate. He swore if consumption didn’t kill him, you definitely would. He struggled to completely withstand the pressure of what he was about to challenge. “I’d rather not mix business and pleasure.”

You smirked slightly, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. “Prove it,” you cooed, reaching into your clutch and flashing a key before Dean’s eyes before you settled it on the table in front of him. He chewed the inside of his cheek, watching as you walked away towards the stairs on the opposite wall of the bar. Dean's mouth grew dry, yet his ego inflated at the fact that he could mumble a few words and an attractive woman such as yourself would be beckoning him to bed. 

It’s like I paid for it...

I’m gonna pay for this.

The music from the parlor drew quiet as Dean climbed the stairs, furthering into the dimly lit hallways with the numbers of your room repeating in his mind. It was almost slow motion as his mind raced with what he could do to you, and more importantly, what you could do to him. 

[ditch-witches]

𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚢 𝚐𝚎𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚌𝚜

[trying something a little different, let me know what you all think :)]

♥ the two of you probably met in college through mutual friends at a party

♥ you had randomly asked him to hold your drink after one of your shoes broke and hurried off to the bathroom

♥ when you came back, it was like he had forgotten he was holding it as he started talking to your friend and looked at you weirdly when you asked for it back

♥ flash forward and he’s going through an “i will learn how to play guitar, even if it kills me” phase

♥ but he doesn’t start with the basics (of course). he goes right for learning the chords to a weird Scandinavian song he heard when he stumbled onto a foreign radio station

♥ or at least, that’s what he told you he was learning

♥ turns out he was trying to perfect learning a song he knew you loved

♥ man is a Grade. A. simp

♥ every morning he wakes you up with a steaming cup of tea in bed

♥ some days you show up to work to see a luscious bouquet of flowers sitting on your desk from him

♥ he leaves notes in unexpected places for you to find when he goes off to shoot

♥ after you move in together, you’d get home from work and he’s ready to shower you in love and affection (and tell you everything he learned from a documentary he watched for fifteen minutes during the day)

♥ the two of you love cooking together

♥ mainly weird recipes the two of you found online

♥ everything comes out terrible in the end though because George always has to “spice it up”

♥ usually you give up anyway, happy to order pizza because who cares

♥ as far as your friends knew, you were both great cooks

♥ George took the ideology behind “what’s mine is yours” very seriously, and applied it to most aspects of your already shared life

♥ whether it be car keys or clothes, it was shared

♥ George’s favorite thing to share happened to be personal space

♥ in the car, George’s hand was either tangled with yours or settled on your knee; maybe resting on the back of your seat---it really didn’t matter as long as he was in arms length of you

♥ when you usually went about your chores around the house, George would follow you around to help you or just “keep you company”

♥ it probably was because of how much you worked during the week

♥ he loves wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your hair after a long day

♥ between pressing soft kisses to your shoulders, he’d hum in response to you talking about your day

♥ George was always on one side of the bed when you went to sleep, yet you’d wake up twisted around him in his embrace or on the opposite side without any recollection as to how you’d gotten there

♥ while you felt unkempt and sweaty, he was still dozing off blissfully, completely unbothered

[ditch-witches]

Hi my sweets, was wondering if you're posting George fics anymore ly xx

Hey gorgeous!

Hopefully we'll get something up soon. College has been really stressful and taken a lot out of me so I apologize for the extended hiatus :]

In the meantime, tell us your requests and even how you're doing. We love hearing from you all!

xx DW Team

[ditch-witches]

Why do you guys follow Daisy on instagram but not Dolly?? Kinda curious 👉👈

𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐! 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 :)

𝙾𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜’ 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝙳𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖 𝚋𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎. 𝙸𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚏𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎. 𝙸𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚢, 𝚠𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚐 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚎’𝚟𝚎 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚋𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖 (𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙸 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍). 

𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛’𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚎’𝚟𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎. 

𝙸𝚏 𝚁𝚢𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚛 £ 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚜 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚕. 

♡ 𝓖𝓻𝓪𝔂𝓬𝓮

[ditch-witches]

Dear Madame, can we get a playlist for eyeliner and a possible part 3 👉🏻👈🏻

Bonjour mon amour.

Here’s a playlist of what I was basically listening to when I wrote Eyeliner! (If any of you have suggestions, let me know!)

Also, I really hated the cr*nge that was Eyeliner pt. 2 but if yall want a 3 I mean,,,, 

If you have no idea what we’re talking about: Eyeliner

[ditch-witches]

Hello beautiful ladies, y'all take song requests? Not like in a DJ way 😆 like a fic based on a song?

Send it our way!

Request anything (for real, I wanna be overwhelmed.)

[ditch-witches]

Farmer’s Son - Dean Charles-Chapman x reader

(PART ONE) - (PART TWO)

Ivanna, I love you. Thank you for always hyping up our stuff and BLESSING us with your amazing artistic talents.

request: (jfc yall)

"I would do literally anything for more farm dean (can we eventually get a cute wedding? Take it slow tho dw)”

“I would kill for farmer's daughter part 3.”

“Okay wow I love Majesty it’s amazing but can you please give us some more farm Dean!! Love y’all!”

“Aight so can we pleaseee get another part for farmer’s daughter cause I never knew I needed farmer Dean in my life prior to that”

“I NEED FARM DEAN TO BE A COMPLETE SERIES WITH MANY HOT SUMMERS AND A WEDDING EVENTUALLY”

“Please give us farm/country Dean part 3 IT MAKES ME SO SOFT🥺🥰 They need to get married at some point sksksk”

“I’m the one who requested farm boy Dean and whew boy you guys did not disappoint! IT WAS SO GOOD."

warnings: ?language? 

word count: ~4000

You furrowed your brows as you looked over the field of workers, tilling the dark earth beneath the hot summer sun. The living room radio was cranked up loud enough that the lulling tones of the singer could be heard from your front porch, mixing in with the calming noise of the wind-chime and cicadas in the trees. The scent of summer wafted through your hair with the same wind swirling through the chime, playing it as if it were a musician. The warmth of the sun settled against your exposed skin as you marched out to the field, throwing your hat over your wild hair. The cooler you were lugging behind you was nearly reminiscent of when your mother forced you to apologize to the men for your manners when now, it seemed that you could be wearing a winter coat and she’d nearly faint in embarrassment. Still, you were greeted with bright smiles and the welcoming of the refreshments. 

You tucked your hands into your back pockets, searching the small crowd of college boys almost too dirty to be recognized. The offset chorus of sentiments and thankfulness blended into the wind in your ears. “He’s not here today,” one of the boys you knew from high school piped up beside you, leaning against his trow and following your eyes towards the horizon over the field. You moved your head to look in his direction, perking an eyebrow as you did so. He ran one of his grimy hands through his sandy hair, taking a deep breath of the summer air you were also admiring a few minutes prior. 

You chuckled lightly. “Well, don’t write a novel, sparky,” you joked, making him snicker, a small gleam in his eyes as he looked at you fully this time. 

“Apologies, ma’am. Dean took up another shift at the station. He needs the money before he heads back soon,” he disclosed, his hand moving to rub at the nape of his neck. You felt your heart drop three stories into hell at his words. 

You wet your lips, searching his eyes. “Soon?” 

He nodded. “Didn’t he tell you? His mom sent him a letter or something.” You shook your head, thanking him for the information and handing him one of the drinks from the cooler, your mind racing at what soon meant. How soon? Next week? In a few days? Tomorrow? What happened to summer? You parted ways with the men, tying your hair back and deciding that waiting for him to get off work would eat you alive before you got the opportunity to figure out what was happening. 

It seemed as if your bike wasn’t quick enough to keep up with your legs and pacing heart. The vast cornfields and wildflowers you regularly would have stopped to enjoy, zipped passed your ankles alongside the gravel road into town. Your chest tightened at the thought of him leaving so soon after you had so much planned for these few precious months you had the opportunity to spend with him. 

The reality of the situation was that you both were getting older. Soon, at least by your mother’s standards, you’d need to be settled and on the road to having children before your life completely passed by your ears. There were only so many summer vacations you could enjoy before you were tied into a job or a family. It was only a matter of time before you’d be looking back on these summers and wishing you could curl back up beneath the large willow trees, pressed against Dean’s side after a long day. When you were old and harsh like your mother, would you regret it if Dean wasn’t the man you were spending the rest of your life with? Did he even feel the same about you, or were you still a summer fling to him? 

Your throat tightened at that thought. Were you becoming too attached when he had his own separate life back home, with no intention of blending you into it? The idea of him with another woman that wasn’t you boiled your blood. Yet, you still skittered on the edge of whether or not your father would even allow the two of you to be together. 

Who were you kidding? You were on your mother’s timeline, it didn’t matter if you wanted to marry him tomorrow. Maybe you could convince yourself that there was still time. Your fears seemed to wash away into the cracks of the sidewalk as you pulled up to the gas station, tucking your bike into the rack beside the front door and greeting the few cars of townspeople you recognized. You were now on a mission, your mind almost blank with everything else. The handful of Cadillacs full of couples in swimsuits that you had familiarized yourself with in school attempted light conversation with you as you vaguely surveyed the station before finally spotting Dean. His dark jumpsuit was, of course, already filthy as he wiped his hands on a towel, in mid-conversation with another mechanic. Your heart felt heavy looking at him again, as if you were seeing him for the first time again. His bright eyes turned to you as if he had sensed your presence, his smile brightening at your appearance as he headed for you.

You fought your blush as you excused yourself from the group and walked to meet him half-way. His usual dapper mood was still prevalent as he stood before you, seemingly pleased that you were there to see him. “Hey, I’d kiss you but-” He began but your impatience and slightly distraught expression sent his brows furrowing. He seemed hesitant to ask you what was wrong, like he knew what you’d chased him down for. He pulled his bottom lip between his gleaming teeth, tucking the towel in his back pocket. 

“I heard you’re leaving soon,” you mumbled, fidgeting with your fingers. You wanted to reach out and touch him despite his begrimed appearance. It was almost your new normal now: not seeing him covered in dirt or grease was almost foreign to you. You fought against begging him to stay with you rather than go back again, or at least take you with him as his curious eyes blueprinted your appearance into his memory. “What kind of soon are we talking?” 

Dean sighed regretfully, looking over his shoulder and gesturing at one of his co-workers before taking one of your hands lightly and stepping into the small station. The one-room business was empty and nearly pristine, evident that only tourists passed in whereas the locals knew not to step foot near it. “I was going to tell you, I just didn’t know how to. This is probably going to be my last summer here.” You inhaled sharply, attempting to keep your noises of upset to yourself as his eyes saddened, the blue hue deepening. Is this how he felt when you left for school? At least there was a promise you’d be back. “My mum’s getting old and I’ll have to take over soon.” Your mind raced at his words. It seemed like he was finally back in your life and now he was leaving. This time for good. 

Despite your fast track mind trying to figure out how to sneak into his trunk and force him to take you with him, you couldn’t think of what to say to him. “When?” Was all you could manage. 

“Next week.” His words were soft and apologetic. You felt guilty for making him feel like this. You understood; if you were in his shoes you would be doing the same. You looked away from him, blinking towards the ceiling in an attempt to hide your blurring vision, misting by your budding tears. You swallowed harshly, stepping away from him and shaking off your sadness. “Hey,” Dean called for you gently, his hand reaching to touch your wrist to turn you towards him. The way you led into his closeness seemed to make him forget about not wanting to dirty your appearance. He settled his hands alongside your jaw, forcing you to make eye contact with him. You relaxed into his touch almost instantly, your eyes fluttering shut against the stinging tears threatening to fall. His calloused thumb brushed against your cheek. “Just because it’s my last summer doesn’t mean I won’t come back for you if you’ll let me,” his words were like a warm embrace of their own. You sighed and locked eyes with him, hoping to keep the memory of their brightness in the back of your mind. He pulled you closer to him, his lips hovering over yours with a softness like you were a rare flower he was struggling not to crush in his fist. You let your eyes drift shut against the blissful feeling of his breath fanning against your cheek before he pressed his lips against yours, the mix of sadness and worry bleeding away from your mind as the gesture seemed to tell you not to fret over the future anymore. 

The bell above the general store rang into the cool air, breaking the silence in the small shop. You untied the scarf around your head as you stepped towards the cashier’s counter, vaguely thinking of back home when you’d usually be greeted by someone you’d grown up with or someone who’d babysat a friend of yours. The man behind the counter stood up straighter, tucking away the magazine he was skimming and attempting to take in your appearance. You felt like a foreigner in the desert as you stood before him. He was rather tall, with clean overalls strapped over his shoulders. “Can I get a fill up?” You asked, gesturing towards your car parked outside. The man raised his eyebrows before nodding and following you outside. “Do you mind if I wait beside you? I’ve been driving all day,” you added as he flipped open your gas lid and began filling your car. You peered around the two of you, taking in the scenery. This part of England wasn’t much different from your hometown, yet it still felt like you had wound up in an alternate reality. 

“What are you doing across the pond, miss?” The man asked, his eyes quizzing your every move. 

You gave him a small smile, slightly nervous. “I’m visiting my boyfriend actually. He lives down the road, or so I think. I’m kind of lost to be honest...” you mumbled the last part more to yourself as you fished the small scrap of paper out of your pocket with Dean’s address scribbled down. The man gestured slightly, asking if he could take a look and you shrugged, flashing the paper to him. His eyes lit up with recognition and a small chuckle. Before you knew it, the two of you were leaning over the truck of your car with your road map spread out beneath you both, the man explaining the twists and turns on how to get to the house, and you scribbling down a few words to get you out of the woods. 

He closed your car door for you after you climbed in. “Remember, left at the fork, two rights, another left-” 

“And around the bend,” you finished with a grin to match his. “Thank you for your help.”

“Thank me with an invite to the wedding. They’ve been trying to get that boy married off for years!” He jested before sending you on your way. The run-in with the shopkeeper took your mind off the stroke of nervousness that seemed to rattle around in your chest with each turn in the road. You turned up the radio in hopes that your mind would wander away and stay there until you were in front of the man again. After Dean had left, the distance between the two of you was once again agony in a way you’d never have expected it to be on that first day of summer when you met him. You felt like a crazy person as you slowly checked off your list of directions. What were you doing? What if he didn’t want you here? What if he’s moved on? 

You finally made it past the last bend, your hands clammy as your eyes drifted between the road and the scrap of paper once again, looking for the correct numbers. The paper looked about as thin and crumpled as your mental state as you finally spotted a small house surrounded by cherry trees. A school bus sat in front of the driveway and as you grew closer, there he was. Dean stood in front of the door with a young boy clinging to his hand. Dean looked as if he were talking to an old friend, which you weren’t the least bit shocked at. His ability to hold conversations with anyone and everyone was almost annoying to you, but now seeing him like this, it was charming. Then something had been said involving the boy, who shied away, hiding behind one of Dean’s legs. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, attempting to remember who the kid could have been. Surely he wasn’t Dean’s.

Right? 

Dean chuckled and knelt down beside the kid and murmured a few words before the child nodded at him and stepped onto the bus. Dean smiled and waved at whoever the bus driver had been as the vehicle took off. You opened your door and stepped out, catching Dean’s attention. He furrowed his brows as if trying to place you in a setting so far away from what you were used to. He’d cut his hair again, his nose slightly red from the colder air, making his eyes nearly crystal. You wet your lips, unsure of your next move. “Is he yours?” You asked. It seemed like his mind had finally allowed him to recognize that it was indeed you standing at the edge of his yard. 

He shook his head. “My brother’s. First day of year one, you know.” He gestured in the direction the bus had gone with a small smile. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he stated, taking a few steps towards you. You looked at your feet mildly in embarrassment, realizing how out of left field it was to just show up unannounced halfway across the world. He leaned against your car, stuffing his hands in his jacket pocket. A flannel shirt peeked out from beneath his dark coat, you noticed. The yellow and red leaves around the two of you seemed so out of place compared to the summer flowers and bright blue skies. 

You cleared your throat. “I’m sorry for just showing up…” 

He scoffed softly, a smile creeping across his lips. “I’m not.” You forced yourself to make eye contact with him, his excited expression warming your heart and reaching your nearly frozen fingertips. He stood up and wrapped himself around you, digging his face into the crook of your neck and breathing deeply. You let the tension from the last few months evade your body as you tucked your hands around his waist, yearning to touch the softness of his flannel. You weren’t sure how it was possible, but Dean still smelled like the summer sun was settling against his skin. He moved to kiss your cheek, and you met him with a chaste kiss against his lips. You relaxed against his touch. 

“I met your friend at the gas station,” you hummed, turning to look at him. His mouth twisted into a smirk as a flash of disbelief beckoned behind his eyes. “He was very nice.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure he was.” He knotted your fingers with his and pulled you towards the small house, placing a kiss to the back of your hand as you continued up the pathway. The home spelled like apple pie and warmth that only a full house in fall could protrude. “Wait, I just remembered,” he stopped you after you both were in the house, discarding a layer or two to hang on the coat tree in the corner. You gave him a tilted expression of worry. “Are you okay with meeting my mom?” You were taken aback slightly with a grin but before you could answer, a woman’s voice beckoned from another room around the corner. Your smile widened and you nudged him in that direction. 

The woman that had called for Dean was stout, with short hair and a kind face which was furrowed in concentration as she bustled around the stove, nursing a freshly made apple pie. “How’d he do? Did he get on the bus okay?” She asked, her expressions still focused on the task at hand. Dean cleared his throat, making her eyes snap up towards the two of you as Dean stepped out of the way between you and his mother. He put a hand on your shoulder, introducing you to her with a rather proud smile on his face. Her hand was warm and inviting as she greeted you after a moment of hesitation. Her sights flashed between Dean and you, as if asking him to pinch her. She smiled brightly as Dean wrapped an arm around your shoulders, recounting how he found you digging through the trash like a raccoon, making you roll your eyes and shrug his arm off playfully. It seemed like a click of time went by before she was shooing Dean outside to join the rest of the boys gathering leftover cherries. She looped her arm around yours, dragging you towards the back porch and offering you a seat. 

You smiled to yourself, a rush of memories flooding from the back of your mind as Dean caught your eye. He played bashful, smirking at you from his position on a ladder beside a man that looked almost exactly like him. His cheeks were already a deeper red from the cooler temperature. It seemed like just yesterday you were perched on your own rocking chair, hungry to catch a glimpse of the new farmhand with dark curly hair and bright eyes. His smile was a carbon copy from the first time you met him, yet this time it seemed he looked at you with a sense of content as he watched his mother take to you so easily. “I’m not surprised you showed up here finally.” The woman broke the echo of calming silence that had settled between the two of you. You turned to her in your chair, pulling your eyes away from Dean. “He never shuts up about you. His brother thought you were fake to be honest,” she joked, making you chuckle lightly. “I’m glad you’re not,” she winked. You gave her a small smile before looking out towards the orchard again. 

“I’m sorry to impose, really,” you apologized, a pang of worry thundering in your chest. 

She scoffed. “Please! We were bound to meet sometime anyway,” she gestured towards Dean lightly. “Figured he’d ask you at some point.” Her comment was set at an ease you didn’t think your mother could ever have been at. Her welcoming calmness was comforting to you.

Still, you wet your lips cautiously. “Speaking of that, I actually wanted to talk to you,” you chewed. She put her glasses on top of her head, her eyes searching yours much like Dean’s had so many times before. “I was wondering if I could get your blessing. I want to marry Dean.” You held your breath as she blinked at you. Her eyebrow quirked up and she settled back in her chair with a sly smirk painted across her thin lips. 

“I had to ask his father to marry me, you know? Those Chapman boys,” she sighed. “Where would they be without us.” You scoffed, shocked at her statement. She turned to grin at you before answering her own question. “Probably dying alone, right?” You chuckled lightly. She patted your hand, which rested on the edge of your rocker. “From what I’ve heard, you’re perfect for Dean. I don’t think I could have picked better for him.” You sighed in relief, your nervousness and unsettled stress had finally subsided with her words. 

You waited until the sun had set, spending the day getting to know Dean’s family and attempting to understand the cherry farming business when you barely understood your own father’s crops. Dean’s nephew had nearly jumped into the house after he had finally been released from school for the day; the family members around welcomed him like he had been off to war. Members of the small community in town had shown up at the door bearing casseroles and pies, a tradition for fall nights like this one which you figured you could get used to. And before you knew it, you and Dean were perched side-by-side on the back steps, looking out over the orchard to gaze at the stars overhead. You snuggled up against Dean’s side as he looped an arm around yours, his eyes twinkling with the light from the moon. One of his thumbs absent-mindedly slipped into your sleeve to rub against your wrist. You were beat from the events of the day, or maybe just your ridiculous nerves skyrocketing up and down, but finally you could say you were at peace. You were right where you’d want to be, for as long as you could be. 

You cleared your throat mildly. “Dean, will you marry me?” You asked, seemingly into the dark void of the night, rather than to the man braided into you. He shifted slightly to look at you, making you sit up a bit straighter. 

A cocky grin spread across his face. “I thought you’d never ask,” he jested, making you shove his shoulder and send him into a small giggle fit. “I’m joking,” he breathed, pecking your lips gently. “I’ll marry you if you marry me,” he added. 

You shook your head at his petulant jinxing. “All right, then it’s settled,” you responded. 

“Is there some kind of dowry or do I take you for free?” He taunted with another giggle. 

“I take it back,” you groaned sarcastically. He laughed harder, pulling you closer to him to seal the moment in a kiss. 

[ditch-witches]

asa butterfield x reader

request: wasn’t requested, but we wrote this in march and decided to post. we’re opening our inbox to other actors and characters, so feel free to send us a request :)

warnings: mentions of sex (slight), crude language, a family gathering

word count: ~2000

Your grandmother threw open her front door, hair in curlers to match her fuzzy pink slippers. Her face brightened at the sight of you, yet once her eyes fell to Asa it was like you were last year's ham. She nearly hooted in excitement before throwing her arms around him and dragging him inside, Asa’s face furrowing as he looked back at you. You smirked slightly, hanging your jacket on the already full coat tree by the door and kicking off your shoes before meandering through her gigantic house in search of your boyfriend. There were various cousins sprawled out around her living room and hanging out of the archway to the kitchen while watching whatever sport was on TV. 

You furrowed your brows at the group and half of them pointed down the hallway where a round of hollering and an old crackly radio was sounding off. You nodded and moved in the direction they sent you, turning a few corners before going through the sliding glass door in the back, spotting Asa being shown off to several of your uncles from different generations and your older cousins by your small grandmother. You sighed, coming out from behind them and capturing the attention of the group who greeted you with smiles and a few pinches on the arm. The stereotypical conversation questions were thrown around briefly: How is school? How’s the job? Are you hungry? 

Some of the guys were talking to Asa and shaking his hand a ridiculous amount until you finally had enough. “Oma, maybe you should go get ready?” You suggested, finally taking hold of Asa’s arm to pull him from her grasp. She inhaled sharply as if forgetting she was walking around in a housecoat while her guests continued to fill her house. You were sure Asa would already be overwhelmed, him being whisked off was not what you had expected, but he remained smiling, talking to whoever started conversations with him. You couldn’t really believe it but Asa was prospering. 

Before you knew it, the two of you were sat beside each other at a long table of most of your cousins, separate from the massive group of adults, passing food amongst yourself and talking over the polka music that seemed to always be playing from the radio in the living room. You leaned over to Asa as he passed you a basket of rolls. “Are you all right?” You whispered, passing the food again. 

He smiled at you slightly, his icy blue eyes seemingly lighting up even more. “Never better. Relax, okay?” He mumbled, sending you a wink. You hadn’t realized how tensed up you were as you dropped your shoulders at his words. If you weren’t surrounded by family members, you would have kissed him. The meal went on without ripples, listening to how people were doing in school and sitting through several of the members of the family closer to your age tell embarrassing stories about yourself to Asa like it had happened last week, not when you were three and still wearing Garanimals. 

“You’re Asa, right?” One of your middle school aged cousins asked from across the table. She put her chin in her hand, her makeup more intricate than you ever could master. He shook his head hesitantly. “You’re probably so good you don’t use protection. Am I right?” Her almost seductive glance and question made you choke on your water and Asa’s mouth dropped open a bit as the man beside her cackled heavily. 

“Oh, my God,” you breathed. “You can’t say that,” you hissed and she shrugged. 

Her eyes trailed him from across the table. “I don’t hear a ‘no’.” 

You groaned, telling Asa to ignore her through gritted teeth. “You should always use protection,” he answered instead, attempting to hold back his own laugh as you kicked him under the table, sending the man next to her into even greater fits of laughter. 

“Are you staying at oma’s tonight?” Another asked, thankfully one that hadn’t heard the previous topic. 

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, debating if it was too late to get a hotel. “No, I haven’t drawn a card yet…” You mumbled, trying not to alert Asa beside you. 

Your actions were for nothing as he piped up. “What is drawing a card?” 

At his question, several of the cousins attempted to answer at once, urging you to let him be the one to draw this time and you shook your head. “My grandmother has a deck of cards that have locations written on them and whenever there’s a family gathering, you draw a card to figure out where you’re staying. It’s because my dad’s generation all fought over who was staying with Uncle Mike,” you answered, closer to his ear to combat the several voices. “But we should just get a hotel room-” 

“That’s breaking the rules and you know it!” Another cousin yelled, pointing his fork at you. 

You shook your head. “You’re a grown ass man and you still want a shot at staying with Uncle Mike?” You almost snapped, making him shrug. 

“You’re just pissed because you never get it!” He snapped back. 

You shook your head almost dramatically. “What if I didn’t want to stay with Uncle Mike?” 

“Liar!” 

“I like staying with oma!” 

He sent you a sarcastic smile as if to call your bullshit. “Fine then, we’re taking bets on who has to sleep in the tent.” 

You had almost forgotten Asa was there until he piped up. “I have ten on you then,” he quipped and your heart slightly fluttered at him as your cousin pointed to him, leaning over the table aggressively to shake Asa’s hand as the other cousins began saying it was other people. One got up to grab an old pad of paper to take down the bets and you pinched the bridge of your nose between your index finger and thumb. Asa was loving every minute of this. 

After dinner, half of your great uncles were passed out on the couch and your grandmother was shuffling her beat up deck of cards, long past the date it should have been retired. Your heart began to beat slightly, the adrenaline rushing through you as you thought about the bets that were made and the possibility of having to sleep outdoors. You sat on the couch, watching closely as the deck was brought around, shuffled and fanned out for each of the kids. Meanwhile Asa leaned his elbows on his knees, playing Cat’s Cradle with one of your younger cousins. Your leg rested against his as you focused on the cards, maybe it wasn’t the chance that you would have to sleep in a beat up old tent, but rather the rush of competition. So far, most of the spaces in the upper level of your grandma’s house had been taken as well as the spots in your cousin’s. Uncle Mike’s had yet to be completely claimed and the tent still hung in the air. 

The deck came towards you, your grandmother swooping down slightly for the cousin that was entranced by the string game. She drew a card: the top bunk of one of many stacked beds at Uncle Mike’s. Her older brother cheered, knowing that you now had an even bigger chance of getting the tent. The deck was offered to Asa, your grandmother raising an eyebrow. “No, I don’t trust him,” you quickly stated, ignoring his sarcastically hurt expression. The deck was turned to you. “I love you, but you have some of the worst luck.” Your mind raced at what was left and then you realized that Asa would be sleeping with you. Then you prayed to whatever higher being could help you to not give you an upper floor. “We have a lot riding on this,” you muttered as she fanned the cards for you. You drew your card, quickly turning it over and snapping it around towards your cousins who all groaned at the fluent, swirling writing your grandma was known for. 

“Are you kidding!” 

“How?” 

“Fuck! I could have bought a ton of M&M’s with that money.” 

Your grandma whipped around to the last cousin to speak, yanking on his ear quickly and hissing, “Halt deinen Mund!” He put his hands up in defense looking at her with wide eyes and you smirked. 

“Yeah, Halt deinen Mund,” you mocked and she snapped her fingers at you, making you close your mouth quickly before she moved on. You all broke out into a fit of giggles silently, relieved that no one had the tent yet. The one who made the bet with Asa was who you hoped would get it, in all honesty. You finally let out a breath, relaxing completely. 

You snuggled into your seat, crossing your legs and throwing an arm around the section of the back of the couch where Asa was sitting. He leaned back, tucking under your arm slightly, raising an eyebrow in your direction. “And where did we get?” 

You handed him the card. “Oma’s back basement room. There’s a waterbed, but other than that, it’s a win.” 

He chuckled, flipping the card between his long fingers. “That could be fun,” he whispered slightly and you pushed his face away with your hand as he laughed. As the party died down enough that people were heading to their designated spots or out back to set piles of leaves on fire, you and Asa grabbed your bags and headed through the maze of a house to your room for the night and possibly the next. It really depended on how much Asa could actually take of your family. 

Your room was just off the retro bar that was always used around the winter holidays. You thanked whoever was looking out for you up above as you threw your bags down on one of the dated couches and peaked into the newly renovated bathroom. “So, how are you feeling?” You asked, putting your hands on your hips as he slipped his sweater over his head and readjusting his t-shirt. 

“I’m exhausted,” he stated, biting back a wide grin before plopping down into the middle of the bed, it sloshed around under his movements and he giggled slightly before laying back. You perked an eyebrow. “I’m ready. Fuck me on a waterbed,” he jeered, smirking up at you. 

He tucked his arms beneath his head, and you sent him a tilted expression. “You are so strange.”